Once in Purgatory, they split up to begin their search for the three men. Chris took Blackfox with him, but no one else, which worried Buck. He saw Vin start to follow Larabee, but subtly managed to get Beavis in front of Peso, stopping the tracker. Instead, he turned to the healer.

"Hard ta tell what he's gonna do," he said quietly. "Keep a good eye on him."

"All right," Nathan agreed, sharing Buck's concerns. Chris was like a hound scenting blood now, and God alone knew what the man would do if anyone crossed him.

Buck saw Vin glaring at him, and sighed. He'd been dealing with a half-crazy Larabee for three days now; he just wasn't sure he was up a fully enraged Tanner. Still, he knew the younger man deserved some explanation for being kept from going after his... friend.

"JD," he called, sliding wearily from the saddle, "you're with me. Take care of my horse, would ya? I need ta talk ta Vin."

"Sure, Buck." The boy hurried forward to take Beavis's reins, then glanced up at Tanner, who still sat atop his horse, who still stared stonily at Buck. "Uh, Vin, I'll take Peso if ya want," he offered uncertainly, suddenly realizing just how old and just how deadly the tracker could look.

Tanner dismounted without a word, without showing a sign of the exhaustion that gnawed at him. For three days, all he'd wanted was to be with Chris, to watch over him and take care of him; and now that he'd found him, Buck had denied him that chance. Purposely. He thrust Peso's reins at JD and stalked after Wilmington, seething with anger at the big man.

Buck stepped up onto the porch in front of an abandoned store and turned to Tanner, who was right behind him. When the tracker looked as if he were preparing to throw a punch, Buck held up his own hands and said, "Hold on a minute. I know yer pissed, but I wantcha ta hear me out."

"Talk," Vin snarled, knotting a fist, but not raising it. Yet. He was fairly certain that Buck knew about him and Chris, and feared this was an attempt by the big man to keep them apart.

Buck sighed and bowed his head, crossing his arms against his chest. He knew he had to choose his words carefully, didn't want to cross any lines here that shouldn't be crossed. That he wasn't ready to cross. "First of all," he began softly, "Chris is in a real bad way right now. He ain't thinkin' straight... Hell, he ain't thinkin' at all. And he's a heartbeat from killin' somebody. Anybody." He winced at his next thought, but knew it had to be spoken. "The way he is right now, he needs somebody with him who can step in and stop him if he starts ta do somethin' foolish. And I don't mean just talk him out of it. I mean step in, grab him, wrestle him down and hold him until he's ready ta listen ta reason." He raised his head then and fixed sorrowful eyes on Tanner. "And I'm sorry, Vin, but you just ain't big enough ta do that. I know you're tough, but I also know, from personal and painful experience, what it takes ta subdue Chris when he's like this, and I just ain't sure you could do it."

"That all?" Vin demanded tersely.

Buck winced again; he was now facing that line head-on. "No," he sighed, "that ain't all. I also didn't wanta take the chance that, if he did snap, he might hurt you when he went. I know..." He licked his lips and turned his head, looking away from Vin. "I know... how close you two are..." From the corner of his eye he saw the tracker tense, and knew the man understood. "Right now, I don't think Chris could take knowin' he'd hurt you, and I sure as hell don't wanta put you in the position of havin' ta hurt him ta calm him down. I just... don't think either of ya needs that right now. Y'all got enough shit ta deal with as it is."

Vin stared at Buck in confused disbelief. He'd come expecting anger, condemnation, but had found a kind of protection instead. He shifted uneasily, not at all certain what to make of it. He really hated surprises.

Buck realized he'd caught the tracker off guard, and had to smile at that; he knew it didn't happen often. "Close your mouth, son," he advised gently. "You're lookin' like JD right now." The tracker's mouth snapped shut, without a single smart-assed reply coming from it, and Buck arched a brow at the man's unusual submissiveness. "That brings up another point," he said. "For you and Ezra and JD ta get ta Eagle Bend when ya did, it had ta mean y'all were ridin' like hell. And I'm bettin' that, even if you let the others sleep, you didn't do it yerself. Hell, I can tell that by lookin' at ya. You're tired, Vin, and that's gonna make it hard ta deal with Chris. The last thing we need is for the two of you, exhausted and edgy, ta tear inta each other. Couldn't any of us deal with that right now. Especially not you or Chris."

"I cain't stay away from him," Vin said softly. "Hell, I won't stay away!"

"And I'm not askin' ya to," Buck assured him. "Fact is, I figger you're the best one for him right now, the one he's gonna need most ta help him through this. He sure as hell ain't leanin' on the rest of us. He's wrapped so tight inside himself that I'm not even sure he sees the rest of us. But he'll see you, and he'll lean on you. Which means you gotta be strong enough ta bear his weight. You gotta take care of yerself, Vin, 'cause it's the only way you'll be able ta take care of him, too."

Vin nodded slowly. "Reckon that makes sense," he allowed, still trying to figure all this out. But, Buck was right; he was tired, and deeply worried about Chris. He needed time to sort out what Buck had said... and what he hadn't.

"He loved her, y'know," Buck said suddenly, softly. "She and that boy were his whole world. And when they died, he did, too. Or I thought he had, until lately..." His voice faltered, and he had to look away from Vin to hide the tears in his eyes. "I just... don't wanta see him go back ta that," he whispered harshly. "If this don't turn out like he hopes, I just... I don't know... how many more blows he can take..."

Against his nature, Vin reached out and gripped Buck's arm, deeply touched by the big man's distress. "I'll take care of him," he said in a low, firm voice, his blue eyes burning with determination. "I won't let him go back ta that, I promise. I will take care of him."

They were simple words, yet Buck recognized them for the solemn vow they were. He looked at Vin, saw all that the man could not say shining in his eyes, and gave a small smile.

"Yeah, I reckon you will at that, pard." His smile broadened, his big frame straightened, and he clapped Vin soundly on the shoulder. "All right then, let's go search the town for them three sonsabitches, see if we can't make 'em tell us what they know. Oughtta be pretty easy," he winked at Vin, "since you marked one so nicely for us. Just gotta look fer a fella who's sprung a leak."

Vin chuckled ruefully and shook his head. "Yeah, 'n I expect Larabee'll have words with me over that. Seein's how I shot him in the back."

"Oh, I don't know," Buck mused, slinging a long arm over Tanner's shoulders and leading him to where JD waited for them, "I think Chris is smart enough not ta rile a man who can shoot like that. 'Sides, we c'n always put a bullet in the bastard's front if that'll make Larabee feel better."

---

As it turned out, that second bullet wasn't necessary; Vin's had done its work adequately. JD looked down into the coffin, reached out and turned the body over, then let it go and looked back at the tracker, awe in his eyes. "It's the one on the paint pony. You are one hell of a shot, Vin!" he marveled.

Tanner said nothing. Shooting came as naturally to him as breathing; he'd always had the long eye, the steady hand. He knew his ability with a rifle was often mystifying to others, but, to him, it was just what he did.

Any further thoughts were interrupted by a gunshot from the cantina, and immediately the three men hurried in that direction, Buck and Vin worried that Chris had finally lost his brittle control. Pushing through the strands of beads that formed the door, however, they were greeted not by the sight of murder, but by an atmosphere of raucous gaiety. The cantina near overflowed with bad men of every description, bristling with guns, knives and a vast assortment of scars, a collection of desperadoes who looked as hard as any men who'd ever walked the earth. Yet, rather than menacing some innocent populace, they were now swarming around Steele like bees around a flower, jostling for position, almost childishly eager to tell their bloody stories and have their ugly faces photographed.

Ezra came up to meet them, handling a wad of cash and grinning from ear to ear, a man clearly in his element. "Well, welcome to the festivities!" he greeted happily.

"We heard the gunshot," JD explained, looking around the cantina in rapt wonderment. This was his first visit to the legendary Purgatorio, and, so far, it was shaping up to be just as bad -- and just as thrilling -- as he'd imagined.

"Thought somebody'd killed the little feller," Vin said more laconically. He and Purgatorio were old acquaintances, and he knew many of the faces here from his bounty hunting days. And there were more than a few here who knew his, as well.

"Kill him?" Ezra laughed. "Hell, they're about ready to elect him president!"

At that moment, Steele noticed the new arrivals and beamed ecstatically at them. "Howdy, boys. Be with you in a minute."

Ezra was still amazed by the reception the little man had gotten. He'd been sure the outlaws would tear him to bits; instead, the moment he'd introduced himself and told them why he was here, they'd greeted him like a king. "He said he that he was a writer who was willing to pay for anyone's story as long as it was about murder and mayhem."

"Of course, that appealed to the congregation," Josiah quipped from the table where he sat. "After that, the only fight was to see who was going to be first in line."

Steele came bustling up to them, his round face wreathed in a huge, ecstatic smile. "This is fantastic!" he crowed. "Better than I ever dreamed. Do you know who that is I was just talking to? Dan Barnes." He swept glowing eyes over the men about him and nodded, exceedingly pleased with himself. "Uh-huh, the Dan Barnes."

"`Bloody-hand' Barnes," Vin clarified with a lift of his brows when Ezra looked to him with a puzzled frown.

"He told me how he got his name," Steele said excitedly. "Ooh! Story's gonna sell a million!"

"Congratulations," Standish said wryly, not at all certain he wanted to know how a man earned such an appellation.

Vin merely shook his head and ambled away from the annoying little man to join his friends at their table. He did not sit down, but stood in the corner, choosing a vantage point that would allow him to see everyone in the place while keeping his own back protected. He didn't plan on being a chapter in one of Jock Steele's books.

"Hey, Steele!" a voice from the crowd of outlaws called. "Come take another picture over here!"

"Oh," Steele chirped, feeling as if he'd hit the motherlode and eager to flaunt his accomplishments before these men who'd so constantly snubbed him. "Let me see, here. My photograph should be dry by now." He puffed up considerably and said cockily, "I took a shot with me and the boys."

Chris came in with Blackfox and Nathan behind him and went straight to the bar, his insides still tied in knots. He'd come within a heartbeat of killing an innocent man, would certainly have killed him had Nathan not been there to stop him. And he'd come damn close to killing Nathan. In pulling Chris's gun away from the terrified outlaw, the healer had pointed it into his own body. At that proximity, the shot would have been fatal.

