Ridge City was a crowded, busy town, full of people coming and going off the train at all hours of the day and night. The jail was already packed when Chris Larabee and Vin Tanner dropped off Three-Eyed Bob McCay, so named for the bullet he took in his head during the war. The two then headed for the saloon, also crowded with people waiting to leave or waiting for arrivals, and people trying to beg, win, or steal whatever money they could before the next train came and a new batch of travelers waded in.Vin watched the saloon as he sipped his beer, and watched Chris down a whiskey. Chris stood with his back to the saloon, his eyes locked on the mirror behind the bar, but Vin got the feeling he wasn't looking at the reflection of what was going on behind him. Vin turned and rested his elbows back against the bar. He sure didn't want trouble to come sneaking up on them.
A redheaded saloon girl sauntered over to them. "Howdy, boys, you looking for some company?" she asked.
Vin looked at Chris. "How 'bout it, cowboy? My treat," he said.
Chris shook his head. "Not interested," he said, finishing his whiskey. "Let's go." He pushed away from the bar and headed for the bat-wing doors. Vin smiled at the girl and followed.
<<<<<<<<<<~~~~~~~~~~>>>>>>>>>>
The sun had set as the two men finished their suppers. They unpacked their bedrolls and checked their weapons, working in silence, paying careful attention to loading each chamber, knowing those bullets meant life or death.
When the business of setting up camp was done, Chris Larabee allowed himself the luxury of a cheroot as he sat in front of the small campfire. Tanner stretched out across from him, pulling his dented harmonica from his pocket and humming softly a nameless tune. If Chris weren't listening for it, he didn't think he could even hear the low music, if you could call it music. Whatever it was, it was soothing to Chris's frayed nerves; they'd ridden all day from Ridge City, and they still had another day on the trail before they'd be home.
Chris's fingers fidgeted with the edge of his cheroot. Despite sitting in a saddle all day, he had a lot of pent up energy. He glanced at Vin, sprawled out on his blanket, one leg bent up and his elbow resting languidly on his knee. Vin's hat was pulled low over his face; he barely moved as he played the harmonica, only an occasional flex of his wrist signaled a change of notes. The music he played was like the man - deceptively lazy, but with a hidden yet distinct meaning. Chris appreciated Vin's calming presence. When he felt tighter than a spring and about ready to haul off on someone, he knew Vin was there to keep him out of trouble. Or to back him up if trouble found him anyway.
Chris stood suddenly, tossing his cheroot onto the flames.
"Hear somethin'?" Vin said softly from beneath his hat. He set the harmonica down next to him.
"No. I just ain't tired," Chris replied.
"Ya look a bit antsy," Vin said. "Somethin' got ya spooked?"
"I don't think so." Chris glanced around the edges of the camp to make sure. The only thing he saw were the horses tied off to the side.
"If yer so awake, how 'bout takin' first watch?" Vin said, laying back. "Wake me when ya get sleepy."
Chris nodded, then walked to the darkness at the edge of the camp, pacing in a slow circle around the perimeter. His spurs jangled as he walked. To occupy his hands, he picked up a branch and began breaking off the leaves and twigs. It was a solid piece of wood; he could probably carve something out of it. When the idea hit him, he stopped pacing and leaned against a tree, pulling out his knife and beginning to scrape off the bark. He tapped his foot idly as he worked, not hearing the knife scrape or the spurs jangle as he listened for sounds of outsiders nearing the camp.
But Vin heard him. The slow scrape of the knife on wood, the quick metal of Larabee's damn spurs. Vin tried to ignore them and listen to the outside sounds, the crackle of the fire, the far-off call of an owl, the whisper of the wind through the trees, but every time he had a fix on it, Larabee would scrape the wood again. Vin tossed and turned, but couldn't ignore the man long enough to get any sleep.
Finally, he sat up and glared at Chris. "Reckon ya could make a little more noise?" Vin asked. "I think some folks back in Ridge City can't quite hear ya."
Chris glanced up from his whittling. "What's wrong with you?"
Vin nodded towards Chris's foot tapping against the tree. "That tree ain't goin' nowhere, so you can stop hittin' it with yer spurs."
Chris stilled his foot, placing it back on the ground. He folded back up his knife and put it in his pocket, and tossed the half-bare stick into the forest.
"Better?" Chris asked. "You think you can sleep now, or should I tell you a bedtime story?"
"What the hell crawled up yer ass, Larabee? You've been ornery since we left Ridge City."
Chris shrugged. "I don't know. I just can't stay still."
Vin looked him over, at his hands clenching and unclenching into fists, at his lips pressed together in a straight hard line. Vin nodded, his decision made. He stood slowly, tossing his hat behind him. "Since ya didn't want a girl, I'll let ya work off some of that energy on me. But if ya don't let me sleep after, I'll shoot ya to keep ya quiet."
