Dark Angels by Cattraine

Raphael took one last, searching look around the small side courtyard, then opened the back door of the big limo parked there.

Wordlessly, he motioned Buck inside. Just as Wilmington bent his lanky frame to slide in and opened his mouth to ask a question, a hand clamped on his shoulder and shoved, hard. Sprawling awkwardly, on his back, long legs akimbo on the sleek leather seat, Buck yelped in outrage, only to be efficiently silenced by a hot tongue in his mouth, and a busy hand in his pants. Raphael had pounced, and pressed Buck back in the seat using all his body weight and the added advantage of the element of surprise.

Buck Wilmington was, above all a practical man. If a lean, handsome, hard-muscled Latino stud was going to go macho and jump his ass, who was he to question his good fortune? His straining, diamond hard prick certainly wasn't objecting to the rough handling it was receiving. It took the big man all of three seconds to get with the program and start responding enthusiastically, kissing back hungrily and groping for skin. Lord, it had been too damned long since Buck Wilmington had had a hard cock up his ass!

Raphael growled throatily with pleasure as Buck lustily sucked at his throat, big hands working busily on freeing Rafe's thick cock from his tight black pants. He had always suspected the big man would be lusty in bed, now he was finally getting a taste for himself. Buck pawed at Rafe's clothes, seeking contact with hot, sleek skin. He wanted this man in him NOW.

Rafe grabbed Buck's fine linen shirt in both hands and tore it open from throat to crotch. He yanked Wilmington's dress pants open and dove in to bite at small brown nipples on the furred chest, while one hard hand furiously jerked Buck's cock. Buck threw back his head and howled with pleasure. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered vaguely how sound proof limos actually were...

Hector Ramirez slipped around the side door of the garage for a quick piss. Chauffeuring rich gringos could be a pain, but it paid fairly well. At least he could play dice with his compadres while he waited for his patron to finish partying. He finished with a sigh and zipped up. A muffled thump, followed by a groan caught his attention, and, curious, he frowned across the courtyard at the oversized stretch limo parked there. A broad grin split his dark face. Si, it was definitely rocking! Someone was enjoying the party!

Ella Gaines stood silently at the corner of the greenhouse. From this angle, with the bright moon, she had a clear view of the men in the ornate, rose entangled gazebo. She shivered in a mixture of rage and desire at the soft, passionate sounds of lovemaking that resonated from within. Mouth open, nails dug deep in her palms, she panted silently, fighting her arousal. That should be her!

She couldn't tear her eyes from the tall, strong body that so ruthlessly bent the slighter one to his will. The moonlight silvered Chris Larabee's blond hair, limed his skin, made his white shirt glow. It turned him into a feral, fey creature of light and shadow. He had, as promised, bent Vin over the table and mounted him. Now, he rode his young lover hard, determined to imprint his ownership heart deep.

Fingers entwined with Vin's he growled deep in his throat and gave one final thrust as hard and deep as he could, feeling his partner convulse, and buck into his own climax, even as he did. He let his weight relax on the smaller man, deliberately pinning him to the table. His nose buried in silky hair, he lazily mouthed the tender nape of his neck, a subtle reminder of his dominance. Vin moaned softly beneath him, limp with release.

Larabee reluctantly eased back, still joined with Vin, although he felt the wet heat of his semen ease the tight seal between them. He sagged slowly back on the iron bench as he slipped free, Vin cradled in his lap, holding his young lover close. Vin's head lolled back on Chris's broad shoulder, his eyes shut as he panted softly, trying to catch his breath. Larabee tenderly nuzzled a hot, flushed cheek, planting a soft kiss there as his own breathing began to even out. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scents of sex and cedar and pure essence of Vin. Mine. This is mine.

"Damn, Chris..." Tanner's voice was raspy, breathless, hoarse with sex and a touch of awe.

Larabee smirked proudly against a silky, tousled head. "I know, Cowboy, I know."

He wrapped his arms around Vin and held him tight. They sat quietly, heads together, cheek to cheek, breath mingling, slowly coming down from their sexual high.

Engrossed with each other, neither noticed the furious woman lurking in the shadows. Finally, they began to untangle themselves and rearrange their clothing. By the time they exited the gazebo and headed for the drive and Chris's bike, Ella had vanished.

Judge Travis escorted his wife into the side courtyard. The party had been quite enjoyable, although he had been rather amazed to find it had included bikers as well as cattlemen and politicians. He had danced with Rain Jackson, and found her to be charming.

There were several limos parked in this particular courtyard. He frowned; they all looked alike to him. Was this one theirs? He opened a rear door at random, only to hastily shut it again. He spoke dryly to a flustered, pink cheeked Eveline. "I believe this one is occupied, dear."

Inside the car, the two half naked, cum splattered men sniggered happily together as they lazily untangled long, hairy limbs and groped for lost items of clothing. Buck Wilmington had a wide, stupid, sated grin on his face. It wasn't every night he was not only spectacularly fucked but got to moon a judge as well. He beamed up into Raphael's flushed, handsome face, then wrapped a big hand around the back of his new lover's head and pulled him down for another round. Hell, the night was young.

The big Harley rumbled up to the stoplight. It had rained briefly in Four Corners, and the streets were still slick with water, the night air fresh and cool against their faces. Vin yawned sleepily, snug against Chris's broad leather clad back. He was very relaxed and half asleep, chin resting on Larabee's shoulder, arms clasped loosely around his waist. Both men were still mellow with afterglow.

Chris turned his head and absently nuzzled Vin's cheek. He smiled as he felt a tendril of long hair catch on his mouth and tickle his nose. Tanner's rebellious mane was busily working itself free from its tie, whipping lazily over his shoulders.

Their moment of quiet contentment was suddenly rudely shattered, as a jacked up Mustang convertible screeched noisily to a stop beside them.

Four burly, drunken, college age men peered over at the bike. Taking in the riders' elegant evening wear and their close body contact on the bike, they whooped and jeered. "Hey! Look, faggots!"

The driver, a burly, redheaded football player type, leered nastily over at Vin. He leaned over his door and made lewd slurping noises, while his buddies egged him on. "Hey sweet thang. You sure are pretty. You wanna go for a ride with some real men?"

His friends thought this funny, and howled their appreciation at his wit. Vin and Chris ignored them. They had better things to do then deal with idiots this late at night. The light changed and they moved on, only to be caught a few blocks up at the next light. The Mustang pulled up, its occupants growing bolder. "Hey boys, feel up to a old fashioned Saturday night queerstomping?"

The youths yowled their agreement. Vin snorted as he felt Larabee's body tense in front of him. These assholes had no clue. Chris was one of those hardy individuals who regarded barroom brawling as a refreshing hobby. It wouldn't take much more before he decided to crack a few heads.

"Yeah, maybe we'll let the pretty one suck us off, if he asks nice," the acne scarred twerp seated behind the driver piped up excitedly. The rest chortled in agreement.

Vin sighed. Nope. No clue at all.

Chris gave a wordless snarl and pulled the big bike over to the curb. The men whooped and began to pile out of the car. Vin sighed again and slid off to lean patiently against the Harley, arms crossed as he waited. This probably wouldn't take long. Chris arched a blond brow at him.

"You gonna just stand there?"

"Yep. Promised Ez I wouldn't muss up the suit. Besides..." Vin answered virtuously, carefully peeling a stray hair off his lapel.

Larebee gave a much put upon sigh. "I remember, he said you looked splendid."

Vin beamed at him, and gave him a saucy wink. Chris snorted, slid his duster off, tossed it to him, and turned to wade into the fight.

As predicted, it didn't take long. Five minutes later two of the four were lying face down, groaning, in their own personal pools of vomit, while Chris gleefully drove a knee into the groin of the third. The fourth man, realizing he was outclassed, reached sneakily over the side of the Mustang into the floorboard and pulled out a tire iron. He angled to get around to Larabee's vulnerable back.

He had just drawn his arm back to deliver a vicious blow to the back of Chris's head when the unmistakable loud click of a hammer being cocked froze him in his tracks. "Nnnh Unnh."

Turning slowly he found himself staring into the cold blue eyes of a predator. The pretty one had the barrel of a Colt .45 leveled dead center between his eyes. He swallowed hard, caught like a rabbit in that cold gaze. Vin waggled his gun in an unmistakable go away gesture. The sweating youth dropped the tire iron with a clang, and ran like hell.

Chris dropped his gagging, semi-conscious prey and dusted his hands off, before straightening his lapels. He had whirled around at the sound of Vin's gun cocking, but saw that he had things under control. Vin tucked his gun away in his shoulder rig and grinned at him cockily. "Hey Cowboy. You 'bout ready to go home, or ya want ta kick 'em in the head a time or two 'fore you go?"

Chris gave a snort of laughter at the sheer feeling for this man that welled up inside him. He crossed to Vin in two quick strides. The adrenaline was flowing and he felt as horny as a teenager. Eye to eye with his lover he gave a happy, throaty purr, mouth lightly brushing Vin's.

"Splendid, huh?"

Larabee Ranch, The Following Morning

Larabee frowned at the insistent bleat in his ear. Finally, he cracked a baleful green eye open to glare at the bedside table. Goddamned cellphone. Whoever invented the damned things should be shot. The tousled head pillowed on his shoulder snuffled sleepily and burrowed closer. A glance at the digital clock caused his scowl to deepen. Hell, it was barely eight A.M. He snaked a long arm out resentfully, and snarled, "This better be good."

"Ah, good morning Mr. Larabee! Ah trust you are in good health this fine morning?"

"Ezra?" Chris squinted at the phone, then the clock, in disbelief. Had the sanctified dead risen from their graves?

A warm chuckle sounded in his ear. "Indeed, Mr. Larabee. Ah have not yet been to bed. Ah have urgent news. We have a buyer for the late Mr. Delgado's purloined arms shipment, however, we must move post haste."

Larabee, abruptly wide awake, listened as Standish explained. Apparently, their potential buyer was nervous and in a hurry. He absently stroked the sleek golden brown skin of Vin's shoulder. Vin sighed, turned, and stropped his whiskered jaw against a small brown aureole. The tingle went straight to Chris's groin. He shifted long legs to ease the pressure.

"Who's the buyer? Miguel Sanduval?"

Larabee felt an amused smirk spread across his face. He snickered meanly. "Guess that war with the Alvarez family has heated up a mite."

The idea of selling Diego's stolen guns to the rival of the man who had tried to kill him amused him. "Poetic justice? Yeah..."

He stretched lazily as Ez prattled on, then clamped his mouth shut abruptly as a hot, wet tongue sleepily laved his nipple. Bright blue eyes twinkled up at him as Vin latched on to the tiny bud and began to suckle lazily. Larabee's green eyes began to glaze. He blinked and fought to maintain his composure. "Where do they want to meet? Oh, yeah..."

He curled his fingers in the curly chestnut mane and tugged hard to peel Tanner off his tingling tit. Vin released the tiny, throbbing bud with a wet slurp that curled Chris's toes. Slanting a mischievous gaze up at Chris's face, laughing blue eyes crinkled at the corners, he burrowed under the sheet, tousled head rooting its way south. Hard, calloused hands spread Chris's muscular thighs wide. Larabee gasped, one big hand knotting into the covers.

"Mr. Larabee, are you there?"

"Oh yeah...damn."

He concentrated hard, scowling, trying to ignore the delicious sensations between his legs. Vin was lazily rubbing his silky hair against Larabee's erect cock, even as he nibbled the sensitive, twitching skin of Chris's belly. Larabee's eyes nearly crossed when a hot, wet tongue abruptly curled around his swollen cock head and...slurped.

"Shit!"

There was an amused chuckle in his ear at his surprised croak. "Mr. Larabee, shall we rendezvous at the Saloon, ahem, perhaps in an hour?"

"Oh, hell yeah!"

The hapless cellphone sailed across the room to smash into the wall.

Vin raised his head from a wide-splayed, furry, golden thigh, licked his lips, and beamed up at Larabee. "Mornin', Cowboy."

Chris croaked a feeble reply and weakly flapped an arm in Vin's general direction. He squinted blearily at the cobwebbed ceiling. Funny, that smudge looked just like Buck's moustache...Where the hell did Tanner get his energy? There was an irritated meow from beside the bed. He turned a dazed head to meet Miss Lily's bright eyes. Her tail switched impatiently. Breakfast was late.

"Not my fault."

Larabee croaked at the testy feline. Vin chuckled, sat up, and slapped Chris's thigh. "Better get a move on, Cowboy. Time's 'a wastin'."

The young man bounced out of bed and headed down the hall. Miss Lily followed, fluffy tail held high. Finally! Someone was getting with the program. Larabee groaned. Lord, no one should be that damned perky in the morning!

The Saloon, The Parking Lot, 9:30 A.M.

Buck chuckled as Chris and Vin pulled their bikes into the lot a half hour late. An unshaven, sour-faced Chris suffered from a severe case of bedhead and wore his worn black leathers with his darkest shades. All that was missing was the hangover. Vin was bright-eyed and alert, as always in the mornings. Ezra stood nearby, also sporting dark sunglasses and clutching an extra large black coffee as he leaned sleepily against a flashy, souped up Corvette.

Raphael, Josiah, JD, and Nathan slowly emerged from the Saloon. All four were bleary eyed and caffeine deprived. JD yawned, setting off a chain reaction down the line of bikers. Chris gave them a humorless smile. "Alright. We ready? Who's driving the truck?"

Raphael raised a hand, and stepped forward. Larabee tossed him the keys of the nondescript panel truck. The meet was to take place three hours south, in a small town near the Mexican border. If things went smoothly, they would be back home before dark. Chris turned to Vin and clasped his forearm. "See you tonight, pard. Say Hey to Charlie and Irene for me."

Vin studied him gravely, dark blue eyes intent on his face.

"You sure ya don't want me ta ride along, Chris? I kin visit Charlie next week."