If his finger had so much as twitched on the trigger...

Vin saw Larabee come in, saw the almost painful tension of the man's body, and longed to go to him. But he doubted he'd have restraint enough to keep his deep concern for the man, and all the love that lay beneath it, from showing. And a cantina full of blood-thirsty desperadoes eager to see themselves written up in some dime novel was probably not the best place to reveal his feelings for Larabee. But Steele's mention of the photograph gave him an idea for a practical -- and publicly acceptable -- way he could help Chris. If he could see that picture, he might recognize in it someone who would know such a man as the one Buck had described, and who might be persuaded to share that information.

And he knew lots of ways of persuadin' folks.

"Here it is," Steele announced proudly, coming to the table to show off his prized photograph. "That's me."

"Lovely," Ezra quipped dryly, finding the man as unattractive on film as he was in the flesh.

But while Steele passed around the photo and unnecessarily pointed out himself, Vin's keen eyes narrowed in on another figure, one who looked decidedly out of place among such a rough and dirty group. Without a word, he reached out and snatched it from Josiah, then strode to the bar and showed it to Chris, indicating the man who'd caught his attention.

"Right there in the corner," he said. "Notice the glove 'n the cheroot."

Chris took the photo, stared hard at the trim, neat figure in the corner. Steele came up to them and again unnecessarily identified himself, but Larabee wasn't listening. "Where was this taken?" he demanded.

Shaken by the hard voice, and even harder eyes, the little man swallowed nervously. "Uh... here. About an hour ago."

Chris shoved him away and turned. When Nathan pushed Blackfox to the bar, Chris showed him the picture. "Look at it," he ordered. "Is that him?"

Blackfox studied the figure carefully, knowing his very life depended on his answer. "Yeah," he said at last, his memory stirred by the man's eyes. Even in a photograph, he didn't want to look into them. "That's the man who killed your family."

Buck shoved Blackfox away and, with Vin, took his place at Chris's back to deal with anyone who protested or interfered. Chris walked slowly around the cantina and searched every face present, matching them all to the photograph in the hope of finding the man in the corner. He was not there. At the bar, though, was a man who'd stood next to the elusive bastard.

He stalked forward and thrust the picture under the man's nose. "You know him?" he snarled.

The outlaw merely stared defiantly at Larabee, so Buck stepped up and shoved his gun into his ribs. "Answer him," he snarled.

Knowing instinctively the gun was not there just for show, the outlaw took a look, and answered, "Yeah, I seen him."

"What's his name?" Chris asked. When the man didn't answer, he leaned closer and hissed dangerously, "What is his name?"

He hadn't lived this long without hanging by being stupid; the outlaw recognized the deadly menace in the blond and knew better than to try him further. "Fowler," he answered. "Cletus Fowler."

Buck shoved him away and stepped closer to Chris. "That name mean anything to you?"

But, rather than providing an answer, the man's name only deepened the mystery. "Never heard of him," Chris answered in complete confusion.

---

As soon as he'd seen him in the picture, Vin had already known the man they sought was gone. From long and painfully learned habit, he'd memorized every face in that room, noted who left and who entered, catalogued who was a threat and who might be an ally. Tanner never missed much, and he certainly wouldn't have missed an overly-tidy, cold-eyed dandy wearing a specially made black glove.

So, staying only long enough to hear the man's name, he caught Buck's eye and passed him a glance that told the big man he was entrusting Chris to his capable hands, then slipped out of the cantina. Keeping cautiously to the shadows, knowing there was no shortage of men in this town who would remember him from his bounty hunting days and gladly slit his throat, he found a vantage point that provided a clear view of the cantina and settled in to wait, blue eyes filled with grim determination.

The hawk was on the hunt.

He stood in the shadows for a good fifteen minutes, a man of infinite patience, and watched the cantina, wanting to see who left, and in what direction they went. This man, Fowler, always seemed one step ahead of him, which meant he had eyes and ears everywhere. Tanner figured he would have left someone behind to watch them, to see how much they learned about him, and he intended to catch that someone and palaver with him.

Maybe deprive Fowler of a couple of those ears.

At last he saw someone, one of the men he remembered from Steele's photograph, slip out the back way and head for the livery. Not liking the furtive way the man looked about him, Vin struck out after him, a shadow flitting among shadows. The man kept a keen eye on his back, and Vin gave a cold grin.

Bastard was good; he was better.

After a long, circuitous route, the man reached the livery and slipped inside. For all his previous care, however, he left the door open a bit, just enough for his "shadow" to slither through. Vin made a quick visual search to make sure they were alone, then drew the Bowie knife from his belt and crept on silent feet toward his prey.

The first indication the man had that he was being followed was the strong hand that grabbed him from behind, spun him around and slammed him into a wall. The second indication was the sharp tip of a blade being pressed into his gut as a hide-covered forearm was jammed across his throat. A terrified, airless squeak escaped him as he stared into glittering blue eyes set in a grim, rock-hard face.

"Let's you 'n me play a game," Vin growled. "I ask a question, you answer. 'N fer ever' answer I don't like," he gave a thin, teeth-baring smile, "I git ta cut somethin' off. That sound fun ta you?"

A cold chill rippled through the man as he felt the blade moving slowly down his abdomen and stopping at his groin. "What--"

"Uh-uh," Vin grunted, finding the man's cock with his knife and pressing the tip against it. "I ask the questions, remember? Now, where can I find Cletus Fowler?"

The man tried to swallow against the arm pressing against his throat, then licked his lips, all too keenly aware of where that knife rested. "I d... I don't know... nobody..."

Vin sighed and shook his head, frowning. "Nope, don't like that answer." With a quick thrust of his wrist, he jabbed the tip of his blade through the man's pants and just into his cock, rewarded by a shrill cry. "Might still be able ta use it if ya tell me 'bout Fowler," he rasped coldly. "Lie ta me again, 'n I'll cut it off."

The man had no doubt he would. He'd seen eyes like that -- not that color, but with that same expression -- once before, when he'd had a run-in with some truly pissed-off Comanches. Still, Fowler wasn't a man he wanted to cross, either.

"He'll... he'll kill me... if I do," he gasped, shaking violently from head to toe.

Vin smiled again, a cold and terrible smile that would have sent a rabid wolf running. "Yeah, but he won't have the same fun with ya that I will if ya don't. Y'see," he withdrew his knife from the man's cock, then drove a knee viciously into the injured organ, letting the howling man fall to the ground, "I hear Fowler's got manners. 'N I been told I ain't got none at all."

The man writhed and sobbed in agony at the feet of his tormenter, clutching at himself as blood darkened the crotch of his pants. Then, to his horror, the blue-eyed savage straddled him and sat down upon him, then leaned over and knotted the fingers of his free hand into the dirty brown hair at the left side of his head and pulling it back. Then that knife came to rest at the junction of his skull and the top of his ear.

"Been a while since I took a trophy," Vin said casually, pressing the knife into flesh and cartilage. "But I reckon there's jist some things ya never fergit how ta do. So," the blade pressed deeper, starting a trickle of blood, "where's Fowler?"

"Please... AAAaaahhh!" The man's plea ended in a scream as that knife sliced off the top of his ear. Blood gushed forth as pain and shock ripped through him.

Vin leapt aside to avoid that first rush, then, as it settled into a steady flow, reached out and shoved the injured side of the man's head into the ground. Letting him bleed into the straw and dirt, he took his place once more atop his victim.

"I ain't got nowhere else ta be!" he snarled. "'N I c'n keep ya alive fer hours!"

"Ea... Eagle... Bend," the man sobbed in agony. "Went back... Eagle... Bend!" His attacker shifted his weight atop him and he screamed, expecting another strike of that knife. For long, horrible moments he cowered there, certain he would die.

Only when the vague realization that he was not dead sunk in did he open one eye and turn his head, badly startled to realize he was alone.

The blue-eyed Comanche was gone.

---

Buck saw Vin slip back into the cantina and nodded him over to the bar, where he sat keeping watch over Chris. The gunman was seated alone at a table nearby, hat hanging down his back, a fresh bottle of whiskey and an untouched plate of food before him. As Tanner joined him at the bar, Buck couldn't help noticing how the younger man's gaze drifted to Chris and rested there, their depths flooding with a sorrow the likes of which he'd never seen.

No, that was wrong. He had seen it, once before. When Chris had beheld the bodies of his wife and son...

Feeling as if he were intruding upon something too intimate to be shared, Buck looked away, giving the tracker time to collect himself. Moments later, Vin turned toward the bar and laid his hands atop it, bowing his head and closing his eyes.

Buck gave him still more time, and found himself staring at Tanner's hands. In contrast to the rest of him, which was still covered in dirt from the trail, they were immaculately clean, even under and around his fingernails, as if they'd been vigorously scrubbed.

Now, why in the hell would Tanner take the time to scrub his hands?

"He say anything?" Vin asked at last, raising his head. He looked and sounded bone-weary.

"No," Buck sighed, hurting deeply for his old friend. "Just been sittin' there, starin' out that dam window, lookin' at God knows what."

"God knows," Vin echoed. "But so do you."

Buck winced and bowed his head, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Yeah," he breathed, "I reckon I do, at that."

Vin looked at the big man then, saw the heavy slump of the broad shoulders, the bow in the strong back, the worry and weariness and age that had nothing to do with years in his face, and felt a sharp twinge of sympathy. Buck had been so wrapped up in not letting Chris get lost in his pain that he'd ignored his own. And some things, he knew, couldn't -- shouldn't -- be ignored.

"Gotta be a terrible thing," he said softly, "losin' a boy like Adam. Losin' a friend like Sarah."

Vin's words didn't register at first. "Yeah," Buck murmured. "Chris loved..." Then he realized what he'd heard, and frowned in confusion. A friend... "What?" he gasped, turning startled eyes upon the tracker.