Chris looked at him to see if he was serious or not. The corner of Vin's mouth lifted in a wry grin. "You gonna do somethin', or else I might get my feelin's hurt," Vin said.
Chris grinned back, and nodded slowly, undoing the buttons on his pants. It had been too damn long since he'd been with anybody, and maybe it would help. He wasn't hard at all, so he stroked himself as Vin walked towards him. When Vin stood in front of him, he swatted Chris's hand away and pushed him up against the tree. He looked down at Chris's semi-erect cock, and said, "Ain't much happenin' there. Let's see if'n we can't fix that."
Vin knelt down in the dirt and ran his tongue down the length of Chris's cock. It hardened instantly. Chris leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about the consequences of what they were doing. He was getting his cock sucked, and that's all he cared about.
Vin rubbed Chris's pre-cum around as he pulled back the foreskin, then guided his cock into his mouth. Although this wasn't his favorite activity, he'd do it for Chris, but he had to pull away as Chris started thrusting. "Sorry, cowboy, I ain't had a lot of practice." He stood and pulled down his suspenders. "I reckon yer ready now."
Chris watched as Vin removed his shirt and unbuttoned his pants so they pooled at his feet, then stepped out of them. "You sure about this, Vin?" he said, removing his own shirt.
"Yep." Vin walked back to the fire, pulling a bottle of gun oil from his saddlebag. Chris watched him as he bent over, his leg muscles tensing, cheeks spreading to show the dark crease between.
"You're quite a tease, Tanner," Chris said as Vin walked back and handed him the bottle. Chris poured some oil on to his hands.
"Just make sure you can deliver, stud," Vin replied. "How 'bout we switch places?" Chris nodded and stepped away. Vin leaned into the tree, bracing his hands on the bark. Chris stood behind him, resting one hand on Vin's hip as he set the bottle down. He ran the tips of his fingers slowly up Vin's spine, tracing the slight curvature until he reached the top, then he went back down. Vin shivered at the light stroke. "Ya got a real nice touch there, Chris," he said.
Chris's hand traced the bones of the tracker's hip and the curve of his ass before reaching around to stroke along his cock. Vin's cock hardened until it rested against his belly, and Chris traced the underside and moved lower to cup his balls. "Real nice touch," Vin repeated. He closed his eyes as Chris began stroking his cock, pushing his ass back into Chris's groin. He felt Chris's hard cock in his crack. Vin slowly began moving up and down the length.
Chris took the hint. He reached for the oil and rubbed it generously over his cock, resting his forehead on Vin's shoulder as he did. Vin spread his legs, his arms braced on the tree. Chris slowly worked one coated finger into Vin's hole, smiling at the groan that escaped Vin's throat.
"God, you're tight, Tanner," Chris said.
"Ain't done this in a while," Vin answered.
"Me either. Think I can remember how." Chris eased in another finger, widening the passage some more. "Ready?" he asked quietly. Vin nodded in response. Chris guided his cock to Vin's entrance, took a deep breath, and slowly breached the opening. Both men groaned as Chris slid in. As he waited for Vin's body to adjust, he poured more of the oil on his hands and reached back around to Vin's cock, slowly smoothing the oil over the length. When he felt Vin was ready, he tossed the oil, moved his hands to Vin's hips and began a slow rhythm. He bit his lip as he tried to hold on, to not go too fast. He wanted this to last as long as it could, but Vin wasn't one to be patient. He picked up on Chris's rhythm and began moving against it, so as Chris thrust forward, Vin thrust back, embedding Chris's cock in all the way. "Oh yeah," Chris heard Vin say, and he gave up on slow and easy. His fingers dug into Vin's hips and he increased the tempo, burying himself all the way inside that tight channel, his thighs slapping against the back of Vin's, sweat beading on his chest and arms.
"God, I'm close, Chris," Vin said between breaths. "Think ya could use yer hand again?" Chris nodded and reached around. The oil was still warm on Vin's hard shaft. Almost as soon as Chris touched him, Vin tensed and thrust into his hand, his cum spurting over Chris's fingers. Chris came right after as Vin clenched around his cock, still thrusting until he was completely spent. They both rested for a few moments, breath calming and heartbeats returning to normal. Chris pulled out slowly.
"Feel better now?" Vin asked, stretching his back.
Chris grinned and smacked him lightly on the ass. "Much better," he answered. He reached for a bandanna, and tossed another to Vin, then lit another cheroot. "Yeah, much better," he repeated.
"Good. Think you'll let me sleep now?"
"Yeah."
Both got dressed. Vin lay back down on his blanket and prepared to get a few hours sleep.
"Vin?" Chris said, rechecking the shotgun.
"Yeah?"
Chris paused, and then said, "Thanks."