"Nah, Cowboy. Got plenty of backup with these yahoos. You don't want to miss Charlie's 65th birthday. Irene would take that damned wooden spoon of hers to your ass. I'll meet you here tonight."

They clasped arms again. Larabee gave him a leer and wink. Vin grinned, shook his head, and rumbled out of the lot. He opened the Magma up, popped the front wheel up, catwalked the big bike, then dropped down and roared off down the highway. Chris shook his head after him fondly. Showoff.

Buck raised a surprised brow. "Vin's not going?"

"It's Charlie's birthday," Chris answered quietly.

Buck nodded in immediate understanding. Charlie Truehorse had been the one bright light in Vin's abysmal childhood. The Native American bounty hunter had had no qualms whatsoever about hauling home a malnourished, scrawny teen that he had rescued off the streets of Houston. A mute, nearly feral Vin had been amazed at the warmth and love the Truehorses had extended to him.

Charlie had taught him to hunt game, both animal and human, to ride, track, and shoot. Irene had taught him herbology, how to gentle horses, and several Native American dialects. They both loved him fiercely. Their only child, a son, had died in the last days of fighting in Vietnam. Vin returned that fierce, unconditional love, watching over the elderly couple, and visiting them as often as possible.

"All right! Mount up. Let's head out." Larabee barked impatiently, and gunned the big, black Harley.

Rafe winked at a grinning Buck and climbed into the truck. Ezra slid into his 'vette, carefully adjusting his precious coffee in the cup holder. The others climbed on their bikes. The band of Dark Angels headed out, the truck and Corvette falling in behind their ranks.

Not one of them had noticed the dark van that had turned out of Blossom's parking lot across the road and followed Tanner.

White Horse Mesa, Charlie Truehorse's Trailer, Roughly 2:00 P.M.

Charlie leaned back in his chair under the awning of the trailer and patted his round belly happily. Chocolate birthday cake with raspberry filling was his favorite. A compact, stocky, broad shouldered man, his thick salt and pepper hair shaved in a brush cut, he was starting to spread a bit in his old age. He beamed fondly across the table at his shiye, his son. Vin was working on his third piece of cake, with little sign of slowing down.

Irene shuffled out of the trailer door, carrying another tall glass of milk for her boy. Although she stood only five feet tall, she was almost as wide, and most of it was muscle. She had once picked Vin up after he had taken a bad tumble from a green horse, draped the groggy, semi-conscious teenager over one shoulder, and waddled placidly home--all three miles. When she deigned to speak at all, it was usually in Navajo.

She ran a work roughened hand through Vin's hair and gave his ponytail a sharp, loving tug as she silently set the milk by his hand. Mouth full, he nodded happily up at her in thanks. Charlie reached for the fingerprint smudged polaroid photo on the table. He chuckled at the picture of a frisking Peso, Vin's bandanna in his teeth. "So this is the horse that bit a bad ass biker in the ass!"

He and Vin snickered, both picturing the irate Larabee. Irene's mouth twitched. The Truehorses tolerated the Dark Angel because of Vin, but they were wary of him as well. Larabee's bad rep stood for itself. Still, if Vin cared for the man, then he was considered family, and that was that. Charlie's dark eyes twinkled up at his wife and he patted her ample behind fondly. "That was good cookin', Peaches! Might have put some meat on the boy this time!"

Irene snorted. She had been trying for years to fatten her boy up, to no avail. She poked Charlie's belly sharply instead. He turned wide, wounded eyes up at her. "Now Peaches, I only had two helpings of cake."

She put her hands on her broad hips.

"Okay, it might have been three..." he conceded sulkily. He glared across the table at Vin's snort. "Help me out here, boy."

Vin shook his curly head. "Nope. Ain't arguing with Miz Irene. Don't want no spanking with That Spoon."

The only spanking an astonished young Vin Tanner had ever had, had come from Irene Truehorse's hand and her trusty wooden spoon. She had turned the lanky boy over her knee after he stole and devoured a pie meant as a gift for her sister. It hadn't mattered a bit that he had stood a foot taller than she at the time. She welded That Spoon like a queen's scepter as well as a favored kitchen implement, and both Charlie and Vin had learned to walk softly when she had it at hand.

Charlie huffed, and folded his arms. His pretend sulk vanished though, as he caught sight again of his birthday gift from Vin. He reached over and pulled the antique, ivory handled Bowie knife lovingly out of it's cherrywood case. Charlie and Vin shared a love of fine knives and firearms. It was Charlie who had discovered and nurtured Vin's phenomenal skill as a marksman.

He winked at Vin and made a slashing motion with the wickedly sharp blade. "Could scalp a few palefaces with this."

Irene gave a derisive snort and cast her eyes heavenwards as she gathered up dirty plates. Vin jumped up to help, only to be pinched sharply for his pains. He yelped and sat back down hastily when she wagged a finger at him. He had forgotten that he was an honored guest today. He glared across the table as Charlie sniggered and beamed fondly after her.

"Don't look at me boy. You should know better. Reckon you got room on that fancy bike for all the leftovers she packed up for you?"

Vin gave his foster father his familiar, crooked grin. "Reckon I always got room for Miz Irene's mutton stew and fry bread."

"And cake too, you got to take home some for Larabee. Don't want him gunning for me."

"Reckon yer safe, Charlie, long as ya got Irene watchin' yer back. Chris don't want no part of that spoon."

They laughed softly together as Vin got up and prepared to take his leave. Irene came out of the trailer with several large tupperware containers. She handed them to Vin, then gave him a rib cracking squeeze goodbye. He oofed and bent and dropped a shy kiss on her round cheek in return. She gave his curly ponytail another fond tug, murmured, "Tsiishch'ili," under her breath, and returned silently to the trailer.

Charlie grabbed his walking stick and walked him to his bike. Vin ambling slowly to accomodate his limping gait. Arthritis, and age had finally stopped Charlie's bounty hunting. He had chosen this birthday as his retirement year. He gave his boy a quick, loving hug.

"Don't be a stranger, boy. Bring Chris and the boys next time. It'll give Peaches something to fuss over."

"I will. Take care, Charlie."

"You too, son. Be careful on that machine."

Truehorse eyed the big, red Magma respectfully as Vin tucked his food in the saddlebags, climbed on, and started it up. In the old days, given the opportunity, a younger Charlie would have probably broken his neck on one. He ruefully decided to stick to horses of the four legged variety, and leave the iron horse to Vin. Vin flashed him a smile, lifted a hand, gunned the bike, and was gone, winding down the dirt road into the canyon below.

As he always did, Charlie limped over to the venerable pinon pine growing at the edge of the mesa. It was something of a ritual for him, to watch Vin go, and he enjoyed watching the boy open up his bike once he hit the straight stretch of highway on the canyon floor below. He could hear the purr of the bike's engine on the road as it wound down the mesa.

He waited patiently, sharp black eyes on the curve where Vin would emerge from the shadow of the mesa. What he saw in the next few minutes had him wheeling, and bellowing for Irene in a furious mixture of Zuni, English, and Navajo, as he limped back to the trailer as quickly as his crippled legs would allow. Some sonufabitchin' biligaana bastards had ambushed his boy.

Vin had just reached the canyon floor and started to open the big bike up just as he had a thousand times before, when the bright red car suddenly wheeled from concealment behind the huge boulders at the curve, directly into his path. He braked and tried to swerve and lay the big bike down, but it was too late. He skidded, leaving a trail of rubber, and his front wheel struck the front end of the Miata at an angle, throwing him up over the hood. He threw his arms up to shield his head and tried to tuck and roll, but wasn't fast enough.

He had a brief glimpse of Ella Gaines' jeering face as his body struck the windshield, before white hot pain exploded in his arms and head, and momentum threw him over to crash and roll hard onto the blacktop. Additional pain sizzled through his hip and left leg. Dazed and semi-conscious, he fought to keep his senses, to try and stand, but his body refused to obey. He never saw the hard kick aimed at his head from the leader of the men who had emerged from the black van parked in the shadow of the mesa.

Ella Gaines smoothed her silk head scarf, checked her lipstick in the side mirror, and smiled down at the unconscious, battered body. Harper's men bent and grabbed Vin, dragged him across the road, and threw him in the back of the van. They followed, jumping in quickly, and within minutes the two vehicles were on the road, leaving Vin's twisted, smashed bike in the middle of the road. By the time a furious Charlie Truehorse, rifle in hand, reached the edge of the mesa above, they were gone.

Deming, New Mexico. Near the Mexican Border, Approx. 2:30P.M.

Chris Larabee leaned against his Harley, handsome face impassive. Inside, he thrummed with tension. He was growing more uneasy with each passing moment, unsure why, and it irritated him. Things were finally winding up. Ezra, with Raphael acting as translator as needed, had concluded the damned deal. Moodily, Larabee watched as Ez politely shook Miguel Sanduval's hand, accepting the hefty briefcase full of cash from the swarthy, nattily dressed Mexican jefe in exchange for the truck load of guns.

An overturned semi on route 25 had delayed their arrival at the abandoned warehouse, spooking their buyer and nearly causing a wary Sanduval to cancel. Fortunately, Ezra P. Standish could talk the devil into investing in harp futures, and he had successfully soothed the man's frazzled nerves.

Miguel Sanduval bade Standish a polite farewell as he tossed the truck keys to one of his men. He cast a covert glance across the warehouse, where the blond leader of the Dark Angels lounged, flanked by his alert, heavily armed men. The man reminded Miguel of a lion surrounded by a particularly lethal pride. Larabee had remained silent, aloof in the background, while Standish and Cordova had efficiently conducted the business at hand.

Miguel had learned as much as possible about this tall, blond gringo in preparation for this important first meet. The man had a formidable reputation on both sides of the border. Sanduval had high hopes of further, profitable alliances with the Dark Angels.

He had nothing but the greatest respect for the man who commanded the firepower that had so easily taken out his rival, General Alvarez, and decimated Benito Delgado's operation. Nervously, he wondered if Larabee's sniper was watching them now. Even inside the warehouse, he felt unsafe. The nape of his neck itched fiercely.

The assassin who had taken out General Alvarez was known simply as El Muerte in Mexico. It was said he moved como la sombra del halcon, like the shadow of a hawk, bringing silent death to his victims. They neither saw, nor sensed his arrival until it was too late. Como un fantasma silenciosa. The shot that had killed Alvarez had been made from a phenomenal distance, and not a trace of the sniper found.

Chris Larabee waited with arms folded, long, leather clad legs stretched out, dressed in his customary black, the heavy Colt in his shoulder rig clearly visible. Buck flanked him on the left, easily cradling a heavy duty riot gun, big body seemingly relaxed, alert blue eyes on Sanduval's burly bodyguards. Nathan was crouched at his right, sleek in black leathers, lazily cleaning already immaculate nails with an extremely sharp knife, dark face impassive behind wrap around shades. Josiah towered moodily at their backs, pensive, pale blue eyes never leaving Sanduval's men as he thoughtfully fingered the cross and fetishs on the heavy chain around his neck. His big .357 Magnum was clearly visible in the cross holster over his broad chest. JD hovered in the doorway as lookout, trying hard to keep still, keeping one nervous eye outside, covering them from ambush from behind.

"Please extend to Senor Larabee my thanks. I hope we shall do business again soon."

Miguel spoke carefully, earnestly, in his best English.

Ezra returned his handshake heartily. "Ah shall do so, sir. It was an honor to do business with you."

Pleased at the Southerner's courtesy, Miguel inclined his head in respectful farewell to Senor Larabee, and took his leave, climbing into his luxurious, bullet proof Mercedes. His men scrambled to follow. Once their vehicles were out of sight, Standish sighed in relief. He beamed at Raphael and carried the case over to Larabee, popping it open to reveal the stacks of bills within.

Larabee cast a disinterested glance at their haul. Buck whistled and rubbed his palms together with childish glee. Standish beamed proudly. Josiah's face split in a toothy grin. Nathan shook his head, well aware that his friend's cut would end up in the Sisters of Mercy's coffers. Raphael kept a vigilant eye out, insuring they were still unobserved, while JD eyed the money hungrily, unconsciously licking his lips.

"Ez, you carry the cash. We'll split it at home. Buck, you know what to do with Vin's and my shares. Let's ride." Chris ordered curtly, not wanting to linger and attract unwanted attention.

"Hell, Chris, let's stop in Las Cruces at the steakhouse. I could eat a horse with the hide still on."

There was a general chorus of agreement with Buck's enthusiastic suggestion. Larabee reluctantly agreed. His men had done a good job, and they had not had time for lunch. His feeling of unease was growing, despite the fact the deal was successfully concluded, and they were practically home free. He turned to mount his bike.

Whooping happily in a release of tension, Buck goosed JD, slapped Ezra on the back, and threw a big arm around Raphael's shoulders. "You ride with me, pard."

He gave the shorter man a companionable squeeze that lingered, beaming down at him. Rafe shook his head, ruefully. How could one refuse such exuberance? Glancing over at Larabee, he saw that the blond was eyeing them thoughtfully, but the man said nothing. They mounted up and pulled out, heading north.

Rivera Ranchero, Red Rock Butte, Approx. 3:30P.M.

Vin Tanner awoke to a world filled with hurt. His head ached unmercifully, and his left eye was sticky and sealed shut with dried blood.

He couldn't feel his hands. Dazed, he blinked down at his lap. Blood trickled steadily down his jaw. The late afternoon sun was hot and blinding on his face and body.

After a few minutes, he realized he was in some sort of greenhouse, and he that he was tied with his arms twisted behind his back to a sturdy wrought iron chair. He lifted his head with effort, trying to access his situation. He felt scraped raw all over. He hurt everywhere, especially his head, arms and left ankle, but the fact that he could neither move or feel his hands frightened him. He hated being helpless. He tried to shift the heavy chair, but couldn't budge it.

At his aborted attempts at movement, a thin, ferret-faced, ginger haired individual seated nearby, rose and regarded him silently, then turned and left. Vin blinked after him, licked his dry lips, tasting blood on the split lower one. He was hot and horribly thirsty, and knew that that was the very least of his problems. He was the prisoner of a crazy woman.