Vin held that gaze, his own dark and deep. "She was yer friend, too," he rasped. "Chris ain't the only one who lost 'em. Mebbe yer loss ain't the same as his, but that don't mean it don't hurt. He's half-crazy with grief, but at least he's grievin'. You been so busy takin' care of him, though, that I don't reckon you've had much chance ta do that yet. Havin' all this come back this way... Well, I reckon it's gotta hurt you, too." He shrugged and abruptly looked down at his hands, suddenly realizing how much he'd said, and not at all certain he'd said any of it right. "Guess I jist wanta be sure you're all right," he finished softly.

Buck stared at him for long moments, surprised not just by the length of the speech, but by the words themselves. Tanner wasn't a talker, they all knew that; the man seemed to regard words as a trap waiting to snare him. But when he did speak, it often revealed some unexpected insight, and this time was no different. He would've thought that Vin would be focused only on Chris, so intent on him that he wouldn't notice, much less worry about, anyone else. He realized he'd badly underestimated the young man. Again.

"I don't know," he answered at last, his voice soft and sad. "You're right, I loved 'em like they were mine. Hell, I guess in a way they were. And ta come back and find 'em like we did..." He flinched, the pain again flooding his soul, and he looked away and closed his eyes tightly, recalling a sight he'd prayed for three years to forget. "There's no describin' it," he whispered shakily. "I was there when that boy was born. I sure as hell never thought I'd be there ta see him buried!"

Vin simply sat in silence. Even if he had been good with words, he knew he wouldn't have any for this.

And Buck appreciated that. He was a talker, he knew that; had been one all his life. But Tanner was a listener, a true listener, and there were damn few of them in this world.

"I did grieve, though," he went on. "Grieved long and hard." He turned back to Vin and gave a strained smile. "Maybe you ain't noticed, but I ain't one fer keepin' what I feel inside."

"Cain't say I've noticed," Vin quipped. "Always took ya fer the silent type, m'self."

Buck chuckled and shook his head. "Damn, son, no wonder Chris always looks like he's about ready ta shoot ya! But... thanks. Been a while since I laughed." He sighed heavily, and his smile faded. "All this... it's just brought it back. It's like I'm seein' 'em all over again... I want this bastard, Vin," he said, voice and eyes suddenly turning hard and cold. "I don't care if we have ta turn over every rock in Purgatory--"

"Ain't here," Vin interrupted quietly. "He's gone back ta Eagle Bend."

Buck stared intently at him, studying his placid face and unrevealing eyes. "And how do you know that?"

Vin shrugged lightly. "Met up with a feller who told me, 'bout half an hour ago."

Buck narrowed his eyes slightly, frowning thoughtfully. "Half an hour ago?" he asked softly. "You waited half an hour ta tell us?"

Vin shrugged again, then dropped his gaze to the bar, still not certain just how much of himself he dared reveal to these men. It had been so long since he'd belonged anywhere, and he was coming gradually to the realization that his love for Chris wasn't all that kept him with these men. He didn't want to lose what he was only now beginning to admit he'd found.

"Had ta clean up a bit first," he said at last, his voice even softer than usual.

Buck caught a flicker of something dark, something predatory, in the tracker's eyes just before they lowered, and felt a chill ripple through him. He glanced down at the tracker's hands, saw again how scrupulously clean they were...

And decided he didn't want to know any more.

---

Less than an hour later, they thundered out of Purgatory, headed back to Eagle Bend. And, as if he'd been formally invited to join their company, Jock Steele followed on his trusty mule. He'd gotten enough stories for ten books from the outlaws in the cantina and knew he could get even more if he stayed, but there was something about this odd mix of seven men that called to him, that compelled him to stick with them and find out exactly what held them together. That, he knew, would be his greatest story.

By the time they reached Eagle Bend, the sun was setting and no one wanted to ride another mile; even JD was dragging. He and Josiah took the horses to the livery to tend them, Nathan escorted Blackfox back to jail, and Ezra went to the hotel to secure rooms for them all.

Chris, Vin and Buck went to the saloon.

"I just don't understand it," Chris said, the first words he'd spoken since leaving Purgatory. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and slid the bottle to Buck, who poured shots for himself and Vin. "Why would a man I don't know, a man I've never even heard of, kill my family?"

Vin slouched deeply in his chair, trying to find some position that would ease the ache gnawing into the tired, strained muscles of his back. He'd ridden too many miles with too little rest, but he doubted that would change anytime soon.

"Y' ever have any run-ins with anybody?" he asked, trying not to wince as he reached for his whiskey.

Chris shook his head slowly, forehead creased in thought, his green eyes narrowed. "No. Hell, I didn't have time! Took every minute of every day just ta build the house, run the ranch, buy and sell the stock..." He shook his head slowly, still deeply confused. "Hell, it wasn't big enough to attract anybody's attention."

"Attracted somebody's," Vin said softly, not liking at all the suspicion forming in his mind. He didn't know Fowler, but he'd known men like him. Professionals, men who sold their skills for hire. They had no connections to their victims, no ties, and knew only as much as they needed to ensure a job done well.

A job. That's what Chris's family had been.

Larabee bowed his head and scrubbed his face with both hands, then slid one around to his neck and rubbed at the tight, aching muscles there. God, he was tired! More tired than he'd been since...

"Whyn'ta ya find yer room, git some rest?" Vin suggested worriedly, his heart torn by his lover's obvious frustration. "We ain't gonna find out nothin' today. We're all too tired; ain't none of us thinkin' straight. Need ta eat, sleep, git a fresh start on it in the mornin'."

"By doin' what?" Chris asked flatly, too exhausted even to feel the familiar pain that had taken up residence in his soul. "How're we gonna track down a ghost?"

"He ain't a ghost," Buck put in quietly, firmly. "Ghosts don't get their photographs took. Ghosts don't carve up bartenders and leave 'em hangin' in closets, don't hire gunmen for an ambush. He's as real as we are, he's alive, and, if that man Vin found was tellin' the truth, he's here."

"He was tellin' the truth," Vin assured them coldly. "Didn't have no other choice."

Chris lifted his head and stared at his lover, studying that suddenly hard-set face. He realized there were many things about the younger man he still didn't know, and wondered at that moment if he really wanted to know all of them.

Vin refused to flinch before that scrutiny, though he recognized the sudden uncertainty behind it. He'd realized long ago that what he considered proper and what others considered civilized weren't always the same. He wasn't ashamed of what he'd done, knew he would've done far worse had it been needed, but wondered if a man with Larabee's background could understand that.

At the moment, though, Chris was too tired to wrangle with the question or morality and means to an end. "All right," he sighed, "he ain't a ghost. So what do we do?"

Vin shrugged. "We go lookin' fer him. He keeps comin' back here. Somebody's gotta know him. We jist keep askin' 'til we find that somebody."

"I tried that three years ago," Chris said harshly. "Didn't work."

Vin settled back in his chair and folded his hands lightly over his stomach. "Three years ago ya didn't have a name 'r a face," he pointed out. "Now ya do. 'N ya got six men helpin' ya. We split up, we c'n cover a lotta territory, ask a lotta questions." He shrugged again, his blue eyes steady. "Ain't sayin' we'll find anything," he cautioned. "But I reckon by the time we leave, we'll know what the underside of ever' rock around here looks like."

"All right," Chris sighed. "Tomorrow." He rose slowly to his feet, suddenly feeling every kink in every muscle he had. "Gonna find my room."

"Plan on eatin' anything?" Vin asked.

Chris scowled at him. "You takin' Nathan's role now?"

Unperturbed by either the growl or the glare, Vin arched a brow. "Nathan's right more'n he's wrong. 'N I ain't seen you eat anything since we joined ya. So I'll ask ya again -- you plan on eatin' anything?"

"No," Chris said flatly, not at all certain he could eat. "And anybody who brings me anything will likely end up wearin' it." He stared meaningfully at Tanner, then turned and stalked out of the saloon.

"That went well," Buck breathed, pouring himself another drink. He heard Vin sigh, saw him bow and shake his head, and felt a pang of sympathy for him. Tanner looked as worn to the bone as any of the rest of them, but Buck doubted the tracker would rest until he was certain Chris was doing the same. "So, what're you gonna do?"

"First off," he held his empty glass out to Buck, "I'm gonna have me another drink. Then," his gaze went to the door through which Larabee had disappeared, "I reckon I'll find someplace that serves a decent meal, fill this empty hole in my gut, then take a plate to the hotel and find out jist how good I am at force-feedin' grizzlies."

Buck refilled Vin's glass, then raised his own in a toast to the younger man and smiled at him. "Well, pard, it's been nice knowin' ya. I'll put in a good word at yer funeral." And he tossed his whiskey back in a single swallow.

Vin emptied his glass more slowly, shifting in his chair as he drank. But, hell, at least if Larabee killed him, his back wouldn't hurt no more!

---

Chris reclined against the pillows he'd stacked behind him and puffed slowly at a freshly-lit cheroot, staring into the distance at nothing. A shock of uncombed blond hair tumbled down his forehead and into his eyes, a day's growth of beard and a day's layer of dust darkened his sculpted jaws and chin, and his dirty black shirt was unbuttoned and hung open to reveal the pale length of his powerful chest. A bottle of whiskey he'd dug out of his saddlebags sat on the bedside table, and he'd already made good progress at depleting its contents.

This was the only supper he wanted.

He knew he'd been wrong to snap at Vin like he'd done, but, at the moment, he couldn't summon the energy to care. How the hell could Tanner expect him to care about food when Fowler was out there, somewhere, keeping one step ahead of him, mocking him?

Wasn't that what the bastard's presence in that photograph had been? A deliberate taunt? He knew Larabee was after him, yet he'd stopped running long enough to challenge him. To laugh at him. And then had vanished again, like smoke on the horizon.

And, goddamn it, Chris was tired of seeing everything he wanted in life turning to smoke.

He reached again for the bottle and drank from it, not bothering with a glass. Didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Wouldn't matter until he'd found and killed Fowler.

He wondered if the others knew that was his intention. He wasn't chasing the man to bring him back for trial, to justice. The bastard would meet his justice at the end of Larabee's gun, as soon as he'd explained who he was, and why in the hell he'd killed Sarah and Adam.

Then maybe he could rest. Could eat again, without tasting ashes and smoke...

The knocking on his door was quiet, but unmistakable, two measured raps of a knuckle that carried insistence in their softness. Larabee closed his eyes and swore, knowing only one man who could knock like that.

