Memories of Eden by Susan Zell

Buck Wilmington dreaded this day.

Dreaded it ever since he and Chris Larabee had renewed their acquaintance in Four Corners almost five months distant now. It was this same exact day two years ago when they had separated company.

The painful memory of that falling out had faded though when Buck had seen Chris standing there on the boardwalk after his tumble out Blossom's window. Chris had approached Buck that day, not the other way around. He had known Buck was in town and had sought Buck's assistance in defending the Indian village. That alone had lifted Buck's spirits. Chris still needed Buck's help even after all that they had been through.

But now the events that had led up to their initial parting of the ways reared its head again as it did every year for Chris Larabee. Buck was almost afraid of what would happen this time.

The saloon in Four Corners had emptied of everyone except for Buck, Ezra and Vin. Night had descended on the little town and most citizens had now gone to bed, waiting for the rising of the sun only a few hours distant. Ezra Standish, continuing his silent mediation with his deck of cards, still lingered. He was usually the second from the last one to leave the establishment on normal days. He rarely went to bed before two in the morning, mainly because it wasn't good for business.

The only man to ever outlast him in the saloon was Chris Larabee, and it puzzled the gambler that Chris had retired early. Of course, the two bottles of rotgut Chris took with him upstairs only showed that the gunslinger was about to immerse himself in some serious drinking and he wanted to do it in private.

At the table to Ezra's left, Vin Tanner's long thin finger tapped out a steady staccato against the grain of the wooden table. It was the only part of his motionless body that revealed the strain that hung heavy in the air tonight. Something was going on but he didn't know exactly what, though he had his suspicions.

A day that should have been like any other suddenly wasn't, and for no reason that Vin could put a name to other than the fact that habits were broken and men lapsed into moods better suited for a funeral. Buck, a man who was usually settled into someone of the female persuasion's bed at this time of the night, now haunted the saloon like a morose ghost. Previously, he had followed the shadow of Chris Larabee around town, never close enough for conversation, but never more than twenty or so feet from wherever Chris wandered.

And wandered Chris had, aimlessly drifting about Four Corners like a black specter, his mood matching his clothes with deadly accuracy. He hadn't said a word all day and everyone gave him a wide berth, the seven included. Eventually, Chris just purchased his whiskey and disappeared into his rented room.

When Vin had seen Buck distractedly brush aside Blossom's invitation for the night, he knew something was wrong and so now he, too, sat in silent vigil. He only suspected that it had to do with Chris's past, most likely his deceased family which meant it was going to be a rough night.

Buck glanced up to the ceiling for the hundredth time over the last few hours, towards the area where Chris's room was located. Again his eyes dropped tiredly back down to the dusty floor, staring at nothing in particular. He shifted restlessly in his chair, torn between staying where he was, going upstairs to talk to Chris, or just going straight to his own bed. The unusual scowl which he had adopted for the day only made the other two men in the room more nervous.

Ezra shrugged as he caught Vin's eye. He decided to call it a night, the scrape of the chair legs on the sawdust littered floor decreed it. Standing wearily, he slipped on his green jacket, silently bidding the other two men goodnight. Instinct told him to get as far away from Chris Larabee as possible tonight, and above all, Ezra was a man who listened to his instinct.

Chris Larabee sat at his lone table in the compact and barren room, a scowl deeper than Buck's adorning his face, his eyes centering without seeing the lamp's flame burning low before him. His right hand encircled a shot glass, empty but for the small puddle of excess that had dripped down its sides after its owner had drained it.

One bottle already lay on the floor, emptied and shadowed in the murky gloom. Its twin sat ready to be consumed beside the dying lamp, whose fading glow highlighted the amber liquid inside, casting a bright golden luster upon the table.

Unaware, Chris's hand tightened forcefully around the glass as another wave of memories forced their way to the forefront of his mind. The lines in his face wore more intense. Chris raised a quivering hand to grasp the bottle and attempted to pour himself another shot. A great deal of it spread over the table as the tremors in Chris's hand intensified. With a curse, Chris gave up trying to get the whiskey in the glass and instead pulled a long draught from the bottle itself. To his dismay, he no longer felt any of the hard, acidic burn from the whiskey but he drank it anyway, hoping that it would at least inebriate him enough to allow him escape from this night.

The slight movement of tilting his head back to swallow made the room spin, and he blinked dully against it. He dragged himself to his feet, one hand gripping the edge of the small wooden table, the other his only relief, the whisky bottle.

As he rose, he caught a glimpse of himself in his shaving mirror situated on the far wall. Caught by his wasted reflection, looking through haunted eyes, the man in black started to shake. Dark sunken eyes, deep worn creases and cold dead eyes stared back at him. Anguish, fear, regret, and whiskey had taken their toll and they hadn't been kind.

Sarah would hate to see him like this. She'd have booted him out and moved back to her parents, taking Adam along with her. His mouth painfully thinned at the thought. It would have been better if they had, he reflected bitterly. Maybe he should have started drinking years ago. Maybe then they'd still be alive.

God, why hadn't he come back home to them? Why had he listened to Buck and lingered one last night in that forsaken Mexican town? Buck... Buck and his damn fling...what was her name? Helena?... No, Elena. He shut his eyes as he rode a wave of fury. Fury at himself but flung at Buck. His teeth gnashed together at the upswell of fresh agony.

Furious that the whiskey was betraying him, he drank more, most of it sliding out of the corners of his mouth where his flesh had tightened so much from the despair that he could not completely enclose the bottle's neck. He nearly choked on the rush of liquid. Coughing, with the bottle still clenched firmly in his grip, he used the back of his hand to wipe away the excess as it ran off his chin and down his neck to pool at his open black shirt.

He held the gaze of the stranger in the mirror one last time before jerking away from the accusatory stare. However, when he let go of the table's edge he was unprepared for the sudden weakness in his limbs. He collapsed to the floor, slamming painfully to the unyielding wood though his numbed brain had yet to realize it. In the confusion, it was the safest place to land for soon his whole body began to tremble though the bottle still remained tightly in his grasp. Frustrated, he found he couldn't stand up.

There was a swift knock on the door which abruptly opened and Buck stepped in, his face full of concern and fear. He immediately spied Chris on the floor, struggling to get to his feet. "Jesus, Chris." He moved in quickly to help the gunslinger, but Chris's hostile mood wasn't about to permit that.

Chris shoved Buck's assistance aside furiously. "Leave me the 'ell alone, Buck," he snarled dangerously. The last person he wanted to see right now was Buck.

Buck recognized the warning signs but came on regardless. "Yeah, I'll just leave you to sleep it off on the floor. That'll be good for you." He got his arms under Chris and hefted the man's almost limp form upright and steered him toward the bed. Buck had been expecting this. It hadn't been the first night he had helped Chris to bed, though this time Chris's anger turned his way with more venom than usual.

Chris fumbled to get his feet under him, and as soon as he did, he pulled roughly away from Buck and stood swaying. "I don' need you here...I don' want you here. Jus' get out!" His words slurred around each other but their meaning was clear.

Buck's voice lowered. Arguing with Chris in this state wasn't going to buy him anything. "Stop this, Chris. Just go to bed."

"Wha are you doin' here?" Chris snapped, shoving Buck's steadying arm away, the force of it surprising for a man in his condition. "Go bac' to yur women."

Buck angered at the slur though he knew he shouldn't. It was just the whiskey talking. "Knock it off, Chris."

Chris's face pinched together as if a wave of extreme suffering skewered his head. "Yur always thinkin' with.. wrong end, Buck....always chasin' a skirt. Jus like tha' night."

Stunned, Buck stepped away from the enraged Chris but the gunslinger advanced on steadying legs, fueled by the rage that was flooding his system. "Don't, Chris," Buck pleaded, his own private guilt rushing to the forefront. He knew where this was leading. It was the single shame that he couldn't escape but at one time Chris used to dismiss. Now suddenly, the gunslinger wasn't. "I'm sorry," Buck said. "I never meant for it to happen that way."

Chris sneered, his liquor-saturated breath drifted over Buck. "No, of course not."

Buck faltered. "I wasn't thinking. I should have never asked you to stay. My fault..."

"Of course." Chris clutched that one thought like a drowning man's floating wreckage. "It was yur fault. Ya couldn't las' one more night without a poke. Jus twe'ty four hours more, Buck. Ya couldn't wait, could you?" Chris's voice was cracking under the weight of his rage. "Like an ass, I waited for you....and they died!"

Buck's mouth went dry as Chris voiced for the first time the guilt that Buck carried within him for the last three years. Chris had always denied it, repeatedly saying the decision had been his to stay, regardless of Buck's vices. But now suddenly, Chris spoke his accusation openly. To hear him admit it knifed through Buck. He couldn't breath; he couldn't swallow. He stepped back against the wall, bumping into the mirror with his head. It tilted wildly, swinging dangerously but remained on the nail.

"I'm sorry, Chris." Buck wasn't sure if the words had actually fallen from his lips or whether the numbness of his body prevented it, but Chris advanced on him, still burning with the fury of a man possessed by demons. Buck didn't even resist as Chris's hand closed about his exposed throat.

