Most people never see it coming.  The old and very sick perhaps, but the ones who step off the sidewalk into the path of an oncoming drover’s team or land a bullet to the heart only have a brief moment to even register their fate, let alone contemplate it.  Chris reflected that he would have the opportunity and more. 

As he lay propped against the mine shaft wall, essentially buried alive, he listened to the threads of dry soil and small rocks tick and trickle from above.  He pondered how he’d managed to guarantee no one would come looking for his sorry ass.  If he could explain it, he might attribute his recent behavior to loneliness.  How ironic it had bought him a solitary death.

With regret he replayed his last conversation with Mary.

“I think I owe you an apology, Mr. Larabee.  Sometimes the truth is best kept private when the telling injures the innocent.” She hadn’t called him Chris, and he was surprised that he cared.

“You including yourself in that group, Mrs. Travis?” he asked, careful to return her formality.  

Mary had stared him down with those clear blue eyes.  “Not in the least, Mr. Larabee.” And something in the way she had said that knocked another little hole in the armor around his heart.  “I wrote that newspaper story in a vain attempt to better our lot here. I’m just trying to maintain a decent environment to raise children.  I make no personal claims to innocence.” She paused, searching for words, and then said softly, “I admit to the occasional loss of reserve and though I abhor it, I’m quite capable of deceit.” 

Chris heard the mix of intimate words and stiff tone and read it for what it was: an admission of her feelings toward him, as well as a caution that they were constrained by social propriety.  She would bury whatever desires she had in order to protect her son.

Now as he lay confined under the rocks and timbers, forced to be alone with his thoughts Chris pictured what could have been.  In his room, Mary’s hair came unpinned and fell in a silken rain over his hands where they held her shoulders. Now that they were alone, she willingly allowed him to touch where he liked and she returned his kisses with a complete lack of artifice.  His mouth traveled down, the pulse at her neck a connection to the tension building in her lithe body. In a bit of wanton fun, she pushed him back firmly, though not in rejection. Her fingers were sure and her expression intent as she quickly unbuttoned his shirt. When she got to the lowest button, she moved to unbuckle his gun belt. Instead of letting it fall, she lifted it in her hands and ran her fingers over the silver conchos.  In slow motion, Chris watched Mary slide his gun from its holster and cock the weapon.

“Be careful with that,” he said, fascinated watching her fingers wrapped around the barrel and hooked through the trigger guard.

Mary read his thoughts as she said, “What are you like without the black armor of your clothes and the threat of your gun?” She lifted her eyes to his, delivering a message and carefully replaced the gun.  The heavy belt slid against her leg to rest on the carpet. One layer of safety gone.

Her hands made a sweet journey from his neck across his chest down his ribs.  So much more intimate than the businesslike disrobing at a brothel.  He ran his own hands over thin undergarments as he peeled away her shirtwaist and skirt and she boldly pulled off his trousers and shirt.  With each piece of clothing, a little bit of shelter dropped to the floor.  Finally, with a saucy blink of those soft lashes, Mary tucked her fingers into the waist of the lower half of his union suit, the only thing separating him and the natural world and stripped it away. In spite of her bravado, she appeared taken aback at the sight of his cock, hard and mean and he saw her swallow a trickle of fear.

“I’m not who you think I am,” he said hoarsely, in a last attempt at warning and he had ripped away the fabric of her chemise and kissed her roughly.  The heat from her skin drove him past all sense of restraint.  He crushed himself against her, compelling her to feel his vehement need.  In spite of the onslaught, she met his kisses and opened her arms and legs to whatever demands he cared to make.  He cupped her buttocks in his hands, lifting her hips to his and impaled her against the wall, his face buried against her neck, her hair up his nose, matting his face, in his mouth.  Her head and back collided with the flowered paper, the rest of her holding on to Chris for dear life.

“Oh,” she managed to breathe the words while her insides screamed in overload, straining to accommodate Chris’ insistent anatomy. “Oh Chris.  Don’t-“  her words were coming in a thread squeezed out between each powerful thrust of his hips,  “... Don’t stop...”

Vin, Josiah and Ezra were sitting around a table playing cards.  There was a solid thump and small crash of something knocked to the floor in Chris’ room upstairs. They all glanced upward at the loud creak of a floor joist and then burst out laughing. 

“Who’s he got up there?” Vin asked. 

Josiah took three cards from dealer Ezra and said, “Whoever it is, they seem to be sharing a spiritual experience.”  A tiny piece of the ceiling fell to the table.

“Indeed,” said Ezra.

Alone in the dark, hungry, thirsty and hurting from a half dozen injuries he received from the bandits and from the fall, Chris smiled to himself. His room was not really over the saloon.