Vin grinned. "Anytime." He covered his face with his hat and was soon asleep. Chris shook his head, and walked quietly to the edge of the camp, watching and listening to the sounds of the darkness.
<<<<<<<<<<~~~~~~~~~~>>>>>>>>>>
The fight that broke out in the saloon looked as if it should be a mismatch. Three tough heavy ranch hands, full of beer and straight off the trail, and one lean gunslinger, bleary-eyed with whiskey. The first trailhand tried the direct approach, a fist to Chris's jaw, but Chris moved quickly and punched him in the kidneys, and the man went down with a grunt. The other two were more cautious, spreading out, waiting for Chris to make the next move. The tables in the saloon cleared, men standing against the walls waiting to see if high and mighty Larabee would finally get his ass kicked.
Vin watched from just inside the bat-wing doors, gun in hand. If it looked like Chris was going to get hurt too bad, he'd get him out, but for now he was willing to let Chris work off steam. The past few days, since they'd got back from Ridge City, even before that really, Chris had been antsy, and when he got antsy, he got drunk. And when Chris got drunk, he got mean.
Vin glanced at the fight, which had moved to the center of the saloon. Chris was holding his own against the two cowboys, grabbing one by the neck while he kicked out at the other. Vin spared a glance around, and saw Buck leaning against the bar. To all appearances, he looked casual, but Vin saw his gun was drawn too. So Buck was thinking the same thing: Let Chris work out his demons on these two. Vin nodded slightly, and Buck nodded back, then they both looked back at the man whose back they were watching.
The cowboys finally got smart, and one caught Chris from behind while the other started raining punches. Vin and Buck moved in at the exact same time, pulling the cowboys away.
"He started it," one of the cowboys protested as Buck led them away.
Chris stood slowly. Vin reached down to help him, but Chris shrugged him off. Despite the amount of whiskey he'd drunk, Vin thought Chris's eyes now looked clear. Clear and angry. When Chris was like this, tensed and coiled, Vin could see the man everybody else saw, the cold killer. Vin usually didn't see that in Chris; he saw a man who held on to control like he was gripping a tiger's tail, because he'd found out the hard way what happens when he wasn't in control; people died, wives and children died. That void controlled Chris, and Chris controlled everything else. But there was also a proud and caring man buried in there, who liked to laugh and let loose like anybody else. Vin wondered not for the first time what Chris was like before the deaths of his family, but he knew he'd sure as hell never find out.
"You should get outta town for a while," Vin said quietly. Chris pushed his hair back from his face and looked at the blood on his hands. "Town can make a man skittish. Best you get out before somebody gets hurt." Chris's eyes met his and Vin nodded at the look he saw there. "I'll clean up here," he said. Chris walked slowly from the bar. Vin watched as he disappeared into the livery, then went to find Nathan.
<<<<<<<<<<~~~~~~~~~~>>>>>>>>>>
There were no lights lit at the cabin when Vin got there. Chris's horse was unsaddled and munching contentedly in the corral. At least he was still taking care of his horse, Vin thought as he unsaddled his own horse and led him inside the fence. The horses eyed each other warily before each finding a patch of grass.
Vin grabbed his saddlebag, canteen, and the pouch of supplies Nathan had given him. He stepped loudly onto the porch and called out, "Vin comin' in," so he didn't take Chris by surprise. The door was open a crack, and Vin pushed it open slowly. He couldn't see into the darkness, and his hand instinctively rested on his gun as he called out, "Chris?"
"Over here," Vin heard the soft reply. He glanced to the corner, where he knew a wooden chair sat in front of the small stove. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see Chris' silhouette, legs stretched out in front of him as he slumped in the chair. "You didn't have to come all the way out here," Chris said.
Vin walked to the table and set down his saddlebag and pouch, then reached for a lantern. "Brought some stuff from Nathan. Figured you could use some fixin' up after that fight tonight." He lit the lantern, but kept it down low, then turned to look at Chris. Chris's eyes were locked on him, his jaw set like stone. In his hands he held his gun. The chamber was open, and he spun it slowly with his thumb. There was dried blood on his hands, and a cut above his eye still bled. Bruises were already forming on his cheeks, and his lip was split. "You hurt bad anywhere? Ribs?"
Chris shook his head, still spinning the gun chamber.
Vin opened the pouch and took out the bandages Nathan had given him, then grabbed his canteen. He then walked over and knelt in front of Chris, taking the gun from his hands and putting it on the floor, noticing it was empty. He wetted a bandage and reached for the gash on Chris's head, but Chris pulled his head away, grabbing at the cloth. "I can do it," Chris said. He put the cloth to his head and winced.
Vin didn't say anything. He set the supplies on the ground by Chris's feet and stood, walking over to the other chair in the room, by the table. He watched as Chris dabbed at the cut.