"Sorry?" Chris strained to say. "You're sorry?!" A psychotic smile, that held no other emotion save absolute rage, spread over the gunfighter. The pure hate that arose there terrified Buck. He could feel Chris shaking through the hand at his neck.

Chris's voice dropped to a low hiss. "Ya haven' learned yur lesson, Buck. Ya still go from one woman t' another. Ya don' think I see that? Ya don' think it reminds me of tha' night every time? Tha' night when we stopped to take care of yurr need while my wife and son burned."

Extreme agony ripped through both men at the confession that now lay before them and they stared at each other, the room plunging into the icy coldness that gripped Chris Larabee. Chris drew his fist back with a feral snarl and Buck waited for the inevitable. He deserved it. And he waited, watching Chris's eyes as they shifted from hatred to rage to misery.

Chris let out a howl meant to wake the dead and slammed his raised fist into the mirror beside Buck's head. It shattered into huge slivers, most of them falling across Chris's hand, drawing long red cuts which began to bleed immediately. Chris's expression never changed though the pain of the wounds must have been extreme. He was already ravaged by a far greater agony.

"Damn you, Buck," he whispered. "Damn us both to hell."

Chris slumped away from Buck who stood rigid, his eyes wide, his breath struggling as shock and shame gripped him. Chris fumbled for his hat and weaved out the door, never noticing the tall frame of Vin Tanner standing amongst the shadows on the opposite side of the door. Chris's bloody hand left red smears on the wall and along the banister as he stumbled down the stairs.

The bounty hunter watched the man in black stagger out the saloon doors, but he made no move to follow him. Chris would never allow it and he knew that. This was something Chris had to get through on his own. Vin would be here if and when the man came to his senses.

He stepped into Chris's room and found Buck still rooted amongst the shards of broken glass, his mouth twisted into a grimace. Buck glanced insensibly towards the door almost in fear of it being someone else.

Vin met Buck's haunted eyes, noting that the scoundrel didn't seem hurt physically. In a soft voice, he pointed out, "That wasn't really Chris."

Buck's jaw clenched, unable to speak just yet.

Vin continued. "He's drawn deep tonight, away from all of us. He's stuck so far into the past that he's reacting solely out of his pain not sense." Vin's voice was no louder than an exhaled breath, but he knew Buck could hear him in the deafening silence that was now Chris Larabee's room.

Buck closed his eyes and saw again that lunatic smile of Chris's. He had seen it before but never had it been directed at on him.

"We're all here tonight, Buck, because he's not all there," Vin reminded him.

Buck gave a curt nod to Vin's attempt at comfort but right now he needed to be alone. He moved past Vin and went to his own room, the thought of female companionship suddenly repulsive.

Vin stood for a moment more in the room, taking in its stark nature, the discarded bottles rolling on the floor, one leaking its remnants to mix with Chris's blood now dotting the wooden boards. Vin moved the bottle aside with the toe of his boot, separating the mixture. Then he leaned down to the table and blew out the lamp. A tendril of smoke curled from the wick's ember into the murky void that hung in the room. Turning to the window, he saw a shadow moving along the deserted street; it was darker than the ebony night around it. There was only one person it could be.

Chris was heading for the stables but the way the man was walking, Vin doubted he could ride a horse. With any luck Chris would pass out in a warm stall instead of in the street. He watched the unsteady, lurching shadow until it made its way to its destination. When no one came out after a while Vin left the room, closing the door behind him, moving downstairs again. Vin could hear the wind pick up outside. A storm was coming, cold and bitter. They had best prepare themselves.

"Stop foolin' around, Buck."

JD's notion to get away from town for a bit and enjoy a quiet ride had seemed like a good idea at the time. But now JD was becoming slightly nervous at his mentor's antics. The older man was in a disturbing mood for some reason. He suspected that it had something to do with the way Chris had been acting yesterday. Their leader had become more and more sullen, almost bordering on maniacal. At daybreak though, without warning, the man in black had fled the town, whipping his steed into a frenzied gallop and riding as if the ghosts of Hades themselves were on his heels.

Earlier in the morning, JD, confused over their leader, approached the one person who did not find Chris's actions puzzling. Buck. The usually jovial cowboy merely shrugged despondently and announced that Chris had his reasons, assuring the kid that he'd come back when he was ready. Sitting beside Buck outside the saloon, Vin had said nothing but occasionally cast a glance towards the end of town where the dust from Chris's horse had long since settled to ground.

It was a bad sign then when Buck also began acting peculiar, which only set the rest on an edge that suddenly seemed sharper and more fragile than ever. Something was happening, but no one knew what, and those that did had either fled Four Corners or weren't telling a living soul.

While Buck and JD were out riding, the day had grown increasingly overcast as the threat of a violent storm crept across the land. It saturated the atmosphere, becoming almost tangible, leaving the countryside more dismal and disturbingly quiet than usual.

Almost.

On the outskirts of the heavily wooded glen, Buck reined in his grey sharply, making the horse bounce a few steps before dancing to a halt. The animal was lathered and anxious, matching his rider's mood. Neither seemed able to stand still for a moment.

JD came abreast of him, his own horse tired and worn. He had had trouble keeping pace with Buck's wild, practically driven flight. It had taken all of JD's skill as a horseman to remain seated and out of the way of the perilous and reaching branches of the pines that dipped low to pluck the unsuspecting from their perches. JD was more worried than ever. Something was not right here. He had hoped that once he had Buck outside of Four Corners, he could get the man to open up, but Buck seemed to be running from something as fast as Chris Larabee. Whenever JD broached the subject, Buck became wilder in action and more introverted in speech.

Now two hours later, JD was no closer to finding out the truth and Four Corners was on the horizon. The young man was grateful in a way. The town meant that maybe Buck would settle down again. JD had never been more scared of what was happening to the two people he admired most. They were falling apart before his eyes and he didn't know how to help either of them. Chris was out of his reach as usual, but with Buck he felt he had a chance to help if only the man would let him.

Buck ripped off his hat and wiped roughly at his saturated brow. Glancing behind him at the devilish course they had just run, he gave a loud whoop of triumph that startled JD's horse.

Pulling up his shying mount more harshly than he intended, JD got angry at Buck's reckless exuberance. "Knock it off, Buck!"

"Aw, come on, JD, admit it! That was a thrill!" His grey's nostrils flared wide as it continued to suck in great lungfuls of air, still nervous and dancing as Buck's spurs continued to lightly brush its flanks. It knew instinctively that the wild ride was not over. Unfortunately, JD did not.

"A thrill?" the boy exclaimed. "Damn near got us kilt! It was just plain reckless. A grown man should know better!" JD regretted his words the instant they escaped his lips.

That sobered Buck momentarily as if reminded of something he'd rather not remember. His scowl darkened, his mouth becoming a mere slit upon his face. He wheeled the grey towards Four Corners, his spurs raking the horse abruptly.

Buck's low moan of anguish drifted back to a disbelieving JD. This was turning uglier and uglier. What the hell was wrong with Buck?

Buck hung low over his grey's lathered neck as they raced for sanctuary, for peace, for oblivion. Buck, desperate to outrun his own thoughts, begged his horse to go faster. Loyal to the end, it complied, its long legged stride eating up the semi-open territory. Buck's eyes drifted to the ground as it blurred beneath the flying hooves. Like a rain-flecked window it smeared into memories. It was September eleventh. Three years ago.

The moisture that arose in Buck's eyes dried almost immediately against the rush of air. Today was the anniversary of Sarah and Adam Larabee's deaths, a day when guilt consumed Buck far faster than his horse's wild run. Even Chris couldn't stand to be around him on this day for Buck was only a reminder of the frailty of men.

Chris was right. They might have been able to get back in time to save Sarah and Adam if only Buck could have kept his lust reined in. But Elena had again fired his passion in that small Mexican town and Buck convinced his oblivious friend to wait for him, confident that such a small act would mean little in the larger scope of things. God, how wrong he had been! Chris had paid the ultimate price, his soul burned forever with irreplaceable loss.

Chris's sharp angry words still echoed around him, cutting through Buck like a honed razor across a pale throat. Sure Chris had been drunk when he said it, but sometimes liquor gave you the courage to only say what was hidden in your heart. This time the bone had broken clean between them; he could feel it. Buck knew the truth.

Chris blamed him. The man's tormented expression as he battled his killer instinct appeared once more in Buck's mind, full of reproach and hate. He had never seen Chris stare at him like that before. Not that he didn't deserve it. It had been his fault. Elena had slinked past him, wiggling her hips, and like a horny jackass he had followed. Chris, friend that he always was, had waited for him.

Another moan fell from his lips. How could anyone stand to be around him, Buck thought. Sarah and Adam were dead because of him and nothing would ever change that. Nothing.

Buck's hands clutched the coarse mane of his grey and for the first time felt the beast shudder with exhaustion. Realizing he had lost track of direction and time, he gathered his wayward senses. With weary limbs, he sat back, disgusted at himself again for his lack of compassion in the face of his guilt. He lifted the reins to gradually draw his mistreated horse to a halt.