Closing his good eye, he slumped in the chair, trying to conserve what little strength he had. He would get only one chance, if any, and he had to be ready to move. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to relax and play possum. Chris would come for him, it was only a matter of time. Charlie would have seen the attack from the top of the mesa. He just had to be patient. Vin Tanner had long ago abandoned faith in God. He put his faith in a dark, fallen angel instead.

Las Cruces, La Paloma Steakhouse, 3:45P.M.

The Dark Angels spilled out of the restaurant, replete with good food and high spirits. Bucklin T. Wilmington had just been shot down in a spectacular fashion by a sassy, wisecracking, blonde waitress, and his friends were delighting in insuring that he never forgot it. Larabee's lips quirked in an amused smile as he listened to Buck's loud, blustering protests to the friendly jeering.

He doubted that anyone else had noticed the interplay between Buck and Raphael. During the meal they had sat close together in the booth, arms brushing as they ate. Buck stole half of Rafe's potato wedges, casually invading the smaller man's personal space, draping an affectionate arm over his shoulders, leaning close when he spoke to him. On the bike, Raphael sat easily against Buck's back, one broad hand resting casually, possessively on the tall man's hip.

This was a new twist in Buck's love life. Granted, he fucked every nubile female that moved, but to Larabee's knowledge, he had never slept with any of the gang, other than Chris himself. He would wait and see. Maybe Buck needed a dominant male constant in his life, and Raphael was a good man. Larabee would reserve judgment.

Buck had just swung a long leg over his bike, when his cellphone trilled the opening notes of Love Me Tender, from his vest pocket. Still hotly defending his seduction techniques, he pulled it out and flipped it open. "H'lo?" He frowned, winced, and withdrew the shrieking phone from his ear. "Inez! Parle English darlin'. I can't understand a word you say...yeah...yeah, he's here." Smile dying on his handsome face, he wordlessly extended the phone to Chris.

Heart pounding, Chris took the phone, guiltily remembering that he'd smashed his own cell earlier that morning against the bedroom wall. "Inez, yeah, it's me. Yeah? Let me speak to him."

The others watched, alarmed when Larabee paled and swayed on his feet. Buck rushed forward, hands out, only to be brushed off as Chris regained control. "Charlie? What EXACTLY happened? When? Speak English, man! Okay, we're about three hours south, we're on our way."

He was hurrying towards the Harley even as he spoke. "We'll find him, I promise. I know who has him. Tell Irene everything will be alright. I'll call."

Larabee snarled in fury, cursed viciously, whirled, and threw Buck's phone against the brick wall of the restaurant as hard as he could. He was shaking with fury. He had been a fool. He had underestimated Ella, and Vin had paid the price.

"Chris?"

He whirled on Buck, face an anguished mask, and spat, "That was Charlie. He's at the Saloon. He's been trying to find us. A dark haired woman in a red car -- Ella -- ran Vin off the road. Her men threw him in a van. The fucking bitch!"

Faces hardening, the Dark Angels rallied around their leader. Buck watched his closest friend carefully. He more than anyone, knew what would happen if the sharpshooter was dead. There would be hell to pay. Chris would rampage, then let himself sink into a morass of black rage, guilt and despair. He stepped forward and laid a firm, comforting hand on Larabee's shoulder. "We'll get the boy back, Chris. Junior's tough as old boots. The bitch is going down."

Chris ran a shaking hand through his hair as he fought his black rage down. He dared not lose control and berserk now. Vin needed him. He took a deep breath, seeking calm. He had to think, plan. He licked his lips and turned to his men. Fuck! Why did they have to be halfway across the damned state!

"We go hammer down. Straight up 25, cut over to Red Rock Butte, no stopping! JD, Ezra, you take turns busting those speedtraps outside of Socorro and Albuquerque. Lose the cops. Run your vehicles through the chopshop, after. You can meet up with us later at Ella's. Whatever happens, come hell or high water, WE DO NOT STOP! Understood?"

"Indeed, Mr. Larabee."

"We're with you, brother."

"We'll find him, Chris."

They mounted up quickly. Heartened by their unconditional support, Larabee gunned his bike, the others falling in to flank him as they roared up the highway. Ezra paced them in the speedy Corvette.

I'm on my way, Cowboy. Hold on. I love you. He had never told Vin that aloud. He prayed he would get the chance. Any cop fool enough to try and stop them would pay the ultimate price.

Rivera Ranchero, 5:00 P.M.

A harsh, stinging slap across the face brought Vin out of the semi-conscious daze he was drifting in. He opened his good eye to Ella's toothy, smiling face. Yep. Looks like a 'gator alright. She ran a glossy, enameled nail down the side of his face, brought the blood tipped digit up to her mouth, and licked daintily. Her malicious, dark eyes were riveted on Vin's impassive face, hungry for signs of weakness and pain.

He allowed his head to loll back, as though more dazed than he actually was, as he glanced around. She was alone. Good. Maybe he could goad her into doing something stupid. Although he had no idea in hell HOW exactly he would escape, when he could barely move, he was determined to try.

"Mmmm, sweet...tell me, Blue Eyes, does Chris find you sweet?" She crooned softly as she circled his chair slowly, running her hand through his tangled hair possessively. She spoke slowly, almost dreamily, lost in her own reality. "He's mine, you know. He always has been. I knew the first moment I laid eyes on him, he was meant for me. It took me years to find him again. I worked hard to be ready for him. Now I can give him anything he wants or needs. We're going to be the perfect couple."

She stopped in front of him, eyes drifting over his face, and down the front of his denim shirt. She stroked the curve of his strong jaw, brushed his split lip with her thumb. Her roaming hands trailed spider-like down his chest, lazily flicking open the buttons of his shirt.

"YOU had him, you know how good he is...you're a pretty boy, I can see why he wanted you...pretty blue eyes, hair, skin..."

She pinched a tiny nipple between sharp nails. Her breath quickened, eyes glittering with lust. Vin sat stoically, enduring her touch, although it made his flesh crawl. Her tongue flicked out and she licked her red lips as she eyed him. Maybe she would take him, before she killed him. Chris had certainly enjoyed that lean body. She ran her eyes up his chest, and they widened when she saw the love bites Larabee had inflicted up on the tender skin of Vin's throat.

Laughing throatily, she trailed a finger over the still livid bite beneath his jaw.

"Looks like Chris certainly found you pretty. Be a good boy, and maybe I'll find you pretty too..."

One hand twisting in his hair to hold him still, she bent suddenly and fastened her mouth over his, forcing his lips apart with her tongue, ravishing his bruised, bloody mouth. She unzipped his jeans with her free hand and groped inside to fondle his soft genitals.

Vin bucked in the chair, utterly revolted at this parody of a seduction, and unable to tolerate her touch for another moment. He could smell her rank animal musk, and her taste nauseated him. With a feral snarl, he twisted his head, sank his teeth in Ella's lower lip, and did his level best to bite the lower half of her face off. She howled with pain and clawed frantically at his face and eyes to get him to release her. Only after she raked his eyes with her nails did he let go.

Stumbling back, shrieking now with rage, she snatched a sharp set of pruning shears off the nearby potting bench and lunged back at him, determined to stab him to death. Tanner brought his uninjured right leg up and viciously kicked her between the legs. When she reeled back and lunged again, he kicked her in the gut as hard as he could. She fell back, stunned breathless against the bench, and slumped to the floor, blood dripping down her torn face, eyes glittering with rage and pain.

"Ella? What the hell?"

Del Harper aimed his gun at the back of Vin's head, confused by the sight of his employer sprawled bleeding in front of a supposedly helpless man. He cocked the hammer of his .38, ready to dispose of him.

"No! No, don't touch him! He's mine!" she snarled up at him, bloody mouth twisted in a mask of rage.

She hauled herself upright, shaking as she realized how close she had come to being horribly maimed, or worse, if Tanner had reached her jugular. Leaning against the bench until her knees stopped shaking, she stared at the silent, defiant man seated before her. She shuddered, chilled as he returned her gaze. For a long moment that feral, blue stare held her riveted. Even hurt and helpless, there was no fear in him.

Breathing hard, forgotten shears clutched in one hand, she stared fascinated. For the first time, she had caught a glimpse of the Vin Tanner that so captivated Chris Larabee. Licking her torn mouth, she raised a hand to wipe absently at her bloody chin. Blinking, she turned to Harper. "Get the box ready."

"Ella..."

"Do as you're told, Harper!"

"Ella, you never said he was a biker!"

"DO AS YOU'RE TOLD!" She screamed directly into his face, spraying him with spittle and blood.

Shaken, he stared at her, wavered, then swallowed hard and turned to obey. He was worried. He had never seen her lose control like this before. She actually thought the friend of the man she was about to murder would marry her? Del shook his head slowly. Better to think of his hefty paycheck and not worry about a ragtag band of dim-witted bikers. He went to get the others. No way in hell was he getting within reach of the man tied to the chair.

Ella took a deep breath, one hand absently toying with her dark hair. Vin neither blinked or made a sound, blue eyes locked with hers. Wondering, she reached out a hand, jerking it back when he bared bloody teeth. She circled warily until she stood behind him, then reached out and viciously yanked his hair, twisting his head back as she held the sharp shears to his throat. He never made a sound, battered face stoic.

"You're not afraid..." She sounded amazed, and a bit awed. Suddenly lifting the shears, she maliciously cut through his hair, slicing off his long, tangled ponytail near the nape of his neck. She stepped back, surveyed her handiwork, a slow satisfied smile on face. "Not so pretty now, Blue Eyes."

She circled around to study his impassive face, holding the ponytail like a trophy. Her toothy smile widened. "You will be afraid. I promise."

The big bikes and the souped up Corvette roared up the highway. So far they had been lucky but there was a lone speedtrap ahead, the trooper's car half hidden by a billboard. Larabee raised one hand and whipped it forward in a GO! motion. At the signal, JD bent low over his racing Katana and zoomed ahead as beaverbait as the others fell back. Sure enough, the trooper slapped on his lights and siren and roared in pursuit.

The Dark Angels picked up their pace again, opening the heavy bikes up. They were moving like bats out of hell, and making excellent time. When they reached areas where traffic was thick, they rode straight up the center line, while Ezra wove in and out behind. Drivers who saw the grim faces roaring up in their rearview mirrors, shifted lanes and got the hell out of the way. The lone County Sheriff they passed pretended he had important business elsewhere, and kept his eyes diligently on the road ahead.

Ella watched with dreamy satisfaction as Harper's men shoveled dirt into the grave. The eight feet long, by four feet wide and deep steel packing case meant to ship cargo, had made an excellent coffin. Tanner had put up a short, vicious fight, but a man as badly hurt as he hadn't had a chance against Harper's muscle boys.

Still, he had not made a sound, even when they dropped the lid and slid the heavy iron bolts shut. She ran an idle hand through the hank of silky hair she held, and walked back into the greenhouse. Time to freshen up before supper.

Vin fought down his growing fear and panic as the steel lid clanged shut above him. His broken wrists were throbbing and swollen, he couldn't feel his hands as he flailed uselessly against the unyielding metal. He hurt all over. It was so damned dark, close and hot inside this miserable box. He almost wished he had a blade or gun to ease his way, slow suffocation was not the way he wanted to die.

He shuddered, remembering the hellish years he had spent in Arnold Gate's hall closet as a child. He had been quite literally enslaved by the man. Even now he could remember the endless, blue flicker of the TV, as the old man sat in his easy chair, drank, and watched hour after hour of porn and survivalist tapes. His cowed wife off slaving at one of her jobs.

That scary, cramped, dark closet had gradually become a place of refuge for an abused little boy. A quiet, safe place where he didn't have to cook, scrub laundry, mop floors, or suck Arnold's cock. He had learned to retreat inside his head there, consoling himself with dim memories of Mama, Daddy, and PawPaw.

When he was rewarded for being a good boy, he was fed a can of dog food and allowed to sit at Gate's feet and watch TV too. Little Vin hadn't liked the tapes where the pretty, naked ladies were hurt by the bad men, but he had learned a lot from Ranger Bob's homemade survivalist tapes. Bob waxed eloquent on such topics as urban and wilderness survival. How to Field Strip a Rifle. How to Survive in Winter. How to Dumpster Dive. Twenty-five Ways to Eliminate the Enemy. How to slit a man's throat...

He took one deep breath and forced himself to relax. Chris would come. Ella would die. Deep in his heart, he knew that as fact, but Vin Tanner was, above all, a pragmatic man. When? He didn't want his lover to find him with fear frozen on his dead face, fingers clawed to the bone from trying to scratch through steel.

He curled up painfully on his side, and closed his eyes. He remembered stories Josiah had told of holy men in India who were buried alive and survived for days, an extreme test of faith and will. He huffed out a soft, sobbing breath of laughter. He bet holy men weren't claustrophobic! He could feel his shorn hair flop over his face. Lord, he had a haircut as bad as JD's! That thought made him smile. He decided that if he had to die, he would do so remembering good things. He thought of how fine Chris has looked all dressed up the night before. How fiercely they had loved. At least he had had that in his life.

When he had been sentenced to do hard time in Yuma, after Charlotte set him up, he had been certain that it would only be a matter of time before he died. He felt sure the confinement would drive him mad, or he would be gang raped or stabbed to death. He had known going in, that his slight stature and youth would attract predators. He hadn't counted on attracting the alpha of the Dark Angels. He sure as hell hadn't counted on finding love.

That day in the showers, when Chris had casually stepped in and backed him in his fight against Phelps and his gang, had been a miracle. One look into those green eyes was all it took. The bad in the world had just gone away. He smiled to himself, remembering. It was as though he had known the man his entire life. They had been inseparable since.