Tanner.

He thought of saying nothing, of simply ignoring the intrusion and hoping it would go away. But he knew it wouldn't. With all the patience of a wolf on the prowl and all the stubbornness of a Missouri mule, Tanner was fully capable of standing in the hall all night and knocking on the door until his knuckles bled. And would still be there in the morning when Larabee opened the door to resume the hunt.

Goddamn no-good, long-haired, hard-headed, sorry-assed, meddling son of a bitch...

Still cursing the tracker, Larabee rolled from the bed and rose unsteadily to his feet, crossing to the door and yanking it open. "What the hell do you want?" he snarled.

Standing hip-shot in the doorway, holding a napkin-covered plate in one hand and tucking the thumb of his other into his gunbelt, Vin stared coolly at the older man and arched a brow. "Nice ta see yer mood's improved," he drawled.

Chris glared at the tracker, his eyes burning, his jaw clenching. "So leave."

Vin sighed and shook his head slightly, then just slipped past Larabee and into the room, too tired to stand out in the hallway and exchange barbs with him. He'd come to make sure the man was all right, and he intended to do just that.

If that meant they were gonna tangle, then so be it.

Chris watched in angry disbelief as Vin glided into the room and stood just beyond his reach. "Y'know, Tanner," he gritted, infuriated by the Texan's arrogance, "it's usually considered polite ta wait for an invitation."

Again, that cool blue stare met the fiery green one. "Ain't ever said I's polite," Vin countered. He titled his head slightly to one side. "You gonna close that door, or you want ever'body on this floor ta see us fight?"

Chris closed the door without thinking, frowning at the other man. "You come here ta fight?" He was suddenly uncertain, suddenly off balance. He'd expected, had wanted, Vin to back off in the face of his anger, to leave in disgust and abandon him to his brooding.

Hell, he should've known better.

Vin shrugged one shoulder. "Knew it might be a possibility. You c'n be a mean sonuvabitch when ya try, and, Lord knows, yer givin' it yer best shot now. But that ain't why I came."

"Then why did you come?"

Vin did not answer. Instead, he looked around the room, saw the whiskey bottle and flicked a wry gaze back to Larabee, then walked over and set the plate on the dresser. Still without a word, he turned his back to Chris and removed the napkin from the plate, folding it carefully and setting it aside.

Larabee watched him for long moments, frustrated by the tracker's unfailing calm, irritated by his deliberate, unhurried movements. He scowled deeply, bitterly, and clenched his hands at his sides, wanting to rush forward and grab the man, spin him around and... and...

Vin watched him in the mirror without seeming to, noted the heat in the green eyes, the tension of the hard, lean frame, the tight clench of his jaw and fists. Still not rushing, he reached into his pocket and drew out another napkin, unrolled it carefully and pulled out a complete set of tableware. Knife. Fork. Spoon. He set each piece on the napkin he'd laid by the plate.

Chris watched those long, nimble fingers at work and swallowed hard, feeling a sudden quickening in his belly. He licked his lips and went over it again in his mind. Rush forward, grab the man, spin him around...

Vin's eyes met his in the mirror then, eyes bluer than blue, deeper than any mountain lake, wider than the sky, young and old and completely ageless, with all the sorrow and all the wisdom of the world showing in them. Eyes so unguarded, so naked, they were almost painful to behold, eyes that even reflected in a glass could strip away every cold, hard layer Larabee had built around his heart and shake him to the foundations of his soul. Eyes that knew him...

And that loved him without reservation.

"Oh, Jesus, what am I doin'?" he whispered strickenly, staring helplessly into those eyes.

Vin turned around slowly and shook his head sadly. "I don't know," he rasped softly. "But I ain't gonna let ya git away with it, so ya might as well stop it now."

Chris took an unsteady step forward, then staggered to the bed and collapsed upon it as his knees gave out beneath him. With a harsh, wrenching sob, he leaned forward and buried his face in badly shaking hands. His anger deserted him in a rush, leaving only confusion and pain in its wake.

Vin exhaled deeply, relieved that Chris had finally dropped his hard shell, but not liking this aching desolation any better. Praying he could help his lover through it, he went to the bed and settled himself close at Larabee's side, then reached out and drew the older man into his arms, cradling him to him with a loving tenderness.

"Ssh," he whispered, pulling Chris's head down to his shoulder and gently stroking his blond hair, "it's all right. I'm here now, 'n we'll figger out a way through this t'gether."

Chris shuddered and gasped, clutching at his lover and clinging tightly, desperately to him, his whole body shaking uncontrollably. Violent storms raged within him and battered at his tired and fragile soul, yet here, in Vin's arms, he knew he was safe.

For the first time since this whole ordeal had begun, he allowed himself to weep.

Vin tightened his arms about him, rocked him gently, but said nothing, knowing there was nothing he could say. He and Chris had never needed words between them before, they certainly didn't need them now. What words could possibly express his love, his sorrow, or Chris's pain?

Larabee had no idea how long he cried, knew only that, once the dam holding in his anguish burst, there was no restraining the flood. He couldn't have stopped himself if he'd wanted to, never even tried. He simply let all the pain, all the grief, all the sorrow rise, let it sweep through him in waves and crash upon the rock that was Vin Tanner.

And, like a rock, Vin withstood that onslaught, never once wavered beneath it, never once tried to turn from it. He faced the full, crushing weight of Chris's torment and let it roll over him, found the strength to do so in the knowledge that, just now, his was the only strength Chris had.

And he'd be damned if he'd fail the man he loved more than his own life.

At last, at long last, spent, shaken and exhausted, Chris pulled himself out of Vin's arms and lay down upon the bed, turning onto his side and closing his eyes. But his hand reached for Tanner, and was immediately taken in a warm, strong grip. He sighed as long fingers laced themselves through his.

"Shoulda known you'd come," he murmured roughly.

"Reckon so."

A few more moments passed, then he felt Vin's hand slip from his and frowned. But the frown disappeared as he opened his eyes to see Vin removing his hat, jacket, gunbelt and boots. A slight, strained smile crept across his face.

"Makin' yerself right at home, ain'tcha?"

Vin set the garments he'd removed aside, hung his gunbelt over the bedpost, then padded to the door and locked it. He returned to the bed, crawled onto it and stretched out at Larabee's side, turning his head and gazing into tear-washed green eyes.

"Yer the only home I got," he said simply. "Thought ya knew that by now."

Tears again stung Chris's eyes and he rolled over, laying his head on Tanner's chest and pressing his face into the strong and steady throb of his lover's heart. "God, Vin, help me!" he pleaded brokenly.

Tanner wound his arms about Larabee and held tightly to him, his own eyes filling. "I'm tryin', cowboy," he whispered, tears sliding unheeded down his cheeks. "Ain't ever gonna stop tryin'. Jist hold onta me fer all yer worth, 'n I'll get us through this somehow."

The love in that embrace and the determination in that voice gradually restored Chris's calm, infused him with a strength and peace he'd begun to fear he would never know again. Once again, with no more than a touch, Vin was gathering all the broken fragments of heart, his soul, and putting them back together.

"I'm sorry for earlier," he breathed, "for tryin' ta push you away. Don't know what made me think I wanted ta be alone." He grimaced. "Guess I was just bein' an ass."

"Yep."

Chris raised his head and scowled down at the tracker. "You don't have ta agree with everything I say, Tanner."

Vin blinked and shrugged, blue eyes wide and innocent. "Don't agree with ever'thing. Jist when yer right."

He wanted to be irritated, but chuckled instead. "Y'know," he growled, cupping a hand to Tanner's whiskered cheek and gently stroking with a thumb, "one'a these days, I really am gonna shoot ya." His eyes shimmered with warmth as he gazed down at the younger man. "But not today." He bowed his head and pressed his lips to Vin's a slow, tender kiss not of passion, but of love. "Thank you."

"Yer welcome," Vin whispered breathlessly, stirred to his soul, as always, by the wealth and depth of emotions this man awakened in him. Once or twice before in his life, he'd thought he'd been in love. But not until Chris Larabee had he truly known what that word meant.

"You gonna stay the night?" Chris asked, still stroking that incredibly beautiful jawline.

"Want me to?"

"Would I ask if I didn't?"

Vin laughed softly. "Now who's the sweet-talker? Yer like ta charm the pants right off me."

Chris arched a brow and leered wolfishly. "Now, there's a thought!" He slid his hand to Tanner's shirt and began unbuttoning it, then sighed and shook his head as he caught a glimpse of the shirt beneath it. "There some reason you like ta wear all yer clothes at once?"

He winked and grinned. "Jist like ta see how serious ya are 'bout undressin' me."

"Yer an awful lotta trouble, Tanner."

"Yeah," he breathed, twining his arms about Larabee's neck and pulling him down for a deep, hungry kiss, "but I been told I'm worth it."

---

They were awake the next morning before their friends and went down to the hotel dining room for a real breakfast, the first either had eaten in days. Chris looked steadier than he had since this had started, and Vin's eyes were no longer darkened by shadows of worry. Both were relaxed and smiled at each other over steaming mugs of coffee. They'd not done much more than kiss and caress and simply hold each other last night, but it had been enough. It had been more than enough.

Both were whole again.

The other five drifted down over the next half hour and found the two already mapping out the next phase of the hunt. They'd split up into groups of two or three and canvass the territory, asking every rancher, every farmer, every drifter they encountered, about the mysterious Cletus Fowler. Vin wanted desperately to ride with Chris, but Larabee had insisted it would be more efficient if they split up.

Chris could be counted on to miss nothing, and he wanted to make certain Tanner's hawk-sharp eyes, keen instincts and hunter's mind were at work where he himself couldn't be. Ezra, with his gambler's knack for catching even the smallest, most insignificant detail, would lead yet a third group.

So, after a good, sustaining breakfast they departed, seven men determined to track down and bring in their nemesis, determined to put Chris's ghosts to rest.

And one man determined to chronicle the hunt.

Chris asked Buck to ride with him, gripped by the need to set things right between them. He knew his old friend still struggled under his burden of guilt, knew he himself was responsible for part of that burden, and decided it was high time Wilmington was set free. Sarah wouldn't want this for either of them.