His burning eyes lifted to the horizon, expecting to see home, but instead saw only something long and dark looming suddenly before his head. He heard JD's terrified shout just as the branch from the lone, wind-whipped oak struck him brutally across his temple. A blackness Buck had never before experienced engulfed him, sound and sensation withering abruptly. Buck's last thought was that he had finally found his oblivion.

The blackness began to recede. First it was just distant voices and then snatches of intense light that danced before his eyes. He opened them warily to see a bright, blurry form hanging over him. He worked hard to bring it into clarity.

"JD?" he mumbled.

There was a slight chuckle above him and then another voice that was a familiar one from the past. "You must have hit your head harder than I thought if you're mistaking me for one of your lady friends." It was Chris. But it wasn't. He sounded different.

"Chris! You're back!" Buck struggled to sit up, grasping the hand that lay comfortingly on his shoulder.

"I think you've got that backward, pard. You've been out for almost ten minutes." He half rose and shouted to someone in the distance. "He's come around. He'll be fine!"

Relief flooded Buck. Chris had come back to Four Corners and he no longer harbored any ill will towards him. Buck's eyes labored to focus and Chris finally formed before him, but what Buck saw made the world suddenly spin again.

Chris's white, thinly-striped shirt blazed in the strong, midday sun and disappeared into his working leather chaps, soft and grass stained. The man's tan Stetson was shoved haphazardly back, revealing bright, laughing eyes. The smile that split his face was not the crazed one Buck had come to know in recent years. Instead, it was a genuine, easy-going grin that had not a touch of pain.

Buck's mouth went dry with fear, his breath suddenly difficult to draw into his lungs. He reached a shaking hand out to touch a friend that he had almost forgot existed, afraid to find out only a spirit sat beside him. "Chris...?" The gunslinger seemed suddenly younger and then Buck realized why: the harsh mark of anguish was no longer marring his friend's face.

Chris's smile faded, leaving only concern. "Damn, Buck, you're white as a sheet," he exclaimed. He put a steady arm under Buck's shoulders and eased him to his feet. "Come on, let's get you inside."

Buck heard running feet approach and then another apparition appeared. Sarah Larabee, her own face laced with anxiety, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders in a wild array, slid to a halt at her husband's side. She reached out and lifted Buck's dark hair, revealing a growing bruise on his forehead. "Are ya alright, Buck?"

Buck could barely find his voice. She was as beautiful as he remembered. "I....I can't say."

Taking control of the situation, an increasingly worried Chris supported his friend's weight. "Let's get him inside out of the sun."

They turned towards the small ranch house nestled in the glen, ringed by the tall majestic mountains in the distance. Bright, colorful flowers waved at him from the front porch of the Larabee home. Buck's eyes slipped slowly up the tall windmill standing beside it like a sentinel in the pristine valley. This can't be real, he moaned to himself. I'm dreaming. But Chris's strong shoulders lay beneath his arm and he felt real.

Chris shook his head. "What were you thinking, Buck? Dorcha barely tolerates the wind in her saddle. What made you think you could ride her? If she hasn't learned to accept a rider by now, there isn't much more that can be done inside another week. Let Montoya handle it. She's his horse now."

A distant memory washed over him. Dorcha Nighean had been the name of one of the horses, a hell bitch, that he and Chris had taken to Mexico to the Montoya hacienda...the day Sarah and Adam had died....

Buck's vision caved in once more at the edges, a whirlpool of darkness and fear. As they climbed the steps, Buck's feet missed one and thumped heavily on the wood.

Chris bore even more of the weight, intent on keeping his friend upright. "We're almost there." But Buck was too numb to move. His knees crumpled beneath him and Chris nearly went down, but Sarah moved quickly, coming up on Buck's other side, lending her strength to the effort. Together, they practically carried Buck to the house.

Buck's head was spinning. Not only was he in the past, he was mere days before...before... He glanced over at Sarah. She smiled at him through her anxiety as if to unconsciously assure him that she was not a ghost. Her flesh beneath his hand felt warm and firm but the bright glow of the glaring sun encompassed her as it did Chris -- as if they were merely angelic hosts come to take him on his final journey.

Buck shook his head, tears rising unbidden to his eyes. Thankfully, they entered the house where the bright auras finally faded. Inside it was cooler and darker, much more to Buck's liking. It eased the monstrous headache that continued to reverberate within his skull.

Chris lowered Buck onto a settee near the left wall of the ranch. Even though Buck's eyes were closed against the ache, both physical and emotional, the layout of the house came to him in his mind. The small sofa on which he sat would be patterned with little pastel roses and vines against a soft cream background. Its four oaken legs would curve into the feet of a lion; its claws scraping the floor. Before him would be the kitchen, a tall oak china closet that had been a wedding present from Sarah's parents gracing the right corner. Both were from Sarah's home country of Ireland and she was fiercely proud and protective of each.

It amused Buck that Sarah hadn't said a word about his dusty state, especially since the dust from the corral was now probably covering the prim little sofa. He opened his eyes and stared at her but saw no trace of annoyance, only concern. His eyes slid past her and took in the main room. Everything became swiftly familiar despite the passing of the years, his memory immediately refreshed. Sarah Larabee had been meticulous in her house, the only other thing she laid claim to besides Chris Larabee's heart.

Her cool thin hand rested on Buck's practically fevered brow and he sighed. It was calming in a way, allowing him to regain his disrupted wits. This whole dream was filled with impossible realities and powerful memories. And a dream it had to be! It was as if he had fallen beneath the wheels of some terrible nightmare that shouldn't be. The confusion that welled up in Buck wanted to take over but he couldn't let it. Drawing a deep slow breath, he gazed into the faces of his two best friends.

"How you feeling?" Chris asked, his anxiety unwavering.

Buck nodded ever so carefully and tried his voice. "I'll be alright... in a bit. I-I just need to adjust to things." His gaze remained transfixed on the faces that had almost become strangers to him over the passing of just three years. Buck was overcome, just looking at them.

"Should we get Doc Haggerty?" Sarah asked, removing her hand from Buck's forehead, pausing only a moment to brush them feather-like over the growing lump before letting the hand fall into her lap.

"Nah. He'll be fine." Chris assured his wife, though his voice didn't carry its usual confidence. Buck was acting a mite strange, even for Buck. Chris shook his head slightly and placed a comforting hand on Sarah's shoulder where she crouched beside Buck. "Just give him a moment."

Sarah still stared at Buck's moist eyes.

Buck realized what had disturbed Chris and Sarah and roughly wiped away the lingering tears from the corners of his eyes. They had seen him break a leg and not cry out once. He tried to laugh dismissively but it came out more of a gasping hiccup. "That really hurt, you know." His hand probed tentatively at the steadily protruding bump.

Chris smiled a little then. "I'll bet." He rose, moving towards the kitchen to get Buck something to drink. "Maybe that'll teach you not to pull such a stupid stunt. That mare's nothin' to mess around with. You're lucky she didn't take your damn fool head off."

"I reckon so," Buck remarked lamely.

Sarah grinned reassuringly at him, knowing full well her husband's rules were not meant to be broken, particularly regarding the stock. There was no helping Buck out of this predicament. Still she did her best to try. She patted Buck's knee sympathetically and rose to join Chris in the kitchen. "I do believe he's realized his error of his ways, Christopher," she pointed out.

Chris turned to her and laughed loudly, easily. "I suppose that's true enough." He brought a shot of Irish Whiskey to Buck, still grinning, his fear for the scoundrel fading. The dark, amber liquid in the glass was smooth and rich from the private stock of Sarah's Da. "Here. This'll take the sting away."

Buck's eyes were rooted on Chris as he numbly accepted the glass. Chris had laughed. Its pure form was something Buck had not heard in a long time. Not even in Four Corners. Sure, Chris would chuckle at Vin's wry humor occasionally but that strong, heartfelt laugh had been absent in the man for years. It was a shock to hear it again.

Desperately, Buck threw back the whiskey despite the dizziness it caused. He exhaled slowly, hearing his breath escape, watching bright sparks flash before his eyes, but even they were dull compared to the utter whiteness of Chris's shirt; Buck’s eyes narrowed against the luminescence for it was almost unbearable to look upon. He had forgotten how much his friend had changed. It was like a slap in the face. Bright clothes in exchange for dark; the earthy chaps around Chris's lean hips replaced by the ivory pistol and studded, black holster that in Buck's world was more a third appendage than an accessory to the man.

Chris watched Buck's expression change again and once more a stab of apprehension struck him. He lowered his voice so his wife wouldn't hear. "Are you sure you're all right?"

The muscles in Buck's cheek clenched harshly and he grimaced. "It just...hurts, Chris." Sometimes honesty worked best.

"I think ya should both call it a day," Sarah cast over her shoulder as she continued with what she was doing before all the excitement began. She had been in the process of fixing dinner for the family. The skins from the thick russet potatoes peeled away beneath her knife, her nimble hands making quick work of the chore.

"I'll unsaddle the mare and then come in and help with dinner," Chris said, agreeing with his wife's suggestion. He came up behind her and kissed the side of her cheek, whispering, "Watch him." Sarah nodded imperceptibly. Chris observed Buck all the way to the door, hesitating briefly before stepping outside, reluctantly resolved to his helplessness in the situation. He closed the door quietly behind him.