Instead of arrogantly claiming rights to Vin's ass, Chris had initiated what amounted to a surprisingly shy courtship. It wasn't as though they didn't have the time on their hands. Almost a year had passed before Larabee had made a blatant sexual advance. He had teased and seduced instead, and for a badass biker, he had been surprisingly gentle and patient with the wary, skittish Tanner.

He had even taught the illiterate, dyslexic Tanner how to read and write. Vin suspected those long afternoons spent at the battered table in the prison library were when Vin first began to really trust and love the man. He yawned. He was hot, and getting sleepy. His head hurt. Hell, everything hurt.

He pretended Chris was spooned up warm behind him, one big, calloused hand resting on his belly, while he snored lightly in Vin's ear. Soon, the sun would come up and he would get up to feed the horses, while Chris snoozed a while longer. Miss Lily would hop up on the bed, touch her tiny velvet nose to his, a request for breakfast... Peso would whinny happily when he saw Vin coming... Lord, but he hurt. Quietly, gently Vin Tanner drifted away to a safe place where no one could hurt him again.

The sun was low on the horizon when the bikes and 'vette roared off the main highway and thundered onto the tree lined access road leading to the long drive winding down to the main house. As they drew level with the deserted gatehouse, they braked hard, at the sight of a disheveled, excited young Hispanic woman in a maid's uniform, frantically waving her apron. It was Rafe's cousin, Julia.

She spat a hyperspeed stream of Spanish at Raphael, unconsciously wringing her apron into knots. Rafe, in turn, quickly translated. "She says Ella gave the staff the day off. Five armed men dragged Vin in earlier, he was hurt. Julia stayed behind, and watched. She called Inez, but we were already on the way. Four of the men are playing cards in the guesthouse, Ella and the other man are eating in the dining room. She didn't see what they did with Vin."

Larabee nodded grimly. "Tell her to wait here. If anyone shows up, tell her to call up to the house and let it ring twice. We go in hard and fast, cut engines on the last hill and coast down to the house. Buck, you and I go in the French doors next to the dining room. The rest of you round up the men in the guesthouse, priority is to find Vin, so don't kill anyone until we do. Let's move!

Ella dabbed her torn mouth carefully with the fine linen napkin. She would have to make an appointment with a cosmetic surgeon in the morning. She wanted to look perfect for the wedding. Fortunately, they were having a light, cold supper tonight. She winced as she sipped slowly at the excellent burgundy. Across the table, a silent Del Harper stared moodily into his glass. "Do cheer up, Harper. Don't be such a worrywart. It's not as though you've never killed anyone before."

She smiled at him and leaned back in her chair, enjoying the cool, fragrant summer breeze that blew in the open French doors, stirring her hair, and silky skirt. The scent of roses was heavy on the air. The sunset was going to be lovely tonight.

"Not like that Ella...that's a nasty way to die."

"He deserved it! He tried to steal Chris from me!"

"You never had me, Bitch."

The cold voice from the open doors jerked them up out of their seats. Chris Larabee, chrome Colt .45 automatic in hand, glided into the elegant dining room, leather duster flaring around his long legs. Buck Wilmington loomed at his shoulder, big riot gun already racked and aimed at Del's head. Blue eyes hard, the big man crooned a warning as the thin, ginger haired Harper made an aborted movement towards his gun.

"I wouldn't do that, pard. Chris here is in a real pissy mood, and I ain't feeling so charitable myself."

Harper froze, raised his hands, and sank slowly back in his chair. Buck stepped around the table and neatly relieved him of his gun. He could feel himself start to sweat. Fucking bitch had gotten him caught up in a biker vendetta!

Hell, why hadn't he heard their arrival? He had a very bad feeling about this. He swallowed hard, mind spinning, searching for an out. His only chance was his men. When he recognized the dark winged colors Buck wore on his vest, he nearly shit himself. He had heard of the Dark Angels.

"Chris!"

"Where's Vin, Ella?" Larabee's voice was a deadly purr.

He eyed her torn, swollen face, and a tiny, cold smile quirked his mouth. He recognized the signs of a recent tangle with a Texas Hellcat. They were interrupted by the arrival of Josiah, Nathan, and Raphael as they manhandled Harper's battered crew into the room. Silently the men lined up along the wall as indicated, hands on their heads.

One burly, heavily set man was bleeding profusely from a deep wound in his shoulder, courtesy of one of Nathan's blades. Another sported a broken, bloody nose. A third had a familiar dazed, concussed look that spoke of recent intimate contact with Josiah's fist. They were all grim, and silent, wary eyes on the heavily armed bikers who watched them so hungrily.

"I'm going to ask one more time, Ella. Listen carefully so it filters through your dim brain. WHERE IS VIN?" Larabee's voice had that cool, familiar note of dangerous clarity that made the hair on the back of Buck's neck stand straight up. Chris was going to kill soon. Across the room, Josiah began to whisper the requiescat, the prayers for the dead. One of Del's men, apparently a lapsed Catholic, recognized the prayer and closed his own eyes, face deathly pale. The other prisoners shifted uneasily.

Ella glared across the table at him, a petulant expression on her face. Why was he being so obstinate? "You have me! You don't need him! I love you!" She folded her arms stubbornly. She would never tell.

Del Harper felt a drop of cold sweat slide down his nose. The woman was crazy as a loon. He was knee deep in shit, and it was only piling higher. He blinked rapidly, swallowing hard.

"Mr. Larabee...Chris...Ah found these in the glass house. There is a great deal of blood splatter there as well. Ah have not been able to locate Mr. Tanner on the premises."

Ezra stepped quietly up to Chris's side from the terrace entrance, and laid Vin's battered, blood stained leather jacket on the table. On this he piled Vin's wallet, belt, guns, and knife. The last item, he placed gently on top. A bloody, sunstreaked, tangled hank of hair. Chris Larabee stared blindly down at it a moment and swallowed. A rag, a bone, a hank of hair... When he raised his head, his green eyes were bleak, his face a white, impassive mask. Those terrible, pitiless eyes flicked once to Del's pale, sweaty face.

Larabee spun, extended his arm and pulled the trigger of the Colt in rapid succession, nearly emptying the clip. Del flinched and jerked involuntarily at the loud thundering boom of the shots as they whistled over his head. The four men standing against the wall crumpled to the floor, dead and dying. One man coughed, and gurgled wetly, choked on his own blood, another's heels drummed the parquet floor in his last, dying spasm.

Blood, bone and brain matter splashed the pale blue wall behind them, and thick arterial blood began to pool on the polished floor.

"Where's Vin, Ella?"

It was a soft whisper now. There was no mercy in him. The stench of cordite, blood, and perforated bowel hung in the air.

"I'll never tell! It doesn't matter anyway! He's dead, and I'm alive! Love me, you're supposed to love me!" She screamed angrily at him, manicured, ringed hands braced on the table as she leaned forward, determined to make him see how things were meant to be. Larabee snarled and lunged across the table. She found herself screeching with pain an instant later, and staring at the knife that he had grabbed and drove in a clean, shining arc straight through her right hand, pinning it to the oak table. He had attacked her!

Wide mouth agape, she could only stare at him in disbelief."I did it for you! I love you." She spoke calmly, reasonably, as though it should be perfectly obvious.

Del Harper broke. He had pissed himself when Larabee had shot over his head. He had never seen anyone move that fast in his life. His men were dead, he was on his own. Time to bail. "I know where he is! I'll show you!"

Chris gave a triumphant hiss. Buck jerked the man to his feet by his collar, shotgun barrel propped under his chin, and propelled him out the door. Larabee followed, duster swirling like black wings behind him. "Josiah! Bring her!"

The order floated behind him. The others hurried to follow, Nathan quickly checking to ensure that all of Ella's men were, indeed, dead. Josiah murmured his prayers as he plucked the blade from Ella's hand with one huge hand, the other knotting in her dark hair, and yanking her unceremoniously to her feet. He carefully wiped, and tucked Vin's blade in his belt for safe keeping, before dragging her out the door.

Larabee stared in shock at the fresh grave set neatly beside Ella's greenhouse. The others stood stunned behind him. Then with a guttural snarl, he flung himself down and began to dig like an animal, with his bare hands. There was a split second hesitation, then Buck Wilmington dove in as well, big hands scooping frantically, followed quickly by Raphael, Josiah and Nathan. Ezra stood guard over a bewildered Ella and a terrified Del Harper.

The men dug furiously, Josiah finally wheeling and grabbing a large compost shovel from the side of the greenhouse. He was praying steadily under his breath, powerful shoulders working hard as he methodically scooped and flung soil from the grave, working like a human steam shovel. Chris never looked up, digging with bruised hands, growling softly, a continuous keen under his breath.

Ezra's lips moved silently, his green eyes wet. Ella slumped at his feet, seemingly in shock, clutching her wounded hand, finally quiet. Suddenly the shovel blade scraped against metal and the bikers redoubled their frenzied efforts. Standish held his breath as the lid of the metal box was quickly uncovered. Chris and Buck fumbled to slide open the iron bolts clamping it shut.

As Larabee struggled to raise the lid, Buck caught his arm, dark blue eyes tender, as he tried to spare his beloved friend further pain. "You don't have to, Chris...Let me do it."

Larabee drew a shaky breath, then met Buck's compassionate eyes. "Yes, I do, Buck."

He heaved the heavy lid up and pushed it back. He froze momentarily at the sight of the bloody streaks on the inner side of the lid, then he forced himself to look inside. Beside him, Buck gave a low groan, tears filling his eyes, one big hand shakily raising to cover his mouth. Josiah never stopped praying, his rich voice a comforting litany. Raphael joined in, his clear tenor merging with Sanchez's bass. Nathan's dark eyes were full of tears.

Vin lay curled in a fetal position, knees pulled up, scraped, bloody hands curled up under his chin, his ragged hair veiling his bruised, battered face. The golden light from the setting sun haloed him in gold. He looked like a broken angel, or a lost child.

Chris moaned aloud. No. He choked on a suddenly dry throat, and, leaning into the box, reached a shaking hand to gently brush the shorn hair from that beloved face. He hissed angrily when he saw Ella's livid scratch marks. His eyes were blurring, and his chest tight with pain. Tenderly Chris ran his knuckles along the curve of that stubborn, square jaw, and cupped the bruised face. He ran his thumb lightly over the soft, lower lip... and froze when he felt warm, moist breath and the minute flutter of long lashes against his fingers.

Larabee's breath caught, as he realized he was touching warm, living skin, then he groped frantically for a pulse. He opened his mouth, but could only manage a thin croak. On the second try, he produced a roar. He kept one hand on the warm, damp cheek. "Nathan! He's alive!"

"Thank you, Lord." Josiah rumbled fervently, big grizzled head bowed. Raphael crossed himself.

The former army medic threw himself into the grave so fast, he knocked Buck aside. His big, dark hands were gentle as he felt along Vin's skull and ran them carefully down his spine and limbs. Carefully, he probed ribs and the lean belly. Finally, he took Tanner's pulse, checked his pupil response. He lifted his head, grave eyes meeting Chris's. The men waited eagerly for his diagnosis.

"He's hurt bad, Chris. Head trauma. Multiple fractures, contusions, maybe internal bleeding. But I think his neck and back are okay. He's dehydrated, and he's lost a lot of blood. Shocky. Gonna be fevered. We got to get him to a hospital asap."

Larabee began snapping out orders. "Buck, bring Ez' car around to the side courtyard, throw some pillows and blankets in to cushion the back. You're driving. Raphael, get Julia home, pick up a crew, then come back here. Ezra, clean the whole goddamned place out, anything valuable goes. Josiah, you supervise cleanup duty. Take out the trash. Nathan, call ahead to the hospital. Let Rain know we're on our way. First, help me with Vin."

Chris climbed out of the grave, reluctant to lose contact, and waited impatiently while Nate and Buck carefully shifted, lifted, and handed Vin up to him, before they followed. He cradled his lover eagerly, happy to hold the living weight of the young man in his arms. He stood up slowly, balancing carefully, holding him close. He relished the feel of the heavy head on his shoulder, the soft, moist breath against his throat.

"Hey, what about me? I helped you find him. What do I get in return?" Del Harper chose that moment to foolishly draw attention to himself, then swallowed hard as six pairs of cold, feral eyes focused on him.

Buck smoothly drew his Glock from the back of his belt and shot him once between the eyes. The quivering body tumbled face down into Tanner's empty grave.

"You die quick, motherfucker."

"Thanks, Buck."

"You're welcome, Old Dog. It was a pleasure."

"Ahem." Ezra cleared his throat meaningfully, and indicated the madwoman kneeling at his feet with distaste. Larabee stared coldly down into her blank, lax face. She was lost in a world of her own making. As badly as he wanted to wring her thin neck with his bare hands, he refused to let go of the man he held in his arms long enough to do so.

He raised his eyes and met Josiah's across the grave in a crystal moment of perfect understanding. The big man nodded, face perfectly serene. He raised his shovel and swung it in an easy arc. Clunk! Ella never saw the blow that connected with the back of her skull.

Larabee turned and strode away, intent now on getting Vin to safety. Buck loped ahead on long legs to fetch the car. Nate, Ezra and Rafe trotted behind.

"An eye for an eye," Josiah rumbled as he rolled her into the big steel box with Harper's corpse. He straightened the hem of her dress decorously, folded her hands carefully at her breast, slammed the lid down smartly, then neatly slid the bolts shut. As he rapidly and efficiently refilled the grave, he burst into a loud, joyful hymn. He had decided to plant the young lilacs he had seen potted by the greenhouse over the grave. The Jackson crematorium would be busy tonight, he mused. Lots of ash for compost! Gardening was so good for the soul! His deep bass rang out happily as he methodically scooped the rich, loose soil.

Ella awoke with a splitting headache, and a throbbing pain in her hand. It was dark, and hot. She could barely breathe. She was cramped, and stiff, and someone was crowding the bed. Something wet and sticky was dripping down the back of her neck. She stiffened as she felt a heavy arm across her waist. She reached out to touch and murmured groggily, "Chris?"