Mary dismounted and walked her horse along the bank of the river.  She had to watch where she stepped as the path was mainly used by cattle leaving it churned and uneven as well as adorned with manure.  There was a pleasant grove of elms a half mile or so onto the property, though, and Mary allowed her horse to graze on the lush grass growing in the shade, hammering his picket pin into the ground with a rock before settling down against a tree, allowing the reins to drift out of her hand.   She had ridden out here to get away from the town and the questions people were asking about Chris.  He had been gone five days now and Vin, Nathan and J.D. had each asked her privately if she knew where he was.   Each had had some sort of run-in with him recently; it was plain to see in their faces.  Truth be told, she had had an unpleasant conversation with him herself, over the newspaper article about “working” women. 

She wished Chris would slow down a little and notice her. Or better yet, snatch her up from her painfully tedious life and envelop her with his smoldering physical presence.   At the moment, with him gone, though, all she could do was imagine he was here with her.  Mary closed her eyes and listened to the water running by and her horse cropping grass in his strong teeth.  She folded her hands together and pictured what it would be like to sit here with Chris stretched out beside her, his head in her lap.  She could almost feel the weight against her legs and his hair under her fingertips.

In her mind, Buck suddenly came crashing through the brush, closely followed by a laughing Nathan and J.D. on the way to water their horses.  The three of them fell silent, shocked at the sight of Chris and Mary in such an intimate situation.

Without moving or even shifting his gaze away from Mary’s beautiful blue eyes Chris said, “Don’t you folks have somewhere else to be right now?”

“We surely do,” said Buck quickly, tipping the brim of his hat apologetically to Mary. “Sorry.”

Chris listened to his friends’ rapid exit while he watched the embarrassment register on Mary’s face.  She stared at the ground, her lips rolled inward; he could see the moment was gone.  Hiding his irritation, Chris stood and offered her his hand.  They walked together to the stream and began to pick their way across to the waterfall.  Halfway across, in spite of Chris’ strong grip on her arm, Mary slipped and fell into the icy water, taking him with her.

They both gasped in shock and then began to laugh at their predicament.  No way could they ride back into town in their present state.  They were trapped. 

Chris scooped Mary out of the water and carried her the rest of the way across.  He pretended he needed to lay her all the way down into the soft grass before releasing her  and she pretended she needed to keep her arms tightly wrapped around his neck.  There was a tiny moment of appreciating how beautiful she looked with her wet hair fanned out in a golden spray before he gave in and kissed her.  His lips gently caressed hers, a soft touch even while she could feel the fire inside him, the fierce desires straining for release.  She kissed him back, letting him experience the passion rushing through every inch of her body, inside and out. It had been so long since she had held a man in her arms and the feel of his male presence, rough beard stubble and the earthy mix of tobacco, whiskey and leather made her want to want to scream at him to hurry, put his hands on her, feel the wetness between her legs and suck hard on the sensitive tips of her breasts.  She wanted it and he wanted it more.  He began to unbutton her shirtwaist, kissing all along the opening, inch by inch.  He tugged down the chemise and she moaned with pleasure when he filled his hands with her soft flesh.  She unbuttoned his shirt and tugged it down as far as his waist and wrists, but she could not remove it any farther. Soon his hands were burrowing under her skirt as well.  Mary gasped sharply as he found her most sensitive, private place and his fingers stroked across the sweet little nub until she found herself twisting and writhing against him. She saw herself unbuttoning his fly and hearing him groan with barely suppressed need for her as she freed his member.  She watched his face, the intensity of the pleasure he was feeling at her touch. But he drew her hands away and slowly entwined his fingers with hers.  Then he was on top of her, and sliding himself up inside her, imprisoning her hands above her head.  He felt so big and every stroke of his hips made her want to cry out with delight.

“Mary!”  Her father-in-law’s voice yanked her out of her reverie.  She was appalled at her wanton imaginings and quickly rose from her seat against the tree. 

“Yes!  I’m here.  What is it?”  The judge rode into the clearing.

“They’ve found Chris.  Thought you might want to find out the story.  Evidently there was a dust up with some bandits over a falsely accused man...  What are you doing out here all alone?” 

“Nothing.  I just needed to get away for a while.”  Mary quickly retrieved her mount and rode back to town.

A week later, after Chris had mostly healed up and the furor over his near murder had died down, Mary waited for the right moment.  “Mr. Larabee?”  He was retying a loosened trace and turned to look at her.

“Mrs. Travis.” 

“I—I meant ‘Chris,’ I was wondering if you might like to go on a picnic?”

“A picnic?”

“Yes, down by the river.  It’s a nice day and—“  She was heartened to see his expression change from closed to something akin to pleased.

“I’d enjoy that.  Thanks.”  He broke into a big smile and she found herself returning it. Chris headed to the livery for her horse and Mary went to fetch the meal she had already packed.  There wasn’t really a waterfall at the river, of course, or lush vegetation for that matter, but she smiled to herself anyway.