Sarah, slicing vigorously at her quarry, never paused in her actions as she glanced at the quiet man in the corner, his dark head held in his hands. She bit her lip anxiously but was unsure of what she should do.

Buck's mind was awhirl. He kept thinking he would wake up any moment now back in Four Corners, back to the reality he knew. God, was he being punished? Was this the Hell that he deserved? He heard soft humming begin as Sarah filled her time and the house with music. It was gentle and soothing, the stroke of her small peeling knife a curious rhythm beneath the tune.

Buck was afraid to look at her, afraid she'd turn on him like some demon in Hell sent to torment him, screaming, It was your fault I died! Tremors coursed down his long fingers at the thought. Why was this happening?

It wasn't until he heard a soft, muffled sound from the bedrooms that he realized a presence was missing from this nightmare. The back room burst open and young Adam Larabee exploded into the kitchen.

"Momma!" His loud piercing shout stabbed into Buck's skull but he sat transfixed, stunned at the mere sight of the boy, so full of life and innocence, so very much alive.

Sarah put a silencing finger to her lips. "Shush now, Uncle Buck needs ya tae be quiet."

Adam's eyes widened upon hearing Buck's name and immediately scanned the room for his favorite pseudo-uncle. He found Buck quickly and catapulted himself into the man's arms. "Uncle Buck!"

Buck held the tiny figure numbly, his arms automatically closing about the squirming form.

"Adam," Sarah scolded. "Quietly."

Buck, operating more on instinct and memory now, waved aside her temper. "It's all right, Sarah." Surprisingly, Buck's voice didn't break as he hugged Adam tighter, feeling the reality of the boy, burying his face in the straw-like hair that smelled of grass and saddlewood soap.

"What happen'd, Uncle Buck?" Adam squirmed back to look at the man he loved almost as much as his own father, reaching out but not touching the injury.

Buck blinked through tears that filled his eyes again. The sight of the boy drove away all thoughts of hell and nightmares and demons. This smiling child made it impossible, so utterly ridiculous a notion. He ran quivering fingers through Adam's short hair, sudden joy engulfing his heart. This boy, this small, adoring boy -- such pure, genuine love flowed from him. There was no way this was a demon. Buck clutched Adam to his chest again, the boy's name falling off the grown man's lips in a fumbling, muted near sob. The small arms instinctively encircled his neck, clinging tightly like narrow vines entangling a sturdy tree.

It's real. Oh God, it's real, Buck cried silently. I'm here and they're alive! Chris is whole! Tears flowed freely down his face and he didn't care. Adam Larabee provided the anchor that ground Buck to this reality.

Sarah noticed the change in Buck with alarm. Dropping the potato and the knife, quickly wiping the remnants on her apron, she rushed over. Buck stood abruptly, Adam still perched on his hip. He grasped the smaller woman in a warm embrace. "Sarah girl!" he exclaimed with sheer unadulterated elation.

Sarah gasped in surprise. She hadn't expected this. "Buck! What are ya doin'?"

He spun them about, Sarah falling against him, Adam squealing with delight at the game. The huge grin plastered across Buck's face made Sarah smile as well, although he could tell she was terribly confused by his rampant mood swings. She gazed up into his moist, laughing eyes that she probably knew as well as her husband's. It must have been that look that finally eased her mind. He was acting more like the old Buck she knew from before.

"I just can't believe it, Sarah!"

Perplexed but laughing, she asked, "Can't believe what?"

He stopped dancing them around in a circle and gazed down at her. His mind cried out, You're alive! but he didn't say that aloud. Instead he pointed out the obvious. "I'm alive!" His lips curved up even further at his own private joke.

Sarah shook her head humorously. "And yer very lucky tae be so."

The door flew open and Chris rushed in, his face flushed from exertion. He had run from the corral when he heard the commotion inside the house. "What's going on? Buck, you all right?" His own face was lit with bewilderment.

Sarah laughed, extracting herself from Buck's boisterous embrace. "I think he be feelin' better."

Chris crossed his arms, a smile playing easily about his face. "I can see that." He nodded with satisfaction. "Good." Relieved, Chris finally relaxed.

Buck turned to Chris, his grin growing deeper, his eyes sparkling. He laid a gentle hand on Chris's shoulder. "Sorry, pard. Didn't mean to give you all such a scare."

"What did you do, Uncle Buck?" Adam insisted.

"I apparently tried to ride Dorcha," Buck informed the lad.

"Apparently?" Chris exclaimed more out of disbelief than anger, setting his hat on a wooden peg by the door. "What do you mean apparently? I saw you fly off that horse head first."

"Well, I don't rightly remember that incident." Truthfully, he didn't. That hadn't happened in any past he could remember. In fact, he had triumphantly ridden that mare in the past and Montoya had been a happy man.

Sarah had named the hellion Dorcha Nighean, or Dark Daughter in Gaelic, when it was born and the beast had happily lived up to its name. It was the one filly by Chris's ebony stallion and she had fetched a fine price over the border.

Chris shook his head. Sarah commented from the kitchen where she had retreated once again. "Is that a good thing, memory loss?"

"In Buck's case, probably," Chris shot back over his shoulder. He unbuckled his chap's bindings and slid them off his legs as he cast a grin at Buck.

"I resent that," Buck retorted but laughed. Then he sobered for a moment. It was just like old times, joking with Chris. It felt at once wonderful and strange. He was amazed at how easily he fell back into the habit. He had missed it.

Suppertime was as Buck had always remembered, full of love, laughter and Sarah's fine cooking. Stabbing another hefty chunk of stew meat, Buck waved it at Chris. "Lord, I forgot how good this woman cooks!"

Chris snorted through his buttermilk, a singular vice started by his wife. "It's only been twelve hours since breakfast, Buck. You can't remember the pile of pancakes, eggs and bacon you put away?"

"Of course, I remember breakfast," Buck responded, quickly covering his mistake. It wouldn't pay to keep harping on missing events. It's not like they were missing exactly anyway. It had been years after all. There was no way Buck could remember what they had had for breakfast this day, not that he would tell Chris that. Otherwise, next thing he'd know Chris would drag him to a doctor announcing Buck's strange delusion to the world. Buck shuddered. He couldn't have that. He watched his friend from across the table, noting the easy way Chris fit into this world that by right should have been his. He saw the man's hand snake unconsciously towards Sarah's who grasped it across the table, smiling gently at her husband, content and at peace. This was where Chris belonged.

Drawing in a steadying breath, Buck glanced away. He pretty much concluded that this was just a dream. He was probably lying somewhere under that damn oak tree with a frantic JD hovering nearby. He felt sorry for the kid since JD would have a hell of a time dragging Buck back to town. But Buck believed that as soon as he went to bed in this dream world, he'd most likely wake up in Four Corners. So for now all he had to do was relax and enjoy this brief resurgence of the past. It wasn't exactly unpleasant. Moments like these were the ones he cherished anyway. The ones he wished Chris could find the strength to bear. Maybe this was his body's way of letting him reminisce.

again since he couldn't do it with Chris anymore. The constant rejection of Chris's friendship had obviously been just too much to handle and this was his mind's way of solving the problem.

Looking back down towards his food, he noticed Adam deftly spooning some of his unwanted peas onto Buck's still nearly full plate. The boy hated peas. Buck raised an eyebrow at the unsuspecting child and cleared his throat. Startled, Adam jerked with a soft cry, looking up at Buck and dropping some of the peas in the process. Caught in the act, the boy froze, spoon in hand, as all eyes centered on him.

"Adam," Chris scolded, his voice rising an octave or two as evidence of his displeasure. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Uh..." The boy fumbled for an excuse, glancing quickly around at each of the adults' accusing glares.

Buck, as always, came to his rescue. "Young man, are you stealing my peas?"

Adam twisted sharply in his seat to stare at his uncle. "What?"

Buck offered a sly wink to the child as he reached for Adam's plate. "Just because you finished your peas don't mean you can steal mine." He scraped all of Adam's peas onto his own plate. "Gimme back my peas."

Sarah stifled a giggle beneath her hand and looked away as Adam sat there stunned and a mite confused.

Buck continued with his charade. "Slow eaters are always such a target," he commented to the rest of the table with a slow, deliberate shake of his head as if conversing with ladies at a social club.

Chris couldn't let that one pass by. "If you'd stop jawin' all the time, you might be able to keep hold of your peas." Chris barely could hide a grin himself now as Sarah's muffled laugh grew louder.

Buck relished the moment. Chris knew Adam too well to believe the boy'd be swiping peas from anyone's plate, but it was wonderful for Buck to see the sheer amusement on his two friends faces as they watched their flabbergasted son, not to mention Buck's desperate attempts to protect him. Buck once had had the ability to make Chris laugh, the scoundrel's humor always honest and heartfelt. He had always entertained the family with his antics, particularly with Adam. It was the one thing he'd never tire of.

Buck handed back the boy's plate, now completely devoid of green peas. "There! That'll teach you."