For one split moment she smiled happily, then realization and memory returned like an open floodgate. Eyes popping wide open, she began to scream and claw uselessly at the interior of the dank box. Lunacy finally won in the end as she suffocated slowly, face frozen in disbelief.

Four Corners War Memorial Hospital. Three Weeks Later.

Buck Wilmington popped off the elevator on the fourth floor, clutching a fat bouquet of cheerful daisies and an enormous box of Godiva chocolates. There were at least two nurses working this shift that he badly wanted to play doctor with.

As he strode down the hall towards the nurse's station, he passed a gurney slowly being pushed by a rotund orderly. On it lay a groaning intern, one hand clutching his broken glasses, the other clamping an ice pack to his bloody nose. One eye peered blearily at the ceiling, the other was an impressive shade of purple and swollen shut. Buck winced, whistled, and waggled inquiring brows at the orderly.

"LeRoy, old son. What happened to Doc Holly?"

LeRoy rolled expressive eyes, a broad, white grin splitting his dark face. The snobbish, condescending Holly was not popular among the staff. Hence the leisurely stroll down to Emergency, and X-Ray. "Damned fool was making bad jokes about motorcycle accidents. Popped off a few remarks about the organ donor in room 434. Turns out Mr. Larabee was standing behind him at the coffee machine."

Buck gave an unsympathetic snort. "Chris must be in a good mood. He's still alive. Hell, he's even conscious!"

He slapped the chuckling LeRoy a friendly high five and continued on to deliver his goodies. After ten minutes of intense flirtation with the lovely Nancy, she shooed him away so she could get her work done, so he blew her a kiss and continued on to Vin's room. He hoped Chris had taken time today to get some food, and sleep. Since the night they had carried Vin in, Larabee had hardly left the hospital. Buck huffed sadly, Lord, he hated to see Vin like this.

Buck pushed the door open, stepped inside and was nearly bowled over as one of Vin's attending physicians exited. The thin, frizzy haired woman's face was mottled red with anger and she held her clipboard so tightly her knuckles were white.

"Really, Mr. Larabee! This is MOST irregular!"

She glared up at Buck, elbowed him aside, and stormed out the door. Buck raised an eyebrow and turned an inquiring face towards Chris. He had Vin sitting up on the edge of the bed, and, crouching at his feet, was gently rolling a thick wool sock onto one narrow foot. Larabee smirked up at his old friend as he slid a soft doeskin moccasin on over the sock. "Buck."

"What's up Old Dog? Doc Cooper don't look too happy."

"I checked Vin out AMA. Bitch wanted to check him into Shady Oaks."

"The nuthouse?" Buck was shocked and he bristled in outrage, big hands on lean hips as he glared after the woman, moustache twitching in irritation.

"Yeah. I told her what she could do with her clipboard." Larabee sounded extremely pleased with himself. He straightened and removed an oversized flannel shirt from the gym bag on the nearby chair. Carefully, he eased the sleeve over Vin's casted wrist, then around his shoulders. He had already dressed him in loose sweats and a Tee. He smiled into blank blue eyes and absently dropped a kiss between Vin's brows as he finished dressing him. Raising a hand, he smoothed Vin's bangs back. "He'll get better faster at home, Buck. He hates hospitals, he'd just waste away."

Buck nodded slowly. He was uncertain about that, but knew better than to argue with Chris Larabee when he determined a course of action.

Vin's physical ailments had been quickly diagnosed and treated. He had Colles fractures in both wrists, facial fractures of the left orbital and zygomatic bones, and a serious concussion from a diffuse brain injury that had put him in a coma for three days. He had torn ligaments in his left ankle, and his hip and back were severely bruised. He suffered multiple contusions, cuts, and dehydration as well as a bad case of road rash. His heavy motorcycle jacket and thick jeans had protected him from worse. In short, he was lucky to be alive.

The problem was his mental state. When he finally regained consciousness, he was in what appeared to be a dissociative fugue triggered by the trauma he had suffered at Ella's hands. He was mute and responded only sluggishly to aural and physical stimuli. He slept a great deal, and took no initiative on his own. He would eat and drink if fed, but moved only when physically and verbally encouraged to do so. He neither recognized or acknowledged anyone.

Once the doctors had determined that there was no organic cause for this disorder, such as hematoma, intercranial bleeding, oxygen deprivation, epilepsy, or drug abuse, they had tentatively diagnosed a dissociative disorder, and recommended that he be hospitalised at Shady Oaks for a regime of drug treatment and therapy. Doctor Cooper had been most enthusiastic about that course of action. A specialist in psychiatric disorders, she had been eager to study Vin's case; perhaps it would result in a paper worthy of publication.

"Buck, see if you can scout up a wheelchair."

"You got it, old pard."The big man patted Vin's shoulder gently. "Back in a flash, Junior. We're bustin' you out of here!"

Larabee gave the tall man a grateful smile. He could always count on Buck to back him in any play. He gently touched Vin's cheek. The ugly bruises and scratches were finally healing and fading and the swelling gone. Luckily, Vin's eyes had not been seriously damaged by Ella's nails.

Rain had carefully trimmed his shorn hair. He looked amazingly young, with it only an inch or so longer than chin length. Chris smiled into the dark blue eyes. "I know you're in there, Cowboy. Everythings gonna be fine now. We're going home. I guess I'm gonna have to keep ragging you about how cute you look with that new haircut until you haul off and pop me one," he teased gently, ruffling the short, silky hair.

He pulled a small tube of Blistex from a pocket and gently dabbed Vin's dry lips. Rain had carefully explained to him the importance of tactile stimuli to patients who suffered from dissociative states. Patients often were so detached they felt distant from their body or self, as though in a dream. It was a state of thinking without feeling. It could be so severe that the external world was believed to be unreal.

Josiah had also explained to Chris how abused children often retreated into their own heads, escaping into a safe place of their own creation. Only when they felt unthreatened would they emerge. Larabee felt confident that Vin would recover, once he got over the trauma triggered by the claustrophobic horror of being buried alive. He sure as hell wasn't gonna give up on him. Vin Tanner was nothing if not a survivor.

Larabee was well aware of how lucky Vin had been. Fifty percent of head injured patients died. Half survived with severe neurological deficit. He was thankful that Vin had survived his attack, and was confident that he would eventually recover. It was inconceivable that he lose Vin now, after all he had been through. It would take more than one scrawny madwoman to destroy his lover. In the meantime he would be there for Vin. He would care for him, and wait as long as necessary until he was himself again.

He smiled, remembering the look on Dr. Cooper's face when she had tried to dissuade him from checking Vin out of the hospital by crudely pointing out the level of personal attention Vin would need while at home. She had been so certain that a hard ass biker would never make that effort, glad to leave Vin to the mercy of the nursing staff at Shady Oaks. Larabee had calmly and flatly told the woman that he had kissed that sweet ass often enough and that he had no problems with wiping it if necessary. Then he had sweetly told her what she could do with her diagnosis and her clipboard.

Buck came bustling through the door equipped not only with a wheelchair, but two pretty nurses and a bunch of brightly colored mylar balloons as well. He beamed jovially down at Vin, while Larabee shook his head in fond exasperation. Trust Buck to make any event a grand occasion. On the other hand, escaping from the hospital was certainly something Vin WOULD celebrate. Carefully, he slid an arm around the trim waist, and gently urged Vin off the bed, and into the chair. "Time to go home Cowboy. Miss Lily and Peso sure will be glad to see you. They haven't had anyone to spoil them in weeks. Miss Lily tried to sharpen her claws on my ass last time I was home."

They made a small boisterous procession down the hall, Buck flirting with and teasing the nurses, while Chris led the way. They stopped briefly at the nursing station so the nurses there could say goodbye to Vin. The silent, unresponsive young man received several very unprofessional kisses before they continued on. Buck pretended to sulk and huff a bit, miffed because he didn't get any.

Larabee buckled Vin securely into the passenger seat of the Ram, while Buck watched.

"You sure you don't need me to give ya a hand for a few days, Chris? You know I don't mind."

"Nah, Buck. We'll be fine. He ain't no trouble, and I hired Francisco full time to help with the horses. We're just gonna kick back and be lazy for a while."

Larabee slid a pair of sleek dark sunglasses over Vin's tearing, blinking eyes. He wasn't used to the bright summer New Mexico sun after weeks inside. Buck gave an admiring whistle and spoke teasingly to the young man. "Whoa, Junior! Look just like a movie star!"

Larabee snorted softly, amused. "Better watch it, Buck. He may get you good when he remembers that remark later!"

"Ha! Speak for yourself, old pard! How often have you teased him about his haircut?"

Chris grinned in rueful acknowledgement. He slapped Buck happily on the shoulder.

"Charlie and Irene are coming up Sunday. I thought we'd have a small cookout. Just a few of us. 'Siah can throw some ribs on the grill. It'll do Vin good to have some company."

"You got it, Old Dog. I'll be sure to buy those ribs myself. How about I bring some of Sweet Sue's goodies to tempt Junior?"

"Sounds good, Buck. You know how much he likes those damned rainbow cupcakes. Pure sugar on sugar!"

The two tall men chuckled softly together. They made a formidable pair, roughly clad in their jeans and leathers, but their faces were gentle as they regarded the young man seated so quietly beside them. Vin Tanner might be a bit lost to them now, but when he made his way home, he would find them watching over him like faithful guardian angels. And what better guardians could a man have, than a pair of fallen Angels?

Larabee Ranch, Early Sunday Morning

Larabee awoke slowly, the morning sun streaming through the bedroom window warm on his face. He was sprawled on his back with a silky head pillowed on one shoulder, Vin snug against his side, his bandaged ankle thrown over Larabee's leg, one heavy casted wrist pillowed on his belly. Chris chuckled softly as he felt the warm dampness on his left pec.

"Are you drooling on me, Cowboy?" he teased tenderly, tipping Vin's face up to his, so he could see his eyes.

Those wide blue eyes blinked sleepily open even as he watched, but remained blank. Larabee sighed softly in disappointment. Still, he was certain that one day soon Vin would gaze back at him in perfect recognition of the bond they shared.

In his heart, Chris felt Vin was improving. There were small, encouraging signs. He was sure that Vin snuggled close each night, seeking more than the warmth of his body, and more than once Vin had frowned or made a face, as though puzzled about something. Once, while standing at the stove, Larabee was certain that he felt Vin's eyes on his back, and yesterday, when Chris had headed down the hall to the bathroom, leaving Vin on the couch, he had returned to find Vin's face turned in the direction Chris had exited.

A man could hope, anyway. Chris smiled ironically to himself. Some of the others had been amazed at the patience he had shown in his care of his young partner. He supposed if word got out, his rep as Badass Larabee would be shot to hell. Not that he gave a rat's ass about the opinions of others. What was important was lying trustingly in his arms right now, and come hell or high water, Larabee would do everything in his power to insure that he stayed there.

He still had nightmares about that damned grave. In his dreams, he dug endlessly, but Vin remained forever lost to him, sealed in that heavy steel box. He had been viciously glad that Josiah had buried that crazy bitch alive. Few things had given him as much purely visceral satisfaction as knowing she was entombed in that dank box meant for Vin.

Ezra and JD had used the information obtained from her records to wipe her out financially. Every dime she had possessed, was funneled away into a series of secure offshore accounts. Her safe had been emptied; her lavish collection of diamond jewelry fenced. Larabee had kept the abused stallion. Ezra had also discovered several invaluable documents on her computer. Apparently blackmail was a hobby of Ella's.

At Chris's order, the Rivera ranch had been restored to Jorge Rivera and his family, on the condition that Larabee was written in as a silent partner in the ownership of the stables. Ella had set up and blackmailed the only son of that family with threats of a drug charge, in her desire to obtain one of the finest and most venerable properties in New Mexico. She would have stopped at nothing to have Christopher Larabee.

Larabee's musings about Ella Gaines' demise were cut short by an inquiring chirp from the side of the bed, as Miss Lily made her ritual morning demand for kitty breakfast. She hopped up on the bed, purring loudly and touched her nose to one of Vin's limp hands. For a second Vin, blinked, and seemed to recognize the little cat, but he remained silent and unresponsive.

"Time to rise and shine, pard. Got company coming today. Gotta get you all spruced up for Charlie and Irene. Don't want Irene after my ass with that damned spoon..."

Talking to Vin as he always did, Larabee rolled slowly out of bed and gently urged him up, then propelled him into the bathroom, jumpstarting their day. He made it his habit to speak with, and touch Vin constantly. This was partially to provide Tanner with verbal and tactile stimuli, and partially to anchor and reassure himself that his young partner was still with him.

Blossom's Gentleman's Club. Buck's apartment.

Buck Wilmington awoke with a truly horrendous hangover, supplemented by what felt like a woodpecker trapped inside his skull. It was pecking right between his eyes at the moment, and he briefly pondered asking Raphael to shoot him and provide some immediate relief. He groped one big hand across the bed, seeking a strong, muscled shoulder, but found only cold, empty sheets. Shit.

His eyes popped open as memory surfaced. Rafe was gone. After spending nearly every night for the last month with Buck, he had walked out yesterday. The previous week, Rafe had hesitantly asked Buck to accompany him to Mexico for a brief family visit. Buck had cheerfully agreed, then promptly forgotten the date. He had been preparing yesterday for Chris's cookout, when Rafe had reminded him of his promise and today's date.

Buck had winced and casually blown him off, while promising to go another day. After all, he had promised Chris to show up at the ranch. Raphael had just looked at him thoughtfully, then turned silently and walked away. Dismayed, and realizing he had somehow hurt him, Buck followed and caught up with Rafe outside the club as he was climbing onto his bike. He had tried to charm the dark man into staying. "Now Stud, don't be that way. We can go Monday..."

"No. I can see now it was a mistake to even ask you. I had thought.." The last sentence trailed off, and Raphael had smiled ruefully to himself and shook his dark head. What was the point?

Buck reached out a hand and caught his shoulder. "Thought what, amigo?"