"When I said before that you didn't keep me away," he began without preamble as they rode out of town, "I meant it. I was where I wanted to be. Wouldn't've been there otherwise." He swept green eyes over the countryside, reaching inside himself for the words he wanted and the strength he needed, then turned to his old friend and fixed those clear, steady eyes on him. "None of this is your fault, Buck, and I don't hold you responsible. Maybe I did once, but..." He winced as a twinge of shame bit through him, and knew he had to say this. "I was wrong. And I'm sorry."

For once in his life, Buck Wilmington was without words, was without even the ability to speak. His mind reeled and his heart lifted, and his big body shuddered as a crushing, unbearable weight dropped away from his soul. Tears filled his eyes and he let them fall, making no attempt to conceal or wipe them away.

God...

Chris had to go on. The pain of it was like a hot knife scoring him, but he had to do it. Too many things had been left unsaid for too long. "I know... you lost 'em, too," he said in a rough, unsteady voice, his throat painfully tight. "And I know you'd give anything... if we could change what happened. But we can't. What's done is done, and can't be undone. All we can do... is make our peace with it... and go on."

"Sounds good ta me, pard," Buck whispered, unable to manage more. He knew true healing for both of them would be a long time coming, but at last, at long last, it had begun.

---

Two days, and nothing. Some of the local ranchers recognized Fowler's description, but no one would admit to knowing him, or even to having seen him. Tired, frustrated, hungry and saddle-sore, they drifted back to town and convened in front of the livery, trading what few, insignificant scraps of information they'd collected and realizing yet again just how little they knew. It was as if they were chasing a man who didn't exist. Except that Chris knew he did.

"I need a drink," he said tersely, striding away from his men and toward the saloon, feeling an odd, instinctive itch between his tight shoulders.

"Ah, you know, this is for the birds," Steele groused in disgust. He'd gotten as involved in the search as any of the others, had begun to think of their quest as his own, and couldn't bear the thought of it ending like this. "We have to do something," he insisted, looking around at his tired, dirty companions. "Come on, everything's gonna grind to a halt if Larabee starts wallowing around inside of a bottle!"

Angered by the little man's words, and by the contempt he heard in the grating voice, Josiah loomed before Steele and planted big hands on his hips, fixing a cold, hard gaze upon the writer. "I'm gonna assume your concern is for a man who lost his family," he said in a deep, warning voice.

Steele immediately realized his misstep. "Uh, yes," he murmured, eyeing the big preacher fearfully. "Of course."

Vin let Josiah handle Steele, wishing he'd find some way to get rid of him. The man had renewed his attempts to get close to him, fascinated by the notion of a bounty hunter-turned-bounty. He'd put together Tanner's whole name, had gotten part of his story back in Purgatory, and wanted to hear the rest of it, easily able to envision the books he'd sell, and the money he'd make.

Except that Vin didn't care to have his story spread all over creation and lining the little man's pockets.

He took Blackfox back to the jail, spoke briefly with the sheriff, and headed for the saloon. He wanted desperately to soak his tired, aching body in a tub of hot water, but knew he had to see how Larabee was holding up first.

Then they'd have to draw up a new plan...

He entered the saloon and saw Chris at once, seated at a table with a bottle and glass before him, his dirty, unshaven face deeply creased by lines of exhaustion, frustration... and concentration. He was almost startled to realize that Larabee wasn't drunk, that the bottle had hardly even been touched, then swore silently at himself. Hell, of course Chris wouldn't be drunk. Not with Fowler still running loose.

He stopped before the table and shoved his thumbs into his gunbelt, shifting all his weight to one hip to ease the ache that had taken up permanent residence in his back. "We're ready ta keep lookin'," he drawled. "Sheriff 'n some of the local boys've agreed ta help."

Larabee raised his eyes to his lover and studied him intently, needing those hunter's instincts more than ever. "Where do you think he is, Vin?" he asked softly, thoughtfully.

Tanner shook his head slightly. "I don't know." Unable to bear standing any longer, he pulled out a chair and eased himself into it with a long, involuntary groan. "After that brush in Purgatory," he went on, slouching as deeply as his back would allow, "he knows there are seven men gonna hunt him down. Hell, he's probably long gone."

Chris sat with his elbows on the arms of his chair and his hands cupped together. "My gut tells me different." He fixed narrowed eyes on Tanner, knowing he better than anyone would understand what he was about to say. "Back when I was ranchin', I had some trouble with a mountain lion. Kept comin' down at night and killin' my stock. So I went after him. Tracked him for seven days up in the mountains." He regarded Tanner evenly. "Fifth day out, I woke up, my pack horse was dead. Cougar had gotten him durin' the night. See, I was trackin' that cat. All the while he was behind me... Watchin' me." He nodded slowly as Tanner suddenly turned and glanced over his shoulder, as if he could feel it, too. "That's how I feel about Fowler."

"Fine line 'tween hunter and hunted," Vin murmured with the certainty of one who knew that line well, and had crossed it. He nodded firmly and started to rise. "All the more reason for us ta go get him first--"

"Wait," Chris called, smiling slightly. He poured a drink and pushed the glass toward the tracker, green eyes catching and holding blue. "Have a drink."

Vin frowned and narrowed his eyes, studying Chris carefully from beneath the broad brim of his hat. He knew that look, knew that tone, knew that smile.

Larabee had a plan.

---

They mounted their horses with as much stir and ruckus as they could create, wanting to draw as much attention to themselves as possible. Even Vin, who seldom raised his voice, forced himself to shout.

"Okay, we'll meet back up here in three days."

"I can't believe Larabee's not coming," griped Steele, who had not been privy to the plan.

Vin shot the little man an exasperated glare, then raised his voice again. "Let's head out."

Steele urged his mule after the tracker, and, as JD touched his spurs to Milagro, he called over his shoulder, "Sure you don't wanta ride with us, Buck?"

The six split up and rode out in their appointed directions, accompanied by a few volunteers from town, while their leader, the man for whom they were doing this, sat in the saloon and got acquainted with the bottle.

Or so it seemed to the hard man watching from the shadows.

---

The sun sank below the horizon, and darkness fell over Eagle Bend. Normally, the Sandpiper Saloon would have been crowded and noisy at this hour, but the black-clad man had chased all the patrons, and finally even the bartender, out with his dangerous, volatile temper. Bottles littered the floor around him, and he reeked of all the whiskey he'd consumed.

The once-proud Chris Larabee was gone, replaced by a stinking drunk.

He leaned heavily against the bar now, barely able to stand on his own, and shot at whatever caught his eye. "Fowler!" he screamed between gunshots. "Where are you? Fowler!"

He shot wildly at the chandelier, and was satisfied to hear glass breaking as one of his bullets hit a fixture. He tried another shot, but heard the hammer click on an empty chamber. Pushing himself away from the bar, he staggered back toward the table, tossing aside his empty gun. But his legs were too unsteady beneath him, and he stumbled heavily, falling to the floor. As he lay there, the door opened with a squeak, then closed, and footsteps fell against the wooden planking of the floor.

"Get up, you drunk," Cletus Fowler ordered, nudging the fallen man with a foot. "You found me."

Chris stared up into the face of his nemesis, and felt waves of bitter hatred surge through him. "You killed my wife and son. Why?!" he demanded, finally able to ask the question that had haunted him for three years.

Fowler joined his three henchmen at the bar and turned contemptuous eyes upon the drunken Larabee. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he quipped coldly. "At least the money was right."

Chris levered himself clumsily to his feet and rushed Fowler, only to be caught and thrown back to the floor. "Who hired you?"

"Son, I'm a professional," Fowler said. "I guarantee the anonymity of my clients. What I can tell you is, I was hired to go after you. Your little family was just unlucky. I do apologize for killing them but," he smiled thinly, "I have to admit I enjoyed it."

Enraged, Chris lurched to his feet again and once more rushed Fowler, but was flung to the floor. The assassin watched him fall, and continued his taunting.

"I'd have enjoyed killing you, too. But you ran off."

"You ran off!" Chris shouted, his hatred of the man growing every second. The thought of Sarah and Adam having suffered at the hands of this cold, ruthless, vicious bastard was more than he could bear. "I've been lookin' for you for three years! You ran off!"

Fowler reached into his pocket and drew out a thin cheroot, putting it to his mouth. "However, it was good enough for my client. But now you're back and I'm back on the payroll."

"What about Blackfox?" Chris asked, needing to know whether the horse thief had been telling the truth about his part in all this.

"Blackfox?" Fowler struck a lucifer on the bar. "He's local talent. Hard to find good help these days. I had to eviscerate him in his cell." He lit his cheroot, and watched through flat, cold black eyes as Larabee dragged himself back to his table and pulled himself into the chair. "I see you've got a symbiotic relationship goin' with that bottle. Too bad." He shook out the match. "Makes a man sloppy. Could get him perforated."

Chris settled himself in his chair and stared at Fowler's three men, appraising them and their abilities. "You look like you brought an awful lotta men to kill one drunk," he pointed out with a humorless smile.

"Yeah. Well, I have no problem delegating authority," Fowler said, turning his back on Larabee. The man disappointed him. He'd hoped for a challenge, someone worthy of his talents. Instead, all he found was a drunk who couldn't even stand on his own. He'd let one of his men kill Larabee; the job was beneath him.

Chris put on his hat, and the green eyes staring out from beneath the brim were as clear as glass. "Hey, Cletus," he called, reaching under the table and pulling the gun he'd hidden there, "you sure do use big words for somebody so stupid."

Fowler turned as he heard a hammer being pulled back, drew his own gun by instinct and turned. As he did, he suddenly saw shadows rising on the floor above him, saw other guns come out of hiding, and knew he'd walked into a trap.

All he'd heard about Larabee hadn't been a lie, after all.

Thunder erupted throughout the saloon as guns began to fire, and bullets whipped and whined in all directions. Bodies darted here and there as cover was sought or broken, as men tried for better angles. Glass shattered and wood splintered, here and there a harsh cry sounded as flesh was hit, and still the desperate fighting wore on.

Fowler darted toward the door, and Chris looked up to see Wilmington drawing a bead on the escaping assassin. "Buck! Don't kill him!" he shouted. He rose and started after Fowler. "Cover me!"