Adam stared up at Buck with stunned, saucer-shaped eyes that slowly gave way to adoration. For a moment the boy's eyes reminded Buck of JD and he caught his breath as a disturbing stab struck his chest.

Oblivious, Chris shook his head humorously, stealing a curious glance at his wife who quickly got up from the table, the muted sound of her laughter falling back toward his ears.

"Thanks, Uncle Buck," Adam stammered until he noticed that Buck had stopped smiling and was staring at him with a pained expression. Realizing his blunder, he quickly covered his mistake. "Uh...I mean... darn, Uncle Buck. I sure did want those peas." Feigned disappointment oozed from him.

Suddenly a large wooden spoon thumped down onto Adam's plate, green peas spilling everywhere, attracting everyone's attention. His mother stood over him with a huge pot in her other hand, brimming with the vile vegetable. "Thank goodness I made extra," she deadpanned to her son. Adam's groan was so loud that the table finally burst into peals of laughter and hysterics.

"Sorry, pard," Buck offered to the dismayed boy, the only figure not laughing. He caught an escaping pea and hid it under his plate. Sarah held out another ladle of peas to Buck, which he waved off desperately. "I've got all the peas I can manage at the moment. Thank you kindly."

Chris stammered through his mirth to get the next sentence out. "B-Buck... when will you learn... not to get involved with other people's problems?"

Buck's smile faltered slightly and then he shrugged ruffling Adam's hair in a consoling manner. "Just as soon as you do, old pard."

Sarah sniffed her disbelieving opinion on that subject. "That'll be the day."

Smiling, Chris picked up some of the empty dinner plates and brought them over to the wash bucket just as Sarah returned the pea pot to the fire. Chris wrapped his arms around her narrow waist and kissed her soundly, enjoying the feel of her in his arms. Gazing down at her, he said, "I thought you liked the fact that I'm a good Samaritan now."

"Aye, I do but the two of ya couldn't keep yer nose out o' trouble if the Lord hisself forbade ya. I'm not always going tae be around tae keep ya on the straight and narrow, Christopher Larabee."

Chris gently brushed a cloying ringlet of her auburn hair to the side. "This will be the last remuda over the border this year. Then you'll have me all to yourself. Will that satisfy you?"

A smile crept slowly onto Sarah's lips. "Aye, that'll do."

Chris kissed her again before releasing her and turned back to the table only to find Buck's eyes watching them, a look of despondency evident on his face. Chris regarded the younger man. "Tomorrow's a long day, Buck. Maybe you should turn in." It was obvious Buck's swift mood changes unnerved him.

Buck made a conscious effort to stop his lamenting. It wasn't doing anyone any good. He should just enjoy this time with his friends, let himself believe in this sweet madness. It was a gift from Heaven and therefore, it shouldn't be wasted, he chided silently, shrugging off his melancholy.

"I'm fine, Chris." he assured the older man, taking in the warm, homey atmosphere, something that had been missing from his life for the last three years. Adam poked dejectedly at his new pile of peas; Sarah puttered about the kitchen; and Chris stood tall in the center, lighting up his favorite cheroot, content and sober.

Offering a smile, Buck gathered up a surprised Adam and carried him off to the boy's bedroom. "Come on, Adam. You still got that dime novel I gave you?"

"You mean Bad Day at Rock Ridge?"

Buck had given Adam so many dime novels over the course of the years that he hoped there was a new one still lying around somewheres that they hadn't finished reading yet. It appeared he was right. "That'll do, pard. Let's go do some readin'." The two quickly disappeared into the back part of the house.

While Adam rummaged around for the book, Buck was drawn to the crack in the door, watching Chris and Sarah perform their usual evening ritual in the other room. He was mesmerized by it, finding their simple actions comforting. Chris had truly been meant for family life.

Sarah stood over the table, staring down at her son's unfinished plate of peas with a frown. Buck noticed the exasperated twist of her mouth. She was annoyed that once again Buck Wilmington had rescued her son from the clutches of a healthy meal. She picked up the rest of the dishes from the table and continued with her cleaning while Chris went to the fire and removed the heated water, pouring some of it into the wash bucket for his wife.

Sarah voiced a concern that obviously hadn't escaped her attention either this evening. "Buck's still actin' strange, Christopher. Ya think he'll be all right?"

Chris smiled reassuringly at his wife. "He'll be just fine. The fall probably scared the bejeebes out of him. Serves him right too. He came within a hair's breadth of separating his head from his shoulders today. I just hope it woke him up some. For a grown man he acts too much like Adam sometimes."

He brushed close by his wife on purpose, sliding the width of his body slowly across hers, his voice teasing. "Maybe he'll think twice of mounting a filly with a mind of her own." A silly, lopsided grin played across his face and Sarah slapped at him with a warm, soapy hand.

"Ha! That'll be one lesson Buck Wilmington will never learn!" She sneered back at her husband and added, "And you neither obviously."

Chris comfortingly wrapped his strong arms around his wife's firm belly. "At least I know enough to stick to one filly only," he said in her ear, his blood rising steadily to a boil as his wife's body molded to his. He pressed his hips into hers, his head dipping to nip at the small patch of flesh on her shoulder that peeked through her thick, dark hair.

"See that ya always do," she commanded though her voice was but a lingering sigh. Sarah leaned back into him, covering his hands with her own.

Embarrassed, Buck could take no more. It was agonizing to watch them so happy and content with a life that they would soon no longer have. And all because of him. He turned away, rubbing a hard hand over his anguished face. A second later Adam barreled into him, clutching the located dime novel.

"I found it, Uncle Buck!"

"That's fine, pard! Where you want to read it?"

Adam shrugged. "I dunno, but I sure want Da to hear how good I read."

Buck smiled down at the boy. If Adam wanted to read for his Pa who was Buck to deny him. "Sure ya can, Adam." He tousled the boy's hair and then opened the door wide. Buck and Adam scampered back into the main room. Chris and Sarah were still locked into the same position Buck had last observed.

"Mamma, can I read aloud tonight?"

Chris and Sarah exchanged frustrated grins as Sarah quickly straightened from Chris's embrace and then resumed her chores. "Of course, ya can, lad. I want to see how yer readin' is doin' anyway."

Chris scowled momentarily in mock aggravation at a sheepish Buck, indicating how ill-timed his intrusion had been.

Buck realized what he had interrupted. A pang of regret swept quickly through him and he shrugged helplessly at Chris. However, to Buck's mind, if this was his only night in the past, then he didn't want to be separated from any of them this evening. He wanted it to last a while longer. He took a chair close to the fire as Adam crawled onto his lap, the boy settling himself in the niche of the big man's arm with deliberate concentration.

Sarah and Chris quickly finished their tidying and settled down on the settee which Sarah had cleaned prior to supper. Holding a steaming cup of coffee in his right hand, Chris curled his other arm possessively around his wife as she laid her head on his shoulder, relieved to finally be relaxing. It had been a hard week. Chris stretched his long, thin legs out in front of him, also completely willing to let the tension of the day fade far away.

Adam opened the dime novel and began to spin the tale of heroes and villains.

"Young Willy dove for the floorboards as Sheriff Harkaway's mighty '45 delivered justice to the wicked wretches that had helped destroy the peaceful life of the town of Sunny Mills," Adam recited with sheer delight, his small body wriggling on Buck's lap in his excitement. "Harkaway's deep voice boomed out his sermon as he towered protectively over the small form of his best friend. No more will the likes of you threaten a sweet soul on the face of this Earth. I send you to the depths of Hades with the rest of your vile kind. With the flexing of his index finger, Harkaway's weapon spoke deadlier words than its master, granting his spoken promise. Bodies crumpled to the ground as their life's blood soaked into the sawdust."

Buck and Chris exchanged humored grins, chuckling silently at the exaggerated words. The gunfight in the story wasn't anything like it was in reality. The two men knew that all too well. Chris's expression sobered slightly and Buck had the feeling that the ex-gunfighter was thinking of the past. What would Chris's life have been if he hadn't met Sarah when he did? His skill with a gun had been steadily approaching a renowned status, one that he hadn't sought but had had thrust upon him. Thanks to a hot-headed spirit, he had forever been tangled up in fights much to his wife's chagrin, but regardless of what she might think, a quick gun was a handy thing to possess in the thick of battle. Now the weapon lay wrapped in oiled linen in a hope chest by the kitchen, dormant and almost forgotten. There was no need for it any more.

Buck's eyes drifted across the room, settling once again on the loving couple on the sofa. Buck smiled as he watched them. As if sensing where her husband's mind was drifting, Sarah shifted slightly against Chris, drawing him away from the past. Chris always had the annoying habit of immersing himself into memories, most of them bad ones. Worse, he was inclined to stay there, musing over moot points that he could no longer change. It was a constant battle for Sarah to distract him back to the present, one that she had yet to lose.

Sarah's fingers found Chris's as they dangled off her shoulder and they entwined almost unconsciously, her forehead resting just below his cheek. He gently placed a feather kiss upon her brow, easing his own head upon her pillow of soft hair. She closed her eyes. They were content here. His past was behind them now and it was her job to make sure all he thought of was his family and his new life. She did it well.