Raphael had shrugged his hand off, and looked him directly in the eye. "I had thought we were more than amigos. I had hoped we were amante, but that was never true. I was never more than a distraction for you, like one of your putas. You will always be Larabee's bitch. He has only to crook a finger for you to come running."

Shocked speechless for a moment, Buck had just stared into those hot, dark eyes, only then realizing just how jealous and angry Raphael was. Where Larabee's anger was volatile and easily recognized, Raphael's Latin temperament smouldered hidden, then flared like a brushfire to burn quick and hot. Finally, he stammered, "That's not true... I--"

"No? Then tell me something, amigo mio, whose bed would you be in right now if we had buried Vin last month, instead of bringing him home?" He leaned forward into Buck's stricken face and spoke hotly, unleashing his jealousy and pent up frustration in bitter, venomous words, striking out verbally, instead of physically. "If Vin had died, you would have been in Larabee's bed before that boy's corpse was cold, with your ass up in the air. All you will ever be is Larabee's mariquita, and Raphael Cordova de Martinez has no need or desire for another man's piece of ass."

With that, he had spat contemptuously at Buck's feet then gunned his bike, and gone, heading south towards Mexico. He left Buck standing forlornly in the parking lot, big hands clenching uselessly at his sides. Sometimes shards of truth cut sharper then any razor.

Wilmington sighed and sat up, head cradled in his hands. In all honesty, he had not meant to treat Rafe so cavalierly. Their relationship as lovers was so new and unexpected. Buck wasn't used to having a steady lover to confide in. Then he had been distracted by Chris's distress at Vin's abduction and consequential injuries. He had automatically poured most of his energy into seeing to Larabee's needs while Vin was hospitalized.

It simply had not occurred to him that he had practically ignored Raphael's existence for the past month. He stared gloomily down at his bare toes. Hell, it was a wonder the man hadn't just shot him out of sheer frustration. He was beginning to get a glimmer of feeling for Larabee's bad temper and constant crankiness. He didn't know what to do about Rafe. He didn't want to think about it now. Sighing, he hauled his ass off the bed, and queasily headed for the shower.

Larabee's Ranch

Chris spooned a bite of cereal into Vin's mouth and waited patiently while he absently chewed and swallowed, sleepy blue eyes fixed at an unknown point over Chris's shoulder. Larabee smiled and chided him fondly, "You are gonna be so pissed when you find out I spoon fed you, Kid."

The crunch of tires on gravel, and a noisy blast of horn heralded Buck's arrival. Glancing out the window, he saw the big man struggling out of his truck juggling an armload of grocery bags and bakery boxes.

Chuckling, Larabee set the bowl on the kitchen table and went to open the screen door. He propped the door open and relieved Buck of a stack of toppling boxes.

"Didn't mean for you to buy out Sue's, Buck," he quipped dryly, as Wilmington huffed with relief and dropped his load of culinary delights on the kitchen counter.

"Hell, Chris. I didn't have to buy it. I just went in for cupcakes! Sue made me take half of this stuff when she heard Vin was ailing. Said she knew there was a reason she hadn't seen them sweet blue eyes in weeks. Wanted to make sure that Junior got his treats." Buck gently ruffled Vin's hair, something he devoutly hoped he wouldn't be able to get away with for long. He turned to Chris and indicated a bag. "Better put that in the fridge, it's all ice cream."

Larabee grinned when he opened it and found not one, but three half gallons of homemade ice-cream and shook his blond head, as he wedged them into the freezer. As he moved around the kitchen, putting away Buck's haul, Wilmington took a seat next to Vin.

"Hey, Junior, having breakfast? Let old Buck give you a hand..."

The big man reached for Vin's cereal bowl and spoon, then winced and swore when he saw the contents. He gulped hard. His hangover must be worse than he thought. The contents of Vin's bowl was a virulent shade of green, and appeared to be frothing. Buck's stomach gave a queasy lurch as the alien cereal crackled and popped spitefully at him. "What the hell is this shit, Chris? Looks like somebody already ate it first."

Chris snickered at the familiar, nauseated expression on Buck's face. "That's Green Slime cereal, Buck. It's popular with the kids now."

"Goddamn! What ever happened to Cheerios or Captain Crunch? Hell, even them Cocoa Puffs with that crazy bird has gotta be better than this!" Buck closed his eyes and shuddered theatrically. Larabee snickered at him. "It is a bit hard on a hangover, Big Dog. Believe me, I know! Vin likes it though."

Chris took the spoon and bowl and gently fed Tanner another mouthful. He crumpled up a paper napkin and wiped away a few stray drops of milk from Vin's chin. His handsome face was calm as he performed this most mundane of tasks, but Buck saw the shadowed eyes and the minute signs of stress.

"Why don't you go grab a nice long, hot shower, old pard. I'll help Vin finish his breakfast, then walk him out to the deck, while you eat yours. Bet the boy would like to soak up some rays."

Larabee hesitated a moment, then smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Buck. Appreciate it."

"No problem. Gimme that bowl." Gamely Buck accepted the suspect cereal bowl, while Larabee padded down the hall to the bathroom. He carefully guided a heaping spoonful towards Vin's mouth, frowning in consternation when Tanner clamped his teeth shut and refused it. "Ah, hell! Come on Junior, eat for ol' Buck..." he crooned softly.

He waved the spoon hopefully in front of Vin's eyes and made buzzing airplane noises.

"Here comes the plane...open up the hangar. Shit. I hope you don't shoot me for this later."

He vroom-vroomed gently, and was elated when Vin placidly accepted the bite. "Alright! Hell, son, I always knew you would eat anything put in front of you, but Goddamn, we gotta get you a box of something decent, like Corn Flakes, or Rice Crispies..."

He rambled on, talking nonsense, reporting the week's news, telling about the plans for the upcoming cookout, gently needling Vin about his ancient motorcycle's state of constant disrepair, hoping in vain to spark a response. All the while he fed his young friend as tenderly as any father would an ailing child. Raphael's remarks about Vin dying had both shocked and cut him to the quick. Although he knew Rafe had spoken only out of sheer frustration and anger, he liked to believe that he was a better man, a better friend than that. He didn't want Chris at the expense of the fragile soul seated before him.

Chris leaned against the shower wall and let the hot water sluice over his shoulders and down his back. The lean blond was more stressed than he cared to admit. It frightened him that Vin remained in this fugue state for the length of time he had. He had secretly nursed the hope that the return home would somehow jolt Tanner back to consciousness, but a week had passed with no discernable change. Would Vin remain lost in his own head indefinitely? Could Larabee live with that?

Chris Larabee was the first to admit that he was no saint. He was truly thankful to have Vin alive and safe at home. He was prepared to wait as long as necessary until Vin healed. What he hadn't counted on was pent up sexual frustration on top of everyday stress! Hell, it was already difficult to sleep with Vin's lean body snuggled close. He woke up diamond hard every morning, his first thought and desire to reach for and make love with his partner.

He didn't know how much longer he could remain celibate, and masturbation barely took the edge off. He had grown accustomed to frequent, lusty sex with his partner, and he craved it like the air he breathed. He resisted the urge to slide a hand down and stroke his cock. Would it be wrong to make love with Vin now? He sighed, and reached over to crank up the needle spray. Head tilted back in the hot stream, he remembered the first time he and Vin had made love...

It was late August, and hot as hell in the old, antiquated cellblock. The steel and concrete soaked up the relentless sun during the day and seemed to radiate heat at night. The air conditioning system was nearly nonexistent. In the upper tiers of cells, there was no air movement at all, and the air hung hot and thick enough to choke a man.

Tempers had flared all week among both prisoners and guards, and there were a record number of fights and stabbings. Block D was locked down. Two men had died in a brawl in the yard over points in a basketball game. The weather forecast had predicted rain, but so far that promise of relief from the heat wave had only taken form as heat lightning flickering on the horizon.

It was full moon night, and Vin was restless as a cat on a griddle.

Stripped to boxers and wifebeater, he silently paced the eight foot cell. Tonight his claustrophobia was almost choking him. He gripped the steel bars at the front of the cell hard and tilted his head up to stare at the dirty, meshed windows. The full moon mocked him through the barred skylight and he could smell the approaching rain.

"Reckon you're gonna wear a hole in the floor with all that pacing."

The laconic voice from the top bunk behind him brought an involuntary smile to his lips.

"Thought you were asleep."

"Nah. All that prowling your're doin' is keeping me awake. Besides its too damned hot."

A man two levels down began to wail reedily. That was followed and amplified by curses and yells from men who had been asleep, or trying to sleep. A guard shouted for order. Someone cussed back and began to beat the bars of his cell, making a noisy, metallic clang.

"There goes Rooster again. Right on time."

"Worse than a damned alarm clock."

Vin was startled at how close Chris was. He hadn't heard him ghost up behind him. A second later, he jerked in reaction when long arms reached around him, and strong hands gently closed over his, where they were clenched on the bars. A warm breath huffed against the nape of his neck.

"Easy, Cowboy. Easy." Chris's voice was soft. He gently sqeezed the white knuckled hands to loosen their death grip on the bars, and waited for Vin to make the next move. He closed his eyes and breathed in the sweet, sweaty scent of Tanner's hair. When Vin didn't move, or protest, he nuzzled into the hair behind the smaller man's ear. He was careful to hold Vin loosely, and not crowd him against the bars.

"I can feel it, Chris."

"The rain?"

"Yeah...it's coming west, from the mountains. I can almost taste it..." The longing in Tanner's voice was undisguised. He tilted his head slightly, so that his cheek brushed Larabee's. Their fingers were still entwined on the steel, Larabee's lightly caressing the ones beneath his.They shared breath for a long moment. Both were waiting for an unspoken signal. It came with the lightning.

One moment their mouths were close, lips barely touching, the next their tongues were deep in each other's mouths as they kissed hungrily, both starved for human touch. Tanner turned with a groan into Larabee's arms. They embraced fiercely, each trying to sink into each other's hard body, sharing deep, wet, passionate kisses, uncaring if they were observed.

The rain came down with a vengeance, pounding the skylight, thunder rumbling and shaking the window panes, while the lightning cracked like the lash of heaven against the bone dry earth and concrete. It illuminated the dark cell and the two lean bodies there. They stood pressed tightly together in the center of the tiny cell, seeking to meld their bodies together, sweat gleaming on ivory and gold skin.

Larabee's big hands cradled Tanner's head, and Vin's hands clawed Chris's back and shoulders as they tasted each other and sought to climb into each other's skin. The sounds of the summer storm masked their passionate sighs and groans. Tanner didn't fight when Larabee slid both arms around the slighter man's waist and lifted him off his feet to manhandle him back onto the bottom bunk.

When the storm broke an hour later and was only a rumble of distant thunder and the whisper of rain, the cool gray dawn light found them still in a tangled heap of limbs. Chris was naked, sprawled on his back, long legs spread wide, his torn boxers flung across the cell. Vin dozed on his chest,tousled head tucked under Larabee's chin, his ripped undershirt rucked up around his waist. Larabee's big, calloused hands were sleepily cupping and kneading the creamy skin of Vin's bare ass. They were still hot and sticky with more than sweat, but now they were together, taking comfort and peace from each other. Larabee's head was lolled back, his trademark smirk now a sated grin.

Larabee jolted back to himself with a gasp as he came hard, spurting white strands of cum against the glass of the shower door. Trembling he braced himself against the slick shower wall. Goddamn. All he had to do to orgasm was THINK about his lover. Shakily he turned into the needle spray and cranked it to cold. Something had to give soon. Hopefully, it wouldn't be him. He turned the spray off, and stepped out, reaching for a towel.

As he padded barefoot through the bedroom, he heard Buck's deep voice rumble outside on the deck. While he tugged a T-shirt on, he peered curiously out the back window. A fond smile curved his wide mouth as he watched the tall man guide Vin into the steel framed hammock on the back deck, and then fuss over him like a enormous hen with one chick. He could hear him rambling on about something as his big hands gently tucked Vin's limbs into the hammock and plumped cushions.

He watched as Buck stroked Vin's hair back out of his eyes, teasing him jovially about his new haircut, even as he carefully eased a pillow under Vin's bandaged ankle. He then tucked a light cotton afghan over the smaller man. Even in the summer warmth, Vin seemed to chill easily; he had lost quite a bit of weight. Like Larabee, Buck talked to Vin constantly, refusing to treat him as a non-entity.

Chris had noticed that some of the others were a bit awkward now in their dealings with Vin. Rain and Nathan took a professional, wait and see attitude. Josiah sat by him and read sections of poetry and spiritual books. Ezra brought gifts of delicacies that he knew Vin favored, while JD kept his distance. Inez and Lydia mothered and cooed. Raphael, for the most part was silent, taking his cues from Buck.

Chris frowned, eyes narrowed. Where was Raphael? He hadn't seen the man in days and he and Buck had been inseparable for weeks. Buck, who had shown up this morning with a hell of a hangover and shadowed, unhappy eyes. Something was off here, and Chris had been too caught up in his own worries to notice. Larabee padded down the hall to interrogate his right hand man.

Buck sat down on the deck chair, one big hand automatically rocking the hammock. He caught himself, and shook his head. Hell, Vin wasn't a baby! Snorting ruefully, he took his hand away and leaned back. His need to nurture and protect the young man was almost as strong as that of Larabee. Sometimes he caught himself wondering about what would have been if Adam had lived. He had loved that little boy fiercely.

His dark blue eyes strayed to the big willow in the back yard. This was the tree Adam's swing had hung from. He had pushed the boy a thousand times in that swing, listening to childish confidences and grievances. The swing was gone now, the trunk of the old tree scarred from an axe blade. Chris had taken an axe to it one night in a drunken rage, trying to chop it down. Buck had wrestled the axe away from him, sat on him, and held him until he had raged and cried himself out, then had taken him to bed.