He ran out of the saloon, and saw Fowler heading for the livery stable across the street. Taking off at a run, he leapt over a water trough and ran inside just as Fowler was pulling himself onto a big gray horse.

"Where you goin', boy?" he yelled, launching himself at the man and knocking him to the ground.

The two men fought with a wild fury, each knowing his life was at stake. But, for Chris, much more hung in the balance. Here, in the vile person of Cletus Fowler, was every explanation he'd ever sought, every answer he needed to put his past to rest. And he was determined not to lose it.

But Fowler was equally determined not to be taken. He grappled with Larabee, traded punches, and was knocked down. He came up with a pitchfork, and wielded it with deadly intent. He lunged at the gunman, missed and knocked a lamp off its hook instead, setting the hay in which it fell ablaze. Still the fight raged on. Fowler got an arm around Larabee's throat and squeezed, trying to choke him to death.

Chris was given strength by his rage, and managed to break the assassin's hold, then dealt him several more hard, punishing blows and knocked him to the ground. It was not enough. He wanted Fowler to resist, to fight, to give him an excuse to beat every answer he wanted out of him.

"Come on, Cletus! Get up!" he shouted, bending over the man and grabbing him. "Get up!" He dragged Fowler to his feet and out of the burning livery. Once outside, he threw him to the ground, taking a vicious, vengeful pleasure in the man's obvious pain. Fowler landed hard, and Chris stalked slowly toward him, like a black shadow of death.

Kneeling at Fowler's side, he grabbed the assassin's once-immaculate coat and hauled him up roughly. "Tell me who hired you!" he spat, shaking Fowler hard. "Tell me!" The man mumbled an answer, and Chris thrust him away and rose to his feet, waiting for the name he had prayed for three long years to hear.

Beaten and bleeding, Cletus Fowler drew himself to his feet and locked gazes with Chris Larabee, who stared back at him with all the wrath and pain of hell unleashed. "I will," he muttered. He turned to glance over his shoulder at the burning livery, then returned his gaze to Larabee. "It was, uh... Lemme think now, it was, uh..." He reached into his vest and pulled out his pocket watch, glanced at it, then fished in a pocket for a cheroot.

Chris watched him, hardly daring to breathe, his need to know who was behind the deaths of his wife and son warring with his almost uncontrollable desire to tear apart the man who had actually done the deed. Rage pounded through him in hard, hot torrents, turning his blood to fire, and every fiber of his being screamed for vengeance. He would kill Fowler, but only after the man had uttered the name of the man Larabee would kill next.

Fowler put the battered cheroot in his mouth and chewed on its end, still staring at Larabee. "His name was, uh..." Something dark and ugly flared in his eyes, and a faint sneer twisted his bleeding lips. "No, on second thought, go to hell." He turned and walked calmly into the burning stable.

"NOOOOoooo...!" The scream ripped from Chris in a wrenching cry of rage and horror as Fowler committed himself to a fiery death and took the name of his employer with him into oblivion. Unable to bear watching all his hopes consumed once more in flames, he launched himself forward, intent upon going after Fowler and dragging him back.

"Chris, no!"

Immediately, hands grabbed him, held him back, then held him down as he was pulled, pushed and wrestled to the ground. He fought the men restraining him with a strength and wildness born of his desperation, but there were too many of them, and, despite his best, most furious efforts, he was overpowered. His howls and curses gave way to wrenching sobs as the reality of his defeat crashed in upon him.

Once he stopped fighting, his friends released him and stepped back, not wanting to intrude any further upon his grief. All except Vin. The tracker continued kneeling in the dirt at Larabee's side, his head bowed to conceal the tears sliding down his own cheeks, and kept a firm hand on Chris' shaking shoulder, saying nothing, merely letting his lover know he was near.

Buck stood off to one side and stared in mute, shocked horror at the burning stable, his face streaked with tears. They'd never know. They'd never know who, they'd never know why. It had all been for nothing. None of it had made a damn bit of difference. It had all gone to ashes.

Again.

Seeing the look on his face, JD went immediately to him and, not knowing what else to do, unable to think of a single word to say, simply put an arm around him and held him as Buck had so often held him. And when he felt the big man's frame begin to shake from the sobs he could no longer hold back, JD slipped his other arm around him, then lowered him gently to his knees and cradled Buck to him while he cried.

Josiah, Nathan and Ezra exchanged long, worried glances, then Josiah went to Vin and Chris, and Nathan went to Buck and JD. From the corner of his eye, Standish saw a familiar figure hurrying toward the scene, and, with an uncharacteristically foul oath, turned on his heel and set himself on an intercept path.

"I cannot allow you to intrude upon their grief," he told Steele in a hard, cold tone. His gaze dropped to the pad in the man's hand, then snapped back up to his face. "And I will not allow you to make a spectacle of their suffering. This is not a matter for public consumption."

Steele looked around at the devastation before him, at the two grief-stricken men being comforted by their friends against the backdrop of the burning stable, and pocketed his pad without argument. He didn't understand it himself. He'd made a career capitalizing on blood, tears and violence, and had assumed that these men, and their desperate quest, would provide more of the same. Except that, somewhere, somehow, this story had become more than just the usual blood-and-thunder adventure. Something deeper.

And it would be that story he'd tell when he wrote about these men.

"I'll just go on back to my room then," he said quietly. "Do some packing. I think I've got all I need anyway." He nodded once to the gambler, then turned and left.

And Ezra watched, dumbfounded, as the little man walked away.

---

It was a somber and nearly silent group that mounted up outside the hotel the next morning, with seven faces showing plainly the signs of a sleepless night. The sheriff was there to see them off, torn between relief that men who drew such trouble would be going and sorrow that their search had come to such a bitter end. He wanted to offer his condolences to Larabee, but the gunfighter -- pale and utterly withdrawn -- was unapproachable. Instead, he turned to the long-haired man in buckskins, upon whom the mantle of leadership seemed to have fallen.

"I'm truly sorry it ended this way," he said softly, sadly. "I wish he could've found his answers."

Vin sighed and nodded. "Reckon we all do," he breathed. He gazed up at the sheriff at nodded. "But we're grateful fer yer help. 'N sorry 'bout the liv'ry."

The sheriff suddenly frowned, remembering having seen this man prowling through the wreckage early this morning. "You find what you were lookin' for in there?"

Vin's eyes hardened, and his stance stiffened. He'd wanted to make certain Fowler had really died in that fire, hadn't gotten out some other way to continue preying on others. And he'd vowed that, if Fowler had escaped, he'd hunt him to the ends of the earth.

But that wouldn't be necessary. He'd found the body, or what was left of it, had wrapped it in blankets and taken it outside town, where he'd carved the charred corpse to bits and scattered the pieces for the scavengers to eat. Fowler's spirit would never trouble anyone again.

"Yeah, I found it," he said softly.

The sheriff felt a chill ripple down his spine at the coldness in the young man's tone, at the light of savagery in those blue eyes. He suddenly realized he didn't want to know any more.

"You fellas have a safe journey," he bade, touching a finger to the brim of his hat and hurrying away, needing to put some distance between himself and the soft-spoken young man with the killer's eyes.

Vin turned and made his way to Peso, who stood waiting for him with uncharacteristic patience. But the big horse had been ridden hard over the past five days, even for him, and Tanner knew the gelding had to be about as played out as the rest of them. He stopped and swept a loving caress down the blazed nose, then slipped a molasses cookie he'd saved from supper into the waiting mouth.

"Jist git me home," he murmured, resting his forehead on Peso's and closing his eyes briefly, feeling every bit of his exhaustion settling upon him. "Then mebbe we both c'n rest."

He patted Peso's nose once more, then walked around and hauled his weary body into the saddle. Chris was at his left, looking so utterly lost that it broke his heart, and Buck was at Larabee's left, in no better shape. Vin leaned forward in the saddle and glanced across the two men to JD, who rode next to Buck, and got the boy's nod. With the other three behind them, Vin raised an arm in a habitual cavalry gesture and swept it forward.

"Let's ride," he said in a tired, throaty rasp, kneeing Peso forward.

---

They made it as far as the cut-off to what had been the Larabee ranch. There, Chris seemed to come to himself, and reined Pony to a stop. The others drew up around him, their worry obvious.

He swallowed hard and met those looks, grateful for what they represented. These men had ridden with him without being asked, without ever asking a question of their own, and with nothing in it for themselves. Buck alone had shared some personal stake in the hunt, yet, from the first, he'd been willing to push his grief aside for the sake of his old friend's, and shouldered whatever part of Chris's grief he feared Larabee couldn't handle. And Vin...

God, what would he have done without Vin?

"I wanta thank you boys for what you done," he said softly. "And I don't want any of ya thinkin' you coulda done more. It just... wasn't meant ta be."

"God holds all the answers we seek, brother," Josiah intoned quietly, his blue eyes sad. "And, in His own time, He reveals them." He shrugged his thick shoulders resignedly. "But it's hard for us to remember that God's time is not always our time."

Chris nodded, still struggling with that. "I want you all ta go on back ta town. There's..." He glanced over his shoulder at the cut-off and clenched his jaw hard. "Somethin' I gotta do," he finished in a ragged voice.

"Chris," Buck called softly, worriedly, "you--"

"It's all right, Buck," he said, turning a sad smile on his oldest friend. "I'll be along soon. I just... need some time here, first."

Buck studied him a moment, then nodded, still worried but not afraid. Chris was tired, was hurting, but he didn't have the bleak, desolate look about him he'd had three years ago. The grief was still here, but the demons had gone.

"All right," he said at last. "We'll tell Travis what happened. He'll wanta know about Blackfox, anyway." He gazed steadily at his old friend, his heart in his eyes. "You take care, and we'll see ya when you get back."

Chris nodded, then touched his spurs lightly to Pony's flanks and set him down the road where once a dream had been, and where now only ashes waited.

When Larabee had gone, Buck turned to Vin. "You take care of him, hear?" he said softly.

The tracker was startled by the words, and his face showed it. "What?"

Buck had to chuckle; the boy must be truly exhausted to look and sound just like JD. "You go after him, watch over him. He don't need ta be alone."