Buck shook his head. She had done it well. God, it was enough to drive a sane man over the edge.

He had seen them intertwine like that many times. Suddenly, Buck understood Chris's anguish when he remembered times like these. After all these years, Buck had forgotten certain scenes. Now refreshed by this all too vivid dream, things were different. Maybe Chris's memory was so much more clearer than Buck's, for seeing it now, like this, the grief ran deeper inside Buck than ever before. He quickly turned away trying to breathe through the agony that stabbed at him so.

Thankfully, it was Adam who brought him back to the moment at hand.

"...Harkaway strode across the rotting floorboards to grasp the last living villain by his checkered shirt...," Adam paused, struggling, "...um.... uh...." He twisted in his seat attracting Buck's attention by shoving the book in the man's face. "What's this word, Buck?"

Buck took the book, moving a tiny finger off of the troublesome word. "It's ..." Buck studied it for a second. It was one he himself rarely heard used in everyday conversation. "Valiantly. It means... brave, courageous sort of." He glanced up at Chris and Sarah to see if they agreed. Sarah nodded and Buck breathed a sigh of relief, handing the book back to Adam. "Heck," Buck said, remembering at the last minute to watch his language around the boy like he used to, "this guy uses bigger words than Ezra."

Chris frowned. "Who's Ezra?"

Buck's head snapped up guiltily. "Uh...just... um... some dandy up in Eagle Bend," he lamely covered.

Sarah snickered. "A dandy? What on earth is a dandy doin' in Eagle Bend?"

"Well, he's more like a gambler."

Chris's eyes narrowed in confusion. "When were you up there? Last month was the only time we were in Eagle Bend. I didn't see you talking to no gambler."

Buck scrambled to find a suitable answer. Damn Chris and his ever observant nature. Can't a man spin a yarn without a person questioning every aspect of it? He sighed and lied through his teeth. "I didn't say I talked to him, only that I saw him in town. Overheard some of those big words he was throwin' around."

"Yet you're on a first name basis with him," Chris pointed out.

"He introduced himself to a couple of ladies and all I remember is the man's first name, okay?" Buck ended with an exasperated huff.

Chris shrugged nonchalantly, apparently enjoying the aggravation he was causing his friend. His mouth twisted around a hidden smile -- after all, turnabout was fair play. Buck had a feeling he was now paying for keeping Sarah and him from a romantic interlude.

The rest of the evening passed by slowly but satisfyingly. Eventually Sarah called a halt to the story and chased young Adam off to get ready for bed. Buck quickly volunteered to settle him down much to a weary Sarah's relief though a part of her still fretted about Buck's injury.

Before the boy ran for the bedroom, she called Adam over and made sure he would behave himself and fall quickly asleep so Uncle Buck would not be troubled. The boy only grinned at her and with a sigh, Sarah let him go.

Sarah herself was ready for sleep, stifling a yawn behind her slim hand. Buck watched her as she made the final preparations around the house, making sure all food was put away and all the clean dishes were shelved. Buck helped her and he had to laugh at her surprised and suspicious look. Buck relished the moment. It was out of the ordinary for him that was for sure but this small gesture settled his troubled feelings.

By the time they had finished, Adam had finished his own bedtime preparations and came out to launch himself into Buck's waiting arms. He was carried off to bed with much fanfare and laughter. He tucked Adam in tight and then scooted the boy over to make room as he held up the dime novel with an impish grin. Adam eagerly returned it and settled beside Buck, eager to continue the story.

Buck heard Chris came back in from his momentary excursion outside. He glanced out through the bedroom door and watched as Chris closed the front door. The tall man stretched out weary muscles. Sarah came and stood in front of him so close that when his arms dropped they fell around her, instinctively encircling her.

Chris's eyes filled swiftly with passion again at the sight of his sleepy wife. His head tipped towards her and fell upon her full lips with a thorough kiss that left her breathless and bruised. Pulling back slightly, the tip of her tongue brushed quickly over her swollen lips, teasing and inviting. She wrapped her arms tighter about her husband's waist, her breasts pressing into his hard muscled chest.

He whispered something feverishly in her ear and she smiled. Chris took her hand and led her to the bedroom but then she paused, glancing over at Adam's room. She checked the time on the mantel clock. "Adam should be asleep by now but Buck hasn't come out."

Chris, not really seeing the crisis, tugged on her hand. "I'm sure he's fine."

Sarah smiled at her husband's impatience. "I'll just check on them." Sighing, Chris followed her as she quietly opened wider their son's bedroom door.

Buck was lying on the bed beside the boy, both fast asleep. Buck's head was at a sharp upward angle against the headboard while Adam was sprawled over Buck's slowly rising and falling chest. Buck was snoring quietly, one arm draped protectively around the boy, the forgotten dime novel puddled on the floor beneath Buck's other hand that dangled mere inches above the floor.

Chris made a move to wake Buck. His friend couldn't possibly be comfortable in that position. Sarah stopped him with a single touch and shook her head. Moving forward, she lifted a warm blanket off the end of the bed and gently placed it over the two still figures. With one final look, she quietly led her husband out and into their own bedroom.

Buck opened his eyes and watched them disappear. He placed a big hand over Adam's small head. God, how he had missed all this.

The sunlight slipped in through a window and crept over Buck who turned his head slightly away to avoid it's glaring eye. That simple movement set into motion a cascade of pain from the tip of his head to the base of his feet. Groaning loudly, he dragged a hand to hold the ache inside his skull, his fingers brushing the huge lump on his forehead instead. Even that barest touch felt like his fingers were dipped in acid. Shifting carefully, he heard another quiet moan beside him. He opened bleary eyes to see a tousled blond head resting inches below him.

Adam.

Buck's hand unconsciously moved to touch the lad, smiling. Then it hit him. He was still in the past.

He straightened abruptly. Adam murmured something grumpily in his sleep as Buck moved him, lifting the slight form back to his side of the bed. Rising carefully so as not to increase the steady pulse of his headache, he moved to the small, narrow window set almost to eye level.

He was still in the valley. The huge windmill still spun lazily in the soft morning breeze. The sun had just broken over the distant peaks, bathing the Larabee homestead in the glorious light of day... but it was a day less than a week from tragedy.

No! Buck shook his head, his blood thudding against the interior of his skull. He couldn't live through that again. He needed to go home to Four Corners. His breath came short and strained as he turned his head to look at the innocent form asleep in the bed, dreaming of moments precious only to little boys -- pants' pockets bulging with living things of interest; bobbing fishing poles in crystal clear water streams; and dappled ponies grazing placidly in fields of green -- all the things that would be ripped from Adam in just a few short days.

Buck's eyes burned smartly as the horror of it washed over him. He was trapped in a living nightmare. He spun away from the boy and stumbled out into the main part of the house. The living room and kitchen were empty but through the Larabee's ajar bedroom door he could see Sarah straightening the bed. Buck had no idea where Chris was, probably outside already working. Sarah moved toward the door, her chore finished, but before she could see him, Buck flew outside.

Chest heaving, he stumbled into the barn. Slamming the heavy wooden door behind him, he sucked in deep breaths of crisp morning air. Every smell, every sound was so familiar, bringing back memory after memory. Ones that he had hidden away because of their anguished content. These were the ones from which Chris could never escape, the ones that drove him to hell and straight into the bottle.

Plunging the heels of his hands deep into his eyes, Buck fought for control. His hands slipped up into his hair, his fists clenching it by the roots, drawing more pain in an effort to drown out his sorrow and his memories.

Eventually his breathing evened, his eyes slipped slowly open as he regained some control and finally caught a glimpse of where he was. Horses stood in the stalls, their huge dark eyes watching him curiously. He saw his grey near the back. Grabbing a bridle off the rack he slipped it on his horse. Leading him quietly out the back in hopes of avoiding Chris, he mounted bareback and galloped for the treeline.

For once luck was with him, but upon reaching the edge he didn't pull up. Instead he rode his grey deeper into the woods, almost madcap again, as if daring himself to search out another low branch in a desperate, insane attempt to escape the hell he was now in. For Hell it had to be. To be punished by watching his friends' lives go up in flames again was a product of Hades itself. No living soul could endure this torture.

The reins slipped from his limp hands. He didn't care anymore where he was going because it would never be far enough from this pain he was feeling. The grey eventually slowed without any control from its slumping rider and jogged to a halt beside the river that wound itself lazily around the huge valley. Buck slid down his horse's flank and fell to his knees, his anger slowly swelling, his fists digging desperately into the soil with claw-like hands.

He threw back his head and screamed into the air, fury scraping his throat raw as it erupted. "Why? God damn you! WHY?" His voice thundered into the dazzling blue sky partially hidden by the trees. "It wasn't my fault! I didn't mean for it to happen!" he shouted hoarsely.

His cry spooked several birds from their perches in the crisscrossing branches above him. His horse skittered sideways at the commotion but didn't leave the small glen, watching its owner with wary eyes.

Buck slumped again, his hands falling limply to his sides. His last words were pleading and tormented, "Please, don't let it happen again. I couldn't stand it." He fell forward as the momentary surge of wrath fled him, leaving his body wasted and weak.