He glanced pensively at Vin. The younger man was curling up, blinking sleepily in the warm sunshine. Even as he watched, dark lashes fluttered closed, and his breathing evened out. Vin slept a great deal now, his battered body taking the time to heal. His little cat hopped up to join him, curling up in the curve of his body, bright golden eyes narrowed as she eyed Buck suspiciously.

Buck had been just as suspicious of Vin at first. When Chris had been sentenced to Yuma, he had been worried shitless. Larabee at the time was in a bad space in his mind, he didn't give a damn about anything. He didn't care if he lived or died. The guilt about Adam's death had damned near destroyed the man.

Buck and Ezra had worked furiously to get Chris's sentence reduced, by hook or crook. They had put the hurt on quite a few lawyers and judges. They had been convinced that if they didn't get the blond out soon, he would die there.

Buck had visited him religiously every visiting day, plopping his ass in that battered wooden chair, across the scarred table, trying to keep Larabee alive by sheer force of will. Chris had been laconic and indifferent, green eyes hooded and remote. Buck could feel him withdraw, and it had scared the big man to death. Larabee was his family, the focus of his life, and he was helpless to help him. He couldn't even touch him.

Then one day things had changed. When Larabee had appeared across the visitor's table, it was as though and electrical current had been switched on. He was alive again. His blond hair and goatee were neatly combed and trimmed, his green eyes clear and bright, his prison denims immaculate. He was also sporting bruised knuckles and a familiar, devilish, smirk. All because of one reason...

His name is Vin Tanner. He was set up by Will and Charlotte Richmond. They run their stop-and-rob operation out of Tucson. I want them found, and Vin cleared. Put the hurt on the bitch, and the man will break. Hell, kill her if you have to.

After that it was Vin this, Vin that. Almost every other word out of Larabee's mouth had been Vin, Vin, Vin. Buck had been suspicious as hell. Who was this mysterious Vin, and what hold did he have over Chris? He and Ezra had been quick to check the man out. What they found had both appalled and impressed them.

The boy's family had been murdered when he was five. His father and grandfather had been Texas Rangers. He had been thrown to the mercy of the foster care system after that. A series of abusive homes followed, the last he had disappeared from at age eight, his guardian found dead with a slit throat. There was no record of him ever attending school. He surfaced briefly at age thirteen, in a juvenile care facility, which he promptly escaped from. He had turned up again in a hospital in Houston, beaten nearly to death, at age sixteen.

The next sparse records were from the Army. He had been a Ranger, and trained as a sniper. Most of his records there were classified. Then he had taken up bounty hunting, hunting down only the most dangerous, big money prey. The list of captures had made the hair on Buck's nape stand up.

The only thing Buck could glean with any certainty from the information he had, was that this Vin Tanner was a survivor, and damned dangerous. Worried, he had tried to warn Chris of this discovery, afraid Tanner was using him. Larabee had laughed so hard, he had nearly rolled off his chair. His green eyes were fond as he regarded Buck's indignant face.

"Hell, Buck. I KNOW he's dangerous. I found that out the first day I met him, and as for using me; well, you might say we use each other."

Buck had decided to reserve judgment. Sure enough, they had found out that the boy had been set up. Will Richmond had been delighted to produce evidence to clear Tanner of armed robbery after watching Josiah and Nathan work on Charlotte for a half hour. Both Richmonds were now nicely bleaching bones in the Arizona desert.

Chris had been paroled early, after Ezra had spent a half hour in a certain Judge's chambers with a set of lurid photographs. It had taken several months for the rusty wheels of justice to release Vin. Wilmington had watched in amazement as Larabee had promptly started visiting the young man in prison, every chance he got.

Larabee had been damned sure that no one would lay a hand on Vin after Chris was released. He had made a point of leaving Cletus Phelp's broken-necked corpse as a reminder of just what would happen to anyone who even thought about touching his property. He had bribed, threatened, cajoled and blackmailed until Vin had more bodyguards in prison -- both prisoner, and guard -- than he had friends out.

Buck could still remember the excitement on Larabee's face the day they went to pick up Vin after his release. Chris had ordered all the boys to look sharp. So, with gleaming, polished bikes and oiled leathers the Dark Angels had rumbled en masse into the prison parking lot.

They had spent a few minutes revving their bikes, gleefully making the guards nervous while they waited for Vin to appear.

They had all been curious about this mysterious Tanner, whom Larabee had been so taken with from the start. Just who the hell was he? Buck was already resentful, and feeling vaguely threatened. He was prepared to hate Tanner at first sight. The slight young man in prison denims had come as a shock.

Sharp blue eyes set in a handsome, almost pretty, chiseled face regarded the bikers warily. His curly, light brown hair reached almost to his shoulders. He looked like a teenager,as he stood on the steps, clutching a small paper bag containing his few belongings. Yet he met their curious gazes coolly, a stubborn set to that square jaw that they would all rapidly become familiar with.

Larabee was grinning like a fool, his happiness infectious. He rolled his big Harley up to the foot of the concrete stairs, and arrogantly cocked his blond head to look up at Vin. "Hey, Kid, you ready to go home?"

A lopsided grin split Tanner's face at the sight of Larabee. "Hey Cowboy. Reckon you made it after all."

He moved easily down the steps to clasp wrists with Chris. Larabee gave a happy, throaty growl and yanked him into a hug, squeezing him tightly before releasing him. Vin emerged from the embrace, face scarlet with embarrassment. Chris had just grinned at him and introduced him around to the boys. When Buck's turn came, Tanner had tilted his head back and looked the taller Wilmington in the eye, his handshake firm. "Chris's right hand man."

"Yep."

And that had been that. Vin had never tried to step in, or interfere with Buck's position, or with the varied complicated business deals that the Dark Angels incurred. He simply backed them up as Larabee's silent shadow. He was a quiet man, shy in the manner of a wild creature which had never had much opportunity to interact with others socially. He trusted one man, and tolerated the others.

Buck had learned that night just where Tanner stood in Larabee's life. They had all convened at the Saloon to noisily celebrate Vin's release. Buck had made a point to introduce Vin to Nora, Emily, and Ruby, certain the boy would welcome some female company. He had watched covertly from the bar, sipping a beer, as Vin had politely excused himself from the ladies and slipped outside. Chris had followed moments later.

Buck had moseyed along after them a few minutes after that, worried that he had somehow offended the boy. He would never forget what he found. Chris and Vin were standing in the parking lot beside Blossom's, next to Larabee's bike. Tanner's back was to Buck, Chris's face clearly visible over his shoulder. He could hear Chris murmuring softly to Vin, his voice gentle.

Buck had watched, shocked, as Larabee embraced and tenderly kissed the younger man. Then Chris had deliberately lifted his head and sent Buck a familiar, challenging look. All the while he held Vin close and stroked the curly head resting on his shoulder. It was the same arrogant look he had once sent Buck at a dance, when he had met a curvy, auburn-haired beauty.

The message was the same. A clear warning. This is mine. Stay away.

Swallowing hard, Buck had turned and walked away. He had lost out again and this time it was twice as painful because it was to another man.

The sound of the sliding glass door being opened jolted Buck back to the present.

Larabee stepped out, barefoot and clad in a Harley-Davidson Tee and his customary black jeans. He held two bottles of Corona. He padded over to sit across the table from Buck. "You look like a man who could use a beer."

"Thanks, Chris."

"Doin' some heavy thinking there, Big Dog."

"Naw. Just remembering." Buck took a sip from his bottle.

Larabee was looking fondly into the hammock. Miss Lily blinked placidly back at him, nestled now under a sleeping Vin's chin. "He sleeps like a baby. I can't keep him awake. Rain says it's good for him, helps him heal."

Buck smiled, and compulsively reached out again to rock the hammock.

"Yep. And I keep rocking him, just like his mama."

They chuckled quietly together. It was a beautiful day. The sky clear and blue, with a nice breeze to offset the hot sun, whispering through the big trees. They could hear the horses whickering softly down at the corral.

"I was afraid I'd lost him, Buck. I'm still afraid..."

Larabee's voice was thick, and it shocked Wilmington out of his contemplative mood. He straightened and reached out a compassionate hand to grasp Chris's, seeking to comfort, as always. Larabee gave him a weak smile in return, gave his hand a grateful squeeze, then released it. He dropped his eyes to Vin's face, reached out and lightly touched one of Vin's casted hands, rubbing the fingers tenderly.

"I never told him I love him, Buck, before this. I was too afraid. Now I tell him every day, and it don't make a damned bit of difference." He raised bright green eyes to Buck's face. "I reckon I never told you that I always cared for you like a brother, Buck. I know you always wanted more from me, but I could never give it."

Wilmington swallowed hard."You can't give what you don't have, Chris. That ain't the way it works."

They sat quietly together for a few minutes. Larabee cleared his throat, then spoke hesitantly. "Raphael coming over later?"

"Naw. Gone to Mexico." Buck tried to keep the bleakness out of his tone, but had the suspicion he had failed miserably.

"He's a good man, Buck. I wouldn't give up on him, if I were you."

Buck tilted his head and gave Chris a bitter smile. "I reckon he's the one who's given up on me, Old Dog." He spoke gently and watched as Larabee flinched.

"Shit."

"Yeah. I just ain't used to keeping steady company."

Larabee stared out over his land, chest tight. He huffed, and pushed his blond hair back.

"You want to help me ice down the drinks, and fire up the grill? The others should be getting here soon."

Wilmington jumped up hastily, glad to change the subject. "Hell, yeah. I'm getting mighty hungry."

They moved into the house, careful to speak only of mundane matters. Emotions were too close on the surface for either man to deal with now. They missed the inquiring meow Miss Lily gave as Vin stirred beside her, sleepy blue eyes blinking open. He frowned, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He had been having the weirdest, goddamned dreams. Something about Bucklin and airplanes.

Vin scowled as a strand of hair tickled his nose, and reached clumsily up to scratch it, bumping his nose in the process. Startled, he silently examined the casts on both his wrists. Miss Lily purred loudly at the movement, and he cautiously touched fingertips to her soft, warm fur, smiling in recognition when she happily rubbed her cheek against his hand. This wasn't another dream.

He could hear Chris and Buck talking in the house. They had come for him, as he had known they would. He was safe at home, lying on the deck in the warm sunshine, not buried alive in Ella's dark steel box. He knew he would never have to worry about her again. Crazy bitch. Probably planted somewhere.

Yawning, he took sleepy inventory of his various hurts, frowning at the twinge in his bandaged ankle as he cautiously wiggled his toes. His thoughts were cloudy, his head felt cottony, like when he took cold medicine. He felt stiff, his skin was itchy and tingly all over, and he suspected that he was going to be really hungry soon. Oh well, he would eat after he finished his nap. One hand stroking his little cat, he yawned sleepily and dozed off again.

Peso was bored, bored, bored! He had played with his stolen bandanna until it was a shredded rag. He had frisked, bucked and run around the corral until he was dizzy. He had harassed his patient, long suffering mother until she had finally had enough and nipped his rump sharply. He missed Vin terribly, he had not seen him in weeks.

He nosed along the gate of the corral, watching curiously, with bright intelligent eyes, as the cars began to arrive up at the house. He raised his nose and sniffed the breeze, hoping to catch wind of Vin. Snorting with frustration, he nudged the sliding bar on the gate, vaguely remembering Francisco using it to open the corral this morning. To his surprise and gratification, the gate swung ajar. Squealing in triumph, he set out in search of adventure, trotting happily towards the house.

Buck had his back turned and was bent over, reaching into the depths of Rain's SUV to haul out the massive aluminum tub of potato salad as Peso trotted briskly past. JD, headphones in place, was fussing over his bike, bopping to the music as he checked the tires. He was sure he had hit a nail somewhere. Josiah, Rain and Nathan were huddled around the grill, backs to the house, confering on various sauces. The ribs weren't done, but Nathan wanted a hotdog NOW, he was starving.

Peso trotted up to the long, low redwood deck cautiously, slowing to carefully clop up the wide steps. He was delighted to discover Vin snoozing in the hammock and he happily snuffled the sleeping man's hair for a moment, before being distracted by a noise from inside the house. Miss Lily sat up and watched with interest as the colt clip-clopped over to the open sliding door and peeked curiously in. These human barns were different from his!

Sniffing cautiously, ears pricked, he entered the den, the thick, dark green carpet muffling his small hooves. He found a bowl of fruit on the coffee table in front of the sofa and helped himself to a juicy, ripe apple. In the kitchen, Ezra had just finished outfitting a heavy tray with chips, salsa, beer, sangria and margaritas. Carefully, he removed the apron protecting his pristine white linen shirt, and draped it over a chair. Down the hall, Larabee emerged from the bathroom, lazily scratching his lean belly.

Peso had just finished the apple and started on the grapes, when he stepped back and onto the TV remote lying on the floor. Larabee's big screen television blared to full, technicolor, surround-sound life, complete with ballgame and roaring, noisy crowd. Ezra Standish had the misfortune to emerge from the kitchen, heavily laden tray carefully balanced, just as the TV startled Peso into an equine conniption.

Whinnying in fright, he reared up in the astonished Southerner's face, causing the startled man to stumble backwards over the hall runner. Standish reeled wildly back into the kitchen, desperately trying to balance his tray. There was a resounding crash of furniture, glassware, and cursing Southerner. Larabee emerged from the hall, startled to find a live rodeo in his living room, as Peso squealed, sunfished, and bucked across the spacious room, wildly kicking up his heels.

The colt's back hooves connected squarely with the screen of Chris's expensive television, causing an impressive electronic boom, a bright flash and a colorful crackle of flying sparks. Whirling to run out the door, Peso sideswiped Larabee knocking him backwards over the ottoman. Charging full tilt out onto the deck, he was just in time to topple Buck and his tub of potato salad off the deck and into the bed of ornamental cacti that was planted beside the steps.