Vin licked his lips, uncertainty in his eyes. "Ain't my place," he whispered. "If he wants ta be with them--"

Buck fixed a compelling gaze upon the younger man. "I've known him a long time, Vin, and I know that what he wants and what he needs ain't always the same. Maybe he does need ta be with them right now, but he don't need ta be there alone. He's lookin' for a place with the dead, when he's already got one with the livin'. And he's gonna need somebody ta remind him of that." He grinned mischievously. "Since yer the one he's least likely ta shoot, I'm thinkin' that makes it yer job."

Vin scowled at the big man, but knew he was right. It was his job. And he'd pull Larabee kicking and screaming back to the world of the living if that was what it took.

"Jist remember," he rasped, blue eyes narrowed menacingly, "you better have some nice words at my funeral!"

---

Chris slid off Pony with a stiff, tired grace, then ground-hitched the horse and made his way slowly to the wooden fence. For the first time since he'd buried them, he let himself inside the fence and walked forward, then sank to his knees between the graves of his wife and son. He slipped his hat from his head with trembling fingers, dropped it to the ground and buried his face in his hands, giving in to deep, wrenching sobs. Some distance behind him, close enough to protect him but not so near as to intrude, Vin sat Peso with all the patience and stillness he had in him, and watched his lover grieve.

---

Chris had no idea how long he cried, knew only that it was long enough to pour out three years of hurt, to empty his heart and soul of every bit of pain, anger and bitterness that had festered in them since Sarah and Adam had died. He told them about Fowler, and from there told them everything about his life, holding nothing back. He knew much of it wasn't pretty, but he also knew he owed them nothing less than the truth.

He wasn't certain exactly when during his emotional outburst he'd become aware of Vin's presence, but, by the time his last tear fell, and though he never looked around, he knew the tracker was with him as surely as he knew his own name. Could feel it in the beating of his heart. Tanner's presence was little more than a whisper of calm amid the storm, but it was there, and Chris was thankful for it.

"You'd like him, Sarah," he heard himself saying. "He's a lot like you. Strong, patient, honest to his core." A fragile smile curved about his mouth, and a faint light kindled in his eyes. "But he don't take nothin' off me, just like you never would. He's a hard-headed, smart-mouthed, infuriatin' sonuvabitch when he tries, or even when he doesn't. Speaks his mind, even when I wish he wouldn't, and won't back down, even when I wish he would. But there's a quiet in him, like there was in you, a peace... I was tryin' ta learn that from you. Now," he sighed, "maybe I can learn it from him."

He leaned over and idly plucked a few weeds from the graves. "I shoulda come out here before now, I know, and I'm sorry I didn't. But... I just couldn't. It was too hard. Hurt too much. Made it all too real. I'd like ta say I'll come out more often now, but I've never lied ta you, and I won't start now. We'll just have ta see."

He heard a horse snort in the distance, and had to chuckle. "That's Peso. Sounds like he's losin' patience." His eyes softened. "Vin's waitin'. Watchin' over me. Like you used ta do. Like ya still are. I know you had some hand in sendin' him to me. You never could resist match-makin'. Couldn't believe two people would ever manage to get together without your help. Well, maybe this time you were right. I gotta admit, I'm grateful for it. You knew what you were doin'."

He reached out, pulled another weed, then sighed and shook his head. "God, I miss you! Miss you both so much... Sometimes it doesn't seem like three years that you've been gone. Other times, it feels like forever. But I have to keep goin'. And now I've got somebody who gives me a reason to. I'll love you 'til I die, Sarah. But I love him, too. And, with him, I can love while I'm alive."

He placed his hat back on his head and rose slowly to his feet. He stood for long moments, gazing down at the graves of his wife and son, seeing their faces in his mind, hearing their voices on the wind. Then, feeling stronger than he had in days, he turned and left those who waited for him in death to the one who awaited him in life.

Vin watched him approach, noted the firmness of his step, the straightness of his posture, and loosed a small sigh of relief. Then he saw the peace in the green eyes, and knew Chris was back where he belonged.

Larabee stopped at Peso's side and gazed up at his lover. "There's a place not far from here," he said. "A hill that overlooks the valley. You can almost see forever from there. Wanta see it?"

"Ya really want me to?"

"Would I ask if I didn't?"

Vin smiled and slipped easily into their familiar banter. "There ya go again, sweet-talkin' the pants right off me."

Chris stepped closer and set a hand on Tanner's thigh, green eyes alight with love. "I'll take whatever I can get," he said softly, seriously. "So long's I also get the man who's in 'em."

"Aw, hell, cowboy," Vin breathed, laying his hand over Larabee's, "y' already got me, don't you know that? You've had me from the first."

"Well, then," Chris squeezed Vin's hand, "let's go see exactly what I got."

---

They sat atop the hill in silence, listening to the wind stirring the leaves of the trees about them, feeling it ruffling through their hair, and staring out over the wide, green valley that stretched out below them. A sun-dappled stream meandered through the valley, while, in the distance, slate-gray mountains lifted their jagged heads toward the sky. It was as beautiful and as restful a sight as either could ever remember seeing.

"Gotta say, cowboy, ya got a real good eye fer land," Vin murmured, almost able to see the horses Chris would have raised dotting the landscape below. He was sitting between Larabee's legs, his back to the gunman's chest. "It's a breeder's paradise."

"Yeah," Chris breathed wistfully, even now feeling the pull of this place upon him. He'd fallen in love with this valley the first time he'd seen it. In the years since he'd ridden away, he'd forgotten how beautiful it was. "All these hills shelter it from hard weather. The grass down there stays green a good long time. Horses can stay there right up until the first snow-fall before bein' moved to winter pastures. And that stream's spring-fed, so it's always good, even when everything else's dried up." He fell silent a moment, then said, "I thought seriously about sellin' it after they died."

Vin turned around and stared at him, frowning. "Why?"

Chris shrugged and dropped his gaze to the ground. "Couldn't see no point in keepin' it. All my dreams for it had included them. And when they died..." He shrugged again. "My dreams died with 'em."

"So what kept ya from sellin'?"

Chris chuckled and returned his gaze to Vin, arching a blond brow. "Couldn't stand the thought of anybody else havin' it." Green eyes gleamed with warmth and wry humor. "Like I said before, I ain't ever been good at sharin'."

Vin scooted closer, then reached out and laced his fingers into Larabee's. "I like that in ya," he rasped, his blue eyes deep and dark. "I'm glad ya brought me here. Seein' what it means to ya... She liked ta come here, too, didn't she?"

Chris thought he should probably feel some unease at hearing his male lover speak about his dead wife, but he didn't. He thought he should probably feel embarrassed or ashamed for bringing Vin to a place that had been his and Sarah's, but he didn't. Couldn't.

Not when it felt so right.

"Yeah, she did," he answered at last, almost able to hear her voice whispering through the trees. "I offered ta build the house here, but she said no. Said she didn't wanta see it spoiled." He chuckled and shook his head. "She wouldn't even let me cut down any of these trees for the house. Had ta go way 'round ta the other side of the property, cut 'em down and haul 'em in from there. I musta cussed for a week straight..."

"But ya did it, 'cause she asked," Vin put in softly. "'Cause this meant somethin' to her." He tilted his head slightly to one side, then raised a hand and lightly stroked Larabee's cheek. "'At's why ya couldn't sell none'a this," he breathed knowingly. "Not 'cause ya couldn't stand nobody else havin' somethin' that was yers, but 'cause ya couldn't stand nobody else havin' somethin' that was hers. Couldn't stand the thought that mebbe somebody'd spoil what she loved. Mebbe cut down one'a them trees that whisper to ya in her voice."

Chris stiffened in shock at those words and stared at Tanner in stunned disbelief. "Now, how in the hell did you know that?" he whispered.

Vin smiled slightly. "Ain't so hard. I c'n see ya listenin', c'n see the look on yer face when ya hear it. She's still here. She's all around. This is her place."

Chris frowned slightly, studying the tracker carefully. "That bother ya?"

"No." He raised his face and closed his eyes, letting the sun shine on his face and the breeze tug at his hair. A small, contented smile curved about his mouth and he lowered his face once more, opening his eyes and gazing at his lover. "Don't bother her, either. She's jist glad yer here."

"Jesus, Vin," Chris breathed, slipping his arms about the younger man and pulling him close, burying his face in the sun-warmed wealth of his hair. "You say the damnedest things!" He nuzzled his face into Vin's hair, pressing kisses into it and giving silent thanks yet again for the incredible man in his arms.

"Got a way about ya yerself," Vin whispered, shivering as Chris's mouth found its way through his hair to the tender flesh behind one ear. "Lord, cowboy, don't stop!"

Chris had no intention of stopping. Not when this man who smelled of sunshine, wind and earth filled his senses and set his every nerve tingling. He swept his tongue along the edge of Vin's ear, then dipped it inside the delicate shell, tracing every curve and hollow and blowing gently.

"Lord!" Vin whispered sharply, shuddering as waves of pleasure shot through him. He clutched at Chris's shirt and tilted his head, giving the man greater access to him.

And Larabee took it greedily. Unable to resist its alluring length, he trailed his mouth over Tanner's neck, starting at the hollow beneath the tracker's ear and working his way slowly, slowly down to the throbbing pulse, licking, kissing, nibbling, using tongue, lips and teeth as instruments of worship. He felt Vin reeling and grabbed his shoulders, holding him tightly, refusing to let him fall.

As Vin had done so often for him.

Tanner knotted his fingers more tightly into Larabee's shirt, then began fumbling with the buttons, his hands clumsy in their haste. Fire burned at every point where Chris's mouth touched him, and his whole body throbbed with the ache of urgent need. He doubted he'd ever get used to the feelings Chris awakened in him, but knew he'd die if he ever lost them.

Chris raised his head, saw the sheer ecstasy written on Vin's unguarded face, and near wept with love for the man. "Let's do this right, pard," he breathed. "Get our blankets spread, our clothes off. I want this ta be more than just a quick roll in the dirt."

Vin groaned helplessly as Chris pulled away from him. "I don't know," he rasped, blue eyes almost black with desire. "That quick part sounds purty good right now. Y' got me hurtin' somethin' fierce."