He didn't know how long he lay hunched over like that but eventually small sounds reached his ears and slipped unobtrusively into his consciousness. The sound of birds conversing, the sound of the river rushing haphazardly by over smooth rocks, the sound of his grey grazing contentedly again nearby. They comforted him, allowing him to concentrate on something other than his grief.

He pushed himself upright, drawing in a shaky breath. Casting his eyes to the gentle river flowing beside him, he remembered a time long since past when this small glade had been a haven for him. It was a place where young women had learned about nature, and Buck had found relief in the softness of woman's touch following a long day's labor.

Standing, he walked to the river's edge and gazed deep into the murmuring clear waters, constant and unstoppable like time itself. A recent memory stirred and he glanced downstream. It hadn't been far from here where Chris, Nathan, Josiah and himself had found the bodies of those that had murdered Sarah and Adam. It seemed like ages ago now.

A thought began to take root in Buck. He started walking as if in a daze down along the bank. The grey, noticing that its rider was leaving, moved slowly after him, calmly chewing on the bit of grass it had found.

Following a tributary back towards the ranch, Buck came to the place he remembered from the present. Of course, the bodies were not there but they would be in less than a week's time, which meant that here in the past the men were possibly in the area already waiting for Fowler to hire them. Buck's eyes drew to mere slits of hatred and determination.

Cletus Fowler was here too.

The muscles in Buck's jaw grew taunt at the thought of the pig that had brought such ruin to a good man with the swiftness of a lightening bolt.

Buck had found his purpose. He was going to find Cletus Fowler -- now, before he could commit the sin of murder and rip from Chris Larabee all that he held dear. Buck was also going to tear from Fowler the name of his employer, the coward who ordered Chris's death and in so doing, authorized Fowler to kill Sarah and Adam instead.

A swell of cruel satisfaction rose in Buck at the thought of that pleasure. If he was stuck here in the past, then by God, he wasn't going to just sit by and let events run their course! He was gonna stop it here, now, regardless of whether it would change the future or not! It would be his own absolution!

He grabbed the reins of the grey who was quietly dozing beside its owner. It jerked its head up, startled by the sudden motion but seconds later placidly followed the man as he walked up the slope towards the ranch.

Chris was brushing down a gelding in the paddock as Buck emerged from the treeline, leading his grey. Chris watched him intently. Buck saw Sarah standing on the porch looking at him also. He realized that both had probably been fretting about his aprupt absence. Chris leaned for a moment across the gelding's back, observing his friend and then nodded. Buck nodded back. Smirking, Buck knew that he had just made it under the wire. Another minute or two and Chris would have saddled that gelding and come looking for him.

Buck noted the quick darting figure of Adam, who upon seeing Buck's return, ran towards him and bounced excitedly in front of him. Buck knew exactly what the boy was going to ask since Adam had most likely asked his father the same thing not more than five minutes ago. Buck picked up the boy and swung him on the back of the grey, leading them in the rest of the way to the ranch.

Buck gently listened to Adam's joyous laugh. The boy loved riding. He was gonna be a natural horseman much like his father... He caught himself bitterly. If the boy had a future that is.

"What's the matter, Uncle Buck?" The boy had stopped laughing and was watching the older man carefully, puzzled by his uncommon somber mood.

Buck exhaled sharply, shoving all his morbid thoughts to the side for the sake of the boy. "Just thinkin', pard."

"'Bout what?"

"'Bout how life can sometimes throw a man."

Adam thought about that for a moment and then remembered something. "Momma always says that life is what you make it."

Buck turned quickly to the boy sitting slightly above him, a surprised smile creeping over his lips. "Meaning if you don't like something, change it?"

Adam shrugged. "I guess."

"You've got an ol' soul, pard, you know that?"

Puzzled, Adam asked. "What's that?"

Buck's hand perched gently on Adam's knee. "That you're wise beyond your years."

"Momma mostly says I'm pre...precocious." He struggled over the word.

Buck laughed. "That too, I guess." He smiled at the boy, finding his presence a calming influence, a gentle reassurance that he had made the right decision. Sarah and Adam had always been there for him and he would not fail them. This was an opportunity to fill the empty space inside for both himself and Chris. Nothing would prevent him from saving their lives this time out. Buck headed over to Chris, eager to finish the day's chores. There were things that he needed to do.

The rest of the day passed quickly for Buck. Chris kept him busy with numerous projects around the ranch, some of which he remembered from the past and wished he didn't have to repeat. Others he didn't remember, but with each unfamiliar occurrence, Buck became more and more confident that he was right. He could change the direction of the tragic path they were on. He could make a difference. As they were shoring up a weak beam in the hay loft, Buck put his plan into play.

He heaved on the thick cord of rope that shifted the new supporting beam into place while Chris used a mallet to hammer it in tightly. When it was done and Chris was out of the way, Buck eased back on the rope, listening with satisfaction as the weight settled securely on the new foundation.

Chris removed his bandanna and wiped the sweat from his face, exhaling wearily. Even with the cool breath of fall moving in, the loft was hot and sweltering. He opened a few buttons on his shirt and pulled the material away from his saturated skin.

Buck coiled the rope slowly about his arm and then commented, "Don't set a place for me at dinner tonight."

Chris glanced at him, grinning devilishly. "Meeting your female dandy friend Ezra?" He tugged on the beam to test its security.

Buck balked a moment and then laughed at the ridiculous notion of his friend. "Hell no!" Then he sobered. "I've just got other things I need to attend to."

That quiet voice of Buck's set Chris immediately to wondering. It usually meant trouble in one way or another. "Like what?" he fished.

"Things," Buck insisted, desperately trying to skirt the issue. Finally, he gave into what he knew would ease Chris's mind, flashing that winning smile that had become his mask. "All right! You got me. I'm going to see my lady friend."

Chris eyed his old friend for a moment more not quite believing the other man's words. Thankfully, he let it go. "Will you be back by morning? I need you to move the remuda to the eastern pasture before we leave. The grazing's better there."

"I'll be here."

Chris nodded, knowing that he could always count on Buck. He regarded his friend. "Don't have too much fun tonight." He slapped Buck playfully on the shoulder and then moved to inspect their work. "I need you serious and sober."

"I've never been more serious and sober in my life, Chris," he murmured as Chris moved out of earshot.

Sarah's voice startled them, calling up from below. "I've brought ya something to drink. Come on down."

Buck used the back of his sleeve to mop at his sodden brow. "Be right there."

Chris was still checking the security of the new support beam they fitted into place. Buck shook his head at his friend's fastidiousness and came down the ladder to get his refreshment. It was fresh cool lemonade. Buck downed his glass in four huge swallows, a few sticky drops sliding down his chin to disappear into his collar. "Damn, that's good."

Sarah raised her eyebrow and poured him a second glass. "I kept it sittin' in the well outside tae keep it cold." She set the pitcher down and offered him a ham biscuit.

Buck took it and wolfed it down. He had forgotten how hungry hard work made him. He was getting soft in Four Corners.

Sarah chuckled at his boyish antics and then paled as a flush of nausea assaulted her. She placed a hand on one of the stall rails and steadied herself.

Buck was at her side in an instant. "What's the matter, Sarah?"

She drew in a deep breath as the moment passed. "Nothin' tae worry yerself about, Buck." She hid a secret smile.

Confusion ran rampant across Buck's face. "What do you mean? Are you alright?"

She patted his arm tenderly. "Of course, I'm alright. It's the natural order of things when yer in my condition. Just caught me by surprise, that's all."

Buck's jaw dropped open, biscuit dough clearly visible in his cheeks. "Your... condition?" he mumbled around the food.

Sarah held a quieting finger to her lips. "Chris doesna know yet. I'm waiting for the right moment tae tell him. Can ya keep a secret, Buck Wilmington?"

Buck laughed and then lifted her in a huge hug, his elation unbounded. "What wonderful news!"

She giggled and then patted his arms off her as Chris came down the ladder.

"What's the fuss?" the blond man inquired, leaping the last few rungs to the bottom.

Buck let go of Sarah, covering his massive grin with another bite of the biscuit. He waved one at Chris. "She made biscuits for us."

Chris laughed. "Leave it to Buck to be overjoyed at the simple prospect of a meal." He kissed a sheepish Sarah on her forehead and then reached for his glass.

Buck could tell Sarah was just bursting with the news but then Adam's shout from the house distracted her.

"Well, I've got things tae do." She gathered her skirts, winked at Buck, and left the men to their light meal.

As she was walking away, Chris took a moment to enjoy the sharp sashay of her bustled hips. Then he stuffed two biscuits into a napkin and climbed back up the ladder intent now on getting back to work. "Let's go, Buck. We're losing daylight."

Buck was also watching Sarah walk away when it struck him. She was pregnant. Sarah Larabee had been pregnant when she died. He went weak in the knees and nearly thudded down to the hay strewn floor. He grasped the same rail Sarah had. "Oh my god," he breathed. They never knew. She had never told Chris before... before.... Oh my god. He struggled to breathe normally. Suddenly the stakes were much higher and Buck's face paled almost as white as Sarah's had been moments before.