Buck's howl of outrage as his backside met the cactus spines, was muffled by the bowl of potato salad on his head. Josiah, big barbeque fork in hand, stood, mouth agape in astonishment at the sight. Nathan laughed so hard he choked on his hotdog and rolled backwards off the picnic table. Rain dove to the rescue, pounding his back. JD stared for a moment, doubled over with laughter, then pounded off in pursuit of the fleeing colt.

A cursing, salsa and sangria splattered Standish and a limping, scowling Larabee emerged from the house. Josiah chortled, then began to bray with laughter. His merriment was interrupted by a raucous CAW from directly overhead. That damned, dark-feathered imp of Satan was following him! Scowling, the big man looked up, just as his avian nemesis shat down. There was a warm splat between Sanchez' eyes, followed by a outraged bass bellow, as the big man lost his temper.

Charlie and Irene Truehorse emerged from their ancient 1937 Chevy truck in Larabee's drive, just as a brand new white Mercedes towncar pulled up beside them, dislodging Maude Standish Longbough Lowry Armaugh D'Poulinac Bellini. Startled, the two women regarded each other silently, automatically sizing each other up.

Maude was elegant and sleek in cool white linen, pearls and expensive Italian sandals, her pale hair coiled in a French twist. Irene wore her best traditional Navajo dress, a red satin blouse over a black velvet skirt, deerskin boots, and had her hair tied up with red cloth. She stood as solid as the earth. Charlie stood silently aside, knowing better than to step between two alpha females, facing off.

Maude smiled suddenly and politely extended her hand to Irene.

"You must be Mr. Tanner's mothah. How do you do, Ah am Maude Standish, Ezra's mothah."

Irene eyed her thoughtfully, then shook the manicured hand with her own calloused brown hand. "Dineh-ba-whoa-blehi," she responded politely.

Charlie's lips twitched, as he fought hard and maintained his Stoic Injun face. He doubted Ezra would appreciate Irene calling his mother a mantrap. He greeted the elegant Southern belle politely. As they started around the house they were all startled as Peso galloped past, JD Dunne in hot pursuit. The pair rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

There was an outraged equine squeal, followed by a human yelp, and the pair reappeared. Peso was now in pursuit of JD, big teeth snapping at the fleeing youth's buttocks. He would teach him to grab his tail! JD scrambled frantically to climb into a nearby tree, while Peso whickered triumphantly and circled below. Charlie chuckled and limped over to rescue the boy.

Maude and Irene continued on around the house.

The two women were startled by the loud boom-boom-boom of a large caliber handgun being fired in the backyard. Exchanging grim looks, they both hefted their handbags and hurried around back. Their sons were back there, and possibly in danger. Rounding the corner, they saw an astonishing scene.

A bellowing, scarlet-faced Josiah Sanchez was shooting wildly up with his .357 Magnum at a large, madly flapping crow, that careened and circled above the house. Rain and Nathan were huddled under the picnic table, and Buck's long legs emerged from under the deck, where he had taken refuge when the shooting started. Ezra was sprawled flat on the deck, hands over his head, and Chris had scooped Vin out of the hammock and was curled over him protectively, sheltering him with his body.

The two women exchanged one exasperated look, then stepped briskly forward. Irene stalked up behind the raving Sanchez, wound up, and whacked him once smartly on the back of the head with her enormous black purse. He dropped painfully to his knees with a startled squeak, cut off in mid bellow and she neatly plucked the big gun out of his hand as she stepped back. Before he could react, a stream of freezing cold water caught him in the face, as Maude coolly turned the garden hose on jet stream to hose him down.

Josiah subsided in a wet, sputtering heap, and everyone began to cautiously emerge from their makeshift shelters. The crow circled overhead once more, gave a final mocking caw, then flew leisurely away. Charlie limped around the house leading a placid Peso, followed by a wary JD. There was a muffled snicker from under the picnic table. Nathan had laughed so hard, he could barely move, not to mention nearly choked to death. Rain patted him absently on the back, shaking her dark head in exasperation.

Josiah gawked up at the vision in white that had nearly drowned him. She was as beautiful as an angel!

Irene gave a disgusted snort, recognizing a twitterpated male when she saw one. Tkele-cho-g. She carefully checked the contents of her handbag to make sure she hadn't cracked the thunder egg geode she had picked up. The 32 oz. plastic bottle of homemade cedar soap she had brought for Vin was undamaged. Hmmm. She slanted a covert look at the swelling lump on the back of Josiah's head. She had forgotten about the roll of quarters and the .38 special.

Charlie patted Peso, and surrepticiously slipped him a handful of plump raisins.

"You are a very bad horse."

Peso whinnied softly in agreement.

A cursing, salad splattered, needle-impaled Buck crawled out from under the deck. Ezra sat up, loudly bemoaning the state of his designer sport clothing. His brand new Versace shirt was ruined! Chris was swearing viciously; not only was his TV destroyed, but he now had a set of bullet holes in the side of his house! Sometimes it felt like he was riding herd on a goddamned circus! Maybe he would just shoot Josiah as well as that damned colt, and be done with it. He became aware that Vin was shaking beneath him, and alarmed, cradled him close.

"Goddammit Chris! If you don't shoot that damned horse, I will!"

Buck crawled painfully up the deck steps, potato salad dripping down his ears, a scowl on his handsome face. He was sure he had a variety of cactus needles in his ass that would rival the collection at the botanical gardens.

Larabee was startled by the hoarse drawl from his arms as Vin stopped laughing, and struggled to sit up. "That's my horse, Bucklin! You leave him be, or I'll kick your ass six ways ta Sunday!"

There was a moment of shocked silence as everyone realized Tanner was not only conscious, but alert and pissed off as well. Buck's eyes widened, then crinkled with pleasure, and he joyfully hollered back. "Hell, Junior, that ain't a horse, it's a rattler crossed with a hurricane! " he bellowed gleefully back at the irate Texan. "I'll be doing you a favor to put him down."

Vin snarled wordlessly and tried to squirm out of Chris's grasp, determined to crawl across the deck and punch Wilmington's lights out for insulting his beloved colt. Larabee grinned broadly as he held his partner back, and winked at Buck over the tousled head.

"Gonna kick your ass, Bucklin!"

"Hell, son, you do that, you'll just get your foot full of cactus spines!" Buck beamed at the younger man. They bickered back and forth loudly as everyone gathered happily around them.

Vin was flushed with anger, and he struggled weakly to escape Chris's determined grip.

At a worried gesture from Rain, Larabee stood, then bent and easily scooped his partner up and draped the cursing, struggling Texan over one shoulder and carried him into the house. Rain grabbed her medical bag and followed to check her patient over.

A swearing Vin shifted his attention from Buck to his lover."Gawdammit, Lar'bee, put me down! I ain't no danged baby!"

"Be still, Tanner, before I drop your scrawny ass!" Larabee snarled as he stalked down the hall to the master bedroom. He punctuated his command with a hard smack to the nearest buttock. An outraged Vin yelped, then vented a stream of profanity that questioned Chris's parentage back several generations.

Larabee's growl had masked the fierce happiness welling inside. Vin was awake and his usual ornery, stubborn self and that made Christopher Larabee a very happy man. Rain chuckled as Larabee unceremoniously dumped his lover on the big bed, then climbed on top of him when he immediately tried to pop right out again.

"Be still and let Rain check you out, you stubborn little shit! In case you haven't noticed yet, you were out of it for quite a while! The lights were on, but nobody was home!" Chris finally yanked the wiggling Texan firmly into his lap as Vin tried to roll off the side of the bed.

Vin scowled fiercely up at him, outraged at the manhandling. "I'm gonna kick yer ass AND Bucklin's!"

"Fine. Let's wait until you get the bandage off that ankle first, and Irene plucks all those cactus needles out of Buck's ass." Larabee replied calmly. "Now just calm down before you have a damned relapse, or do you want me to call Irene in here to settle you down?"

Vin snarled at the threat, but sullenly submitted to Rain's exam. He was silent and cooperative as she quickly checked his vitals. "Hmmm. Heartbeat and respiration are a bit fast, but that's no surprize. Do you think you can stop brawling and rest long enough to recover, or should I check you back into the hospital?"

"He'll be good." Larabee stated firmly, ignoring the heated glare Tanner shot him.

Rain raised a doubtful brow. "Hmmph. We'll see. She tilted his head up and peered into his eyes. Any dizziness? Headache? No?" She skillfully manipulated his limbs, carefully checking the broken wrists, and bandaged ankle. She flexed his ankle gently. Vin yelped. "Just a twinge? Okay. Everything looks good. I want you to stay off that ankle as much as possible. If you have to walk, lean on Chris or use crutches."

She briskly snapped her medical bag shut. "I'll schedule you a follow-up exam at the hospital tomorrow. Chris, he needs to be calm and quiet to heal. Let him sleep and eat as much as he wants. I want him to put that weight back on he lost." She frowned down at Vin and shook a slim finger under his nose. "Behave! No kicking asses or shooting people for at least a month! Don't make me sedate you! I'll use the big needle if I have to!"

Tanner flushed and mumbled a chagrined, "Yes Ma'am."

Rain snorted, winked at Larabee and left the bedroom, pointedly closing the door behind her.

Larabee swiftly took advantage of the situation and smoothly rolled his partner over, pinning him easily into the middle of the bed. Now for some quality time!

"Hello." He purred throatily and smirked down into a flushed, indignant face.

Vin's dark blue eyes widened under that predatory gaze. A small smile quirked the corner of his mouth. "'Lo."

"About damned time!" Larabee growled, as the soul deep connection they shared flared hotly to life between them. When Tanner opened his mouth to reply, Larabee dove deep, taking the soft lips in a fierce, hungry kiss. Vin moaned, reached up to wrap his casted arms up around Chris's neck clumsily and return the kiss. Larabee abruptly broke it off, to hold him tight in a fierce, loving embrace. "I missed you, Kid." His voice was hoarse, his eyes bright.

"I been gone?" Vin's voice was puzzled, and a bit alarmed.

"You might say that. You were hurt pretty bad, but everything's gonna be okay now. I promise." Larabee soothed him tenderly, as he peppered soft, loving kisses over Vin's face. He was profoundly grateful when they were eagerly returned.

Later that evening, Chris and Vin swung lazily in the big mesh hammock under the twin oaks, watching the stars come out overhead. Chris had quietly caught Vin up on everything he had missed while he was comatose. Charlie and Irene had headed home, and Maude had left for Ezra's townhouse.

They could hear the others in the house, bickering amiably over the installment of the new TV set that Larabee had sent JD and Ezra into town to buy. He had even cheerfully reimbursed Ez for the loss of his new shirt, not to mention slipped down to the now padlocked corral to feed Peso more treats then were good for the little black devil.

Rain and Irene had spent a good half hour plucking cactus needles from Bucklin's ass with tweezers, as he sprawled glumly face down on a blanket on the deck, fortified with a glass of bourbon for anesthesia. It was quite a collection, ranging from tiny, hair thin needles, to impressive inch-long spines.

Tucked firmly into the hammock, Vin had watched the process with great satisfaction, happily devouring a heaping plate of food and smirking at every muffled ouch.

Buck had forcefully exacted a promise from Chris that he would put Josiah to work removing the cacti bed, and replace it with something less dangerous to a man's dignity. A penitent Sanchez had eagerly volunteered to landscape the area with roses. Larabee had graciously deigned not to shoot him.

Chris buried his nose in Vin's soft hair and breathed deep, more content then he could remember being in years. He planted a soft kiss on Tanner's cheek. "Love you, Kid."

"You getting mushy on me, Cowboy?" A full-bellied Vin sleepily rested his head on Chris's broad chest, content to listen to the strong thud of his heart.

Larabee smiled against Vin's hair. "Could be." He allowed.

"Must be gettin' old." Vin's voice was contemplative, and held a note of laughter.

"I'll show you old, boy!"

Vin squeaked, and flailed at the sudden ticklish assault on his person, and the big hammock swayed wildly for several minutes before Larabee became distracted by other things, and his hands began to roam.

"C-Chris!"

"What's the matter, Tanner, you never swung both ways before?"

The Saloon, Four Corners

Inez Receillos carefully adjusted the hang of the oversized photo over the bar. For years a painting of a smirking Mexican senorita wearing only a rose and carmine lipstick had hung there. Inez had decided it was time for something new. Ezra had been happy to help. She stepped back, head tilted, to survey her handiwork.

Carmelita and the band of rowdy women from the Harley Biker's club, there for Ladies' Night clapped, whistled and catcalled their approval. Ella's nude portrait of a youthful Chris Larabee had found a new home.

Janos, Mexico, Paulo Alvarez' Compound

Casey Wells logged off from the computer with a satisfied smirk. She turned to the man lounging lazily on the big, leather sofa with a bright smile. "He says it won't be long now. He has the combination to the safe and Larabee just stashed a lot of money there."

"That's my good girl. Come here."

Paulo Alvarez patted his knee invitingly, and smiled as a giggling Casey slid happily onto his lap. He slid a hand under the hem of her black lace chemise, between her legs and fondled her lazily, while she gasped and moaned. Stupid little puta. Give her enough drugs, promise her the moon, and she was foolish enough to believe he was in love with her. She would find out different after he had Larabee's cash in hand.

She was young and fresh-faced, with an all-American look popular on this side of the border. He was already taking bids on her lily white ass. He had been fortunate to find her turning tricks at the resort hotel. Either way, he was looking at a profit.

Rivera Ranch, Red Rock Butte

Jorge Rivera sat contemplatively in his rocker on the small patio overlooking the side garden, carved cane in hand. He was a thankful and happy man to have his beloved family home back. The evil woman who had stolen it from him was gone. He had been careful not to question Senor Larabee about her whereabouts. He had a suspicion it was in Hell.

From where he sat, he could smell the roses, and honeysuckle that entwined the gazebo. He remembered his mother planting them. The happy sounds of his grandchildren at play upstairs drifted down to the terrace. He tipped his head back, breathing deeply.

Ah, yes, the new lilac bushes were blooming beside the greenhouse. Lovely. It was a perfectly lovely night.

THE END