Chris chuckled softly, then leaned forward and kissed him. "Don't worry, pard," he whispered against the tracker's wet, warm lips, "we're gonna take care of that. Now, c'mon, get up and outta them clothes. Been too long since I seen yer skinny ass."

"Ya got a real way with words, Larabee," Vin growled, rising to his feet.

Chris grinned and arched a brow. "Didn't think it was talkin' you wanted, Tanner." He dropped his gaze pointedly to the tracker's bulging crotch. "Not with that little problem ya got there."

Vin scowled deeply. "Who you callin' little'?" He dropped a hand to his crotch and slowly stroked himself, watching Larabee's eyes go wide and dark. "Ain't ever heard ya complain b'fore. 'Course," he shrugged and started to turn away, "if I ain't up ta yer standards--"

With a wordless snarl of desire, Chris reached out and grabbed the tracker, spinning him around and crushing him to him, bowing his head and burying his mouth in Tanner's. He clutched Vin to him, imprisoned him against him, and kissed him with an unbridled savagery, love and lust colliding within him and exploding into a fireball of hunger.

Vin moaned and shuddered and went weak in the knees, collapsing against Larabee and clutching at him as dizzying torrents of pleasure pounded through him. His mouth ached beneath Chris's onslaught, but he would not have stopped it for the world.

Lord God, he loved this man!

Chris seized Vin's lower lip sharply between his teeth, then sucked hungrily at it, drawing a hoarse, throaty groan from his lover. He scraped his teeth down Tanner's chin, nipping at moist, whiskered skin and tonguing every bite. The man's taste and scent were more intoxicating than any liquor, and Chris was growing drunk upon him.

This would be one helluva binge!

They tore themselves apart just long enough to spread their bedrolls and undress, yet, even then, could not keep their hands and mouths from seeking each other. Time and again they came together, indulging a long, deep, hungry kiss while trying to shrug out of a shirt or toe off a boot, or trying to pull down trousers with one hand while fondling a lover with the other. It made for slow and awkward but incredibly stimulating work, and, by the time both men were naked, they were fully aroused, bodies slick with sweat and chests heaving in the ragged rhythm of their hurried breathing.

Chris lowered himself to the blankets they'd spread together, pulling Vin down with him. Tanner went eagerly, covering Larabee's body with his own and feeling the gunman's long, hard legs clamping about his. Chris thrust his hands into Vin's hair and pulled his head down, reclaiming the wet, swollen lips with his in a hard and hungry kiss.

They writhed together and clawed at each other, bodies melding, limbs twining, mouths meeting and mating, until neither man knew any longer where he ended and the other began. Flesh rubbed against flesh and ignited sparks along nerves, nails scraped, fingers pinched, teeth marked, and howls of pain were interspersed with groans and growls of pleasure.

Vin buried his face in Chris's shoulder and thrust his hips in a furious, fevered rhythm, grinding his hard, hot cock into Larabee's and torturing them both. Chris writhed beneath him, against him, in a mounting frenzy, racked by pain and driven nearly insane with pleasure. Then Tanner's weight was gone, and a wrenching sob tore from the depths of his soul.

"Easy, cowboy," Vin whispered hoarsely, harshly, his trembling, sweat-bathed body darkly flushed with desire. "Jist gotta... git somethin' ta help us along." He pulled himself to his knees and retrieved the saddle oil he'd set nearby. "Didn't have time ta pack nothin' fancy," he breathed. "But I reckon this'll do."

"Goddamn it... I don't care... if it's fuckin' coal oil!" Larabee gritted, fighting the urge to take his aching, throbbing cock into his own hand and end his torment. "Just get your ass over here!"

"Patience, ol' man," Vin urged, pulling the top off the tin.

"I am patient," Chris spat. "I haven't shot you yet, have I?"

"Now, now," Vin breathed, settling himself once again over Larabee's body and nibbling at the gunman's mouth as he rubbed his cock against Chris's, "is that any way t' talk to the man who c'n end yer pain?"

"Oh, God!" Chris moaned helplessly as bolts of white heat shot through him.

"Ssh." He kissed Chris again, then rose to his knees and lifted Larabee's legs, getting himself beneath them. He scooped a generous amount of oil into his palm and tossed the tin aside, then coated his hand and his cock, sucking in a sharp, hissing breath as his fingers slid over his thick, throbbing flesh. "Gonna take care of us both," he whispered, sliding a finger over the crease between Larabee's heavy balls, then rimming the dark hole behind them with it. "Won't be long at all."

"Jesus!" Chris gasped, arching violently as that finger pushed into him and began to play. It pulled out slightly, massaged the tight muscle, then slid inside again and brushed against his gland. "Vin!"

"'S all right," Tanner rasped, holding one hand against his lover's hip to steady him and sliding in a second finger. Licking his lips and closing his eyes, near the edge himself, he stroked and scissored and stretched, then pressed a third finger inside.

Chris groaned harshly and thrust down against those fingers, desperately needing relief. His head thrashed from side to side and his breath escaped in heavy, tearing gusts through tightly clenched teeth.

Feeling at last the give in the muscle ring, Vin pulled his fingers free and guided his cock to that sweet, beckoning hole. Controlling himself with an effort, he pushed the tip inside, then stopped when he felt Chris tense from the intrusion.

"Breathe, pard," he urged, barely restraining the urge to thrust. "Jist breathe, and relax."

Chris did so, felt the pain subside, and felt his need for Vin take over. Reaching for his lover's hands, he laced his fingers into Tanner's and grunted a desperate, "Move!"

Vin did, and nearly wept as Chris's wet heat closed about him. A hoarse, shuddering cry escaped him and he pushed in further, needing this more than he needed air to breathe. He pulled out slowly, then slid in again, losing himself in his lover's body.

Chris was in agony, in ecstasy, consumed in the fires of Vin's making. He thrust desperately against Tanner's every long, sure stroke, seeking to drive the man deeper, needing more, always more, his hunger for the tracker insatiable.

Then they were moving together with a frantic urgency, thick grunts and harsh groans tearing from them as flesh slapped against flesh, their slick bodies joined in a perfect, primal rhythm. With a feral growl, Vin closed a hand about Chris's thick shaft and pumped with that same urgency, tearing a scream from the gunman. Harder, faster, deeper he drove into Chris, knowing his only salvation lay within this man.

Chris clutched at his blankets, at Vin, and writhed in a mindless agony, thrusting against the tracker's hard, hot flesh, into that furiously working hand, not knowing where the greater pleasure lay. Then Tanner's flesh hit against his gland, hit it again, and he screamed, arching off the blankets and shooting his juices in a pungent spray as he burst into orgasm.

Larabee's climax triggered his, and Vin came with a shattering force, throwing back his head and howling as he erupted into his lover. He shuddered heavily and thrust furiously into Chris, pouring into him all that he was and all that he possessed. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with his sweat, as he felt his lover's warmth pulsing about him, as, for long, precious moments, they were one.

Then, empty and shaking, he withdrew his softened flesh from Chris and sank into his lover's waiting arms, was wrapped immediately in a close, loving embrace and cradled to the long, beautiful body that was his torment and his delight. He closed his eyes, pressed his face into the strong throb of Chris's heart, and merely let himself breathe in this man.

As always, Chris treasured this time after their loving, this intimate, measureless span of moments when he and Vin lay together, as naked in soul as they were in body. During this time, as at no other, they were both completely vulnerable, stripped of all defenses, all barriers, left utterly and achingly open.

It was their gift to each other.

He tenderly kissed the top of Vin's head, smiling at the feel of silken strands of hair against his lips. "Thank you," he whispered.

Vin raised his head and smiled lazily into the warm and sated green eyes. "Hell, cowboy, weren't jist me," he drawled, his own eyes as heavy-lidded as a sleepy cat's. "Ya done purty good yer own self."

"No, I don't mean that," Chris said, reaching up to stroke his lover's hair. "I mean for... hell, for everything. For givin' me back my life. For makin' that life worth livin'." He gazed into blue eyes that went on forever, that drew his soul into a place where there was no pain, no fear, only sweet, blessed peace. "I loved Sarah, you know that. Loved her like I never thought I could love anybody. And Adam..." His voice broke, and tears pooled in his eyes. "When they died, I wanted ta die, too. Couldn't see any reason for livin' when everything I'd lived for was gone ta ashes."

He stopped, drew a deep breath to control his quavering voice, and looked again into those eyes that led him to his peace. "But I was wrong," he breathed, once more running his fingers through Vin's hair. "God, so wrong! I've still got a whole lifetime ahead of me, and I wanta live every moment of it with you."

Vin leaned over and tenderly kissed him. "Want that, too," he whispered. "Ain't ever wanted anything more." He sat up and crossed his legs, staring thoughtfully out over the valley below him. "Funny thing about ashes," he murmured thoughtfully. "Most folks look at 'em, 'n see only death. What used ta be but ain't no more. 'N I reckon that's one way of lookin' at it. Ashes means somethin's been burned away. Destroyed."

"But?" Chris prompted, sitting up and watching Vin, knowing how his lover thought.

Vin turned his gaze upon Larabee. "Y'know what happens in a forest after a fire? Rains come, pour down on all them ashes, and set somethin' in 'em loose. Somethin' that feeds the earth, heals it. Ya go back the next spring, brush away them ashes, and damned if ya don't see new life. Heaven's tears healin' nature's wounds. Through ashes." He saw the drops clinging to Larabee's lashes and leaned forward, tenderly kissing the gunman's eyes. "Let 'em fall, cowboy," he urged softly, taking Chris into his arms and holding him close. "New life cain't grow without the rain."

Cradled safely in his lover's arms, Chris once more gave in to his tears, let the knowledge of all he'd lost wash through him even as he clung to what he'd found. He wasn't through grieving, he knew that now, would not be through for a long time yet. A love as powerful as his for Sarah and Adam demanded an equally powerful grief.

But he wouldn't grieve alone, he knew that, too. Could feel it in the way Vin held him now, and in the way the tracker's tears fell upon him and mingled with his own.

Heaven's tears healin' nature's wounds.

And cleansing Chris Larabee's soul of the last traces of ashes and smoke.

THE END