With more reason than ever, Buck took off for Eagle Bend every evening in hopes of finding at least one of the men who were responsible for the murders, the man with the single silver spur, the half breed Blackfox, or even Fowler himself. But for the last two nights it had been nothing but futile. Eagle Bend was as empty as a ghost town in terms of the scum Buck hunted.

He had been existing on about three hours sleep a night. Chris had steadily grown annoyed with Buck dozing off in the middle of the afternoon, but he hadn't stopped Buck from going into Eagle Bend each night, at least not yet.

Buck drank reticently from the warm beer as he leaned his chair back against the wall, wearily scanning the crowd in Eagle Bend's solitary saloon, The Sandpiper, as he had done so often this past week. The same old, dirty, wary faces stared back at him or stared into their disappearing whiskey, intent on minding their own business.

Swallowing his own stale drink, Buck's frustration grew with each passing moment. He was running out of time. Time that Chris and his family didn't have. Buck had assumed that Fowler had hired men from the saloon. Least, that had been the case with Blackfox, but maybe that wasn't the case with the others.

Expelling a loud, disgusted breath, Buck dragged himself to his feet, letting the chair drop heavily back to the floor. He slammed the beer mug harshly upon the table so that the tepid liquid sloshed onto the worn surface. Bored onlookers glanced his way as Buck strode out of the saloon and walked onto the smokey street. The huge dense clouds from the fires cast eerie shadows around the dimly lit streets. Despite the smoke, the night air felt good compared to the stale air in the bar. He could taste the hint of a storm in its aftertaste. He looked up to see only a few stars peeking through the veil of thickening clouds.

Angrily stifling a yawn, Buck stretched, his back audibly creaking with the effort after the long hours spent slouched in the chair. He continued his scan of the few residents out on the street. None of whom were the men he was looking for so he headed again for the stable on the off chance that Fowler's big grey might be stabled there, revealing that the hired assassin was indeed in town. After all, the man had no idea that someone hunted him.

At first, that thought had given Buck a sense of deep pleasure, his mind continually replaying with exacting detail what he was going to do to the man when he caught up with him. Fowler would pay for the suffering he had wrought and he would pay dearly, that Buck swore. But now, after two days of desperate searching, Buck was close to frantic at his inability to find him.

If no one showed up in Eagle Bend soon, he would just have to stop Chris from going to Mexico. They would stay at home and protect Sarah and Adam. If Chris became stubborn about it then Buck would stay on his own. The head injury would be just the excuse. He rubbed his lump gingerly. He hadn't decided whether he would or could tell Chris the real truth about the future. His friend would just think him still rattled by the fall, or worse, insane.

He heard a distant sound and it took Buck a moment before he realized what he was hearing. It was a common enough sound but slightly different than what it should be. It was the jangle of spurs but it was missing its usual rhythm. This one was odd.

Then it hit him. It was a single spur! The sound was offbeat due to its missing companion on the other foot.

Buck spun around scanning the streets, centering on the sound. Finally, he saw the man passing the hotel on the opposite boardwalk. Buck held his fervor in check as he leapt off into the street to catch up, even though his every instinct cried to stop the man, threaten him, scare him out of town and out of Chris's life. But that wasn't going to work and Buck knew it. It wouldn't stop Cletus Fowler from trying to kill Chris with Sarah and Adam caught in the process. The head of the operation would still be free, only robbed of the cohorts that Buck knew by sight. Warned of Buck's interference, Fowler would only find new minions, and Buck's job would be that much harder.

Buck would follow this man of the single spur in hopes that he'd lead him to Fowler. Then and only then would Buck let loose his fury. He'd let Fowler live long enough to name his employer and then justice would be served at Buck's righteous and merciless hands.

Slipping into pace behind the man, Buck tried to slow his rapid breathing. Adrenaline flooded his system causing his fingers to twitch spastically over his pistol butt where his hand hovered. The murky light did not reveal the man's identity but that meant nothing to Buck, since as far as Buck knew, most of Fowler's accomplices were just hired drifters. Hell, Fowler himself was a stranger to both Chris and Buck. Neither of them had ever heard of him which meant that whomever had hired Fowler was the hidden man who wanted revenge on Chris for some reason. What had Chris ever done to evoke this kind of evil retribution?

Nothing, Buck chided himself. Whomever it was that had hired Fowler was a sick, perverse individual and deserved nothing but to be on the receiving end of Buck's .45. Chris's life prior to Sarah, though wild and unruly, had never been on the wrong side of the law. Chris's reputation came mainly from never turning the other cheek. He never started a fight, but by God, he always finished them and through most of it Buck was at his side. Buck and Chris were forever getting embroiled in scrape after scrape. Chris was one of those rare individuals who couldn't stand idly by while injustice was done. The odds never seemed to matter to him as long as the rights of those unable to defend themselves were protected. It was a side of Chris that Buck both admired and feared. One of these days it would be his undoing.

Hell, Buck mused, the day was almost here.

Distracted, he almost missed it when the single spur fellow slipped into an alley. He froze, debating his next action. This man was or would soon be in league with a murderer, so following him into a dark alley probably wasn't the wisest thing to do, but the consequences of playing it safe left Buck little choice. Not that he had ever played it safe before. This man would eventually lead him to Fowler; perhaps he was meeting him tonight, at this very moment.

Without another thought, Buck slipped into the darkness of the alley.

He could hear the rhythmic jangling of the man's calling card a short distance ahead of him. Buck carefully maneuvered around some crates and barrels littering the alley, wisely keeping himself hidden in the shadows. He had left his own spurs at the Larabee ranch allowing him to move more silently than his prey.

Of course that didn't mean he had outwitted everyone. He heard a soft footfall behind him and that saved his head from another hard blow. Buck twisted to the side and a pistol handle connected with the meaty part of his shoulder. It staggered him but he didn't go down. Reaching out, he grasped the weapon before it could be turned around. He had the impression of a bulky figure with a strength to match. Wrestling with him, Buck's instinct screamed that he was leaving himself open to attack from the man with the single spur.

Buck had erroneously made the assumption that Fowler had hired the two men separately. As it turned out, the two murdered men in the creek had worked together before.

"What do we have here?" the man with the single spur said. The click of a pistol's hammer ceased Buck's struggling.

"He's been following you since you passed the hotel." The second man, with a long red scar slicing nearly from temple to cheek, removed Buck's pistol from his holster and then pinned his arms behind him.

Buck grunted as his arms were wrenched roughly back and could only watch as the other man's huge fist buried itself with such powerful force into Buck's abdomen that he fell forward, sucking in desperate gulps of precious air. Slumping to his knees, he slipped through the other's grasp who decided not to hold the practically dead weight. The men's cruel laughter crept over him as Buck, his forehead pressing into the dust, glimpsed the sharp reflection of the single silver spur in the dying firelight from the distant street.

"I don't like people following me." The owner of the spur leaned down, his pistol's cold barrel lying on the back of Buck's neck.

Despite the pain in Buck's stomach, a shiver ran down his spine.

"Now why don't you tell me what you find so fascinating 'bout me that you had to follow me down a dark alley? You want to rob me maybe?"

A slow blaze of anger began to burn fervently as the single spur seemed to fill Buck's vision. "I don't want to rob you," he hissed through tightly clenched teeth.

"Then why?" The man insisted, pressing the muzzle harder into Buck's flesh. "You after the bounty on me then?"

"Didn't know there was one," Buck answered honestly though it didn't surprise him in the least.

"Sure you didn't," the scarred one sneered. "Does he have any money on him?"

Rough hands patted his pockets as Buck struggled upright, but an abrupt knee to his side sent him down to the earth again with a groan.

"I was lookin' for someone else," he growled roughly. "I thought you might be going to meet him," Buck insisted, one hand holding himself up off the dirt, the other wrapped protectively around his abdomen. He was winging it now. He had no idea which way he should handle this situation. He couldn't trust these criminals but he doubted they'd trust him either. Either way, he had little choice, if he didn't come up with something fast, he was a dead man.

"And who would that be?"

The scarred one turned to the other. "Look, let's just kill him and be done with it before someone sees us." Scarface was antsy now.

Buck struggled to his knees again, wishing he could stand but soon realized that they weren't going to let him. "The man's name is Fowler. I heard he was hiring for some quick work." Maybe there was a chance that the two outlaws had already made contact with Fowler. By the quick look of surprise in their eyes, Buck knew he was right.

The scarred man rubbed a hand along the edge of his mouth. "I didn't realize Fowler was that careless. I thought he wanted it kept real quiet."

The other man straightened, puzzled. "He did."

"Look, all I want is to offer my own services. I need the money," Buck claimed, carefully watching the two men beside him.

The scarred man pulled out Buck's pistol and aimed it at his head. The long dark muzzle of his own weapon stared at Buck, its cold gaze unflinching before its old master. "He's competition and I don't feel like splittin' our pot. I say we kill him." the scarred man rasped.

Buck gauged his options very quickly and realized just how slim they were. He was about to foolishly attempt to tackle the men when another voice came from the darkness behind him.

"I say we don't."