Chris sat back, pressing the cloth to the still bleeding wound. He sighed and closed his eyes.
"What's going on with me, Vin?" he asked quietly.
"Thought maybe you'd tell me."
"I feel so goddamn restless. Can't explain it. I ain't never felt like it before."
"Maybe it's the town crowdin' ya?" Vin asked.
Chris shook his head, and winced again. "No, I don't think so. I've felt crowded before, and this ain't that. And it ain't needing a girl, either. I thought maybe it was...maybe it was 'cause I was forgetting them." He paused, pulling the cloth away and looking at the blood. "It'll be three years soon," he added quietly.
Vin didn't have to ask who they were-Sarah and Adam. He knew they were always just below the surface. He waited silently for Chris to continue.
"But I don't think that's it either. What I think it is..." Suddenly he looked up at Vin, as though seeing him for the first time. Vin remained still, waiting to see what he'd do. "Why are you here?" Chris asked.
"Told ya, brought ya supplies."
"Bullshit. Why are you really here?"
Vin weighed his words carefully, and then decided the simple truth was the best. "Worried about ya. Didn't think ya bein' alone was a good idea."
"So you came to keep me company?" A cold gleam came to Chris's eyes. Vin knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he kept going.
"Yep," he answered.
Chris tossed the bloody cloth away and leaned back in the chair. His mood had switched so quickly, Vin wasn't sure what he was thinking now. Chris didn't leave him in suspense too long.
"Then get undressed," Chris said.
Vin eyed him warily. "Ain't necessarily the company I meant," he said.
"Then get out. Your call." Chris watched him, his eyes bright in the dim light of the cabin. Chris was a handful even when he was in a good mood; when he was in that dark place in his soul, he was a coiled rattler. But Vin knew that when he decided to come out here, and he wasn't leaving the man to his demons alone.
Vin stood slowly and undid his gun belt. He turned away to place it on the table, and started unbuttoning his shirt. "Turn back around," Chris said.
Vin paused. "You wanna watch?"
"Yep."
"You gonna toss money at me too?" Vin said, turning around but looking down at his fingers as he undid the buttons on his shirt. He was gonna give Chris this, even though his first instinct was to tell him to go to hell and head back to town and more friendly company. But he'd been in bad places himself, places where you didn't want to be alone, and he figured that's where Chris had ended up: Can't stand people but don't wanna be alone. That's a tough place to be, so Vin figured he'd help if he could.
He shrugged out of his suspenders and started to undo his pants, then paused. Just because Chris was as dark as a thundercloud didn't mean Vin couldn't have a bit of fun.
"Problem?" Chris asked, as Vin's hands dropped to his sides.
"Think I hurt myself. Fingers don't seem ta work good." He fumbled at the top button of his pants, but then dropped his hands again. "See? Don't work." He grinned. "Looks like I'll need some help."
Chris smiled slightly in return. "Always knew you were useless, Tanner." He stood and walked to where Vin stood. He swiftly undid the buttons and pushed Vin's pants down around his ankles, then waited with his head slightly bent forward, hands resting on Vin's hips.
"Yer head's still bleedin'," Vin said. "Maybe we should hold off until..." He gasped as Chris wrapped his hand around Vin's soft cock, and it sprang to life in his hand.
"Maybe we should hold off?" Chris said, his hand stroking slowly.
"Yeah, until we get ya bandaged..." Another gasp as Chris slid back his foreskin and rubbed his thumb around the sensitive tip. A small pearly drop appeared and Chris smeared it around the head.
"You still want me to stop?" Chris asked.
"Yer hurt," Vin answered, swaying along with Chris's hand.
Suddenly Chris knelt in front of him and took the head of Vin's cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around. "Shit!" Vin exclaimed.
Chris pulled away. "Maybe we should stop," he said, cupping Vin's balls in his hand. "Get my wound looked after."
"Aw hell, go ahead and bleed, just don't stop." Chris smiled and took Vin's cock in his mouth again, taking him in as far down his throat as he could. Vin couldn't remember being that far down anybody's throat before, and it felt so good, he had to grit his teeth to stop himself from thrusting further. "Damn, that feels good," he said, reaching to touch Chris's head before remembering it weren't a girl down in front of him, so his hands dropped back to his sides.
Chris pulled away, took a deep breath, and sucked Vin in again, wrapping his hands around the back of Vin's thighs to pull him harder. When the tip of Vin's head hit the back of his throat, his gag reflex acted up, and he had to pull away, coughing.
Vin knelt down beside him, pounding lightly on his back. "Watch it, cowboy, don't wanna bite off more than ya can chew," he said. When Chris's coughing quieted, he reached for Vin again, but Vin shooed his hand away. "How 'bout we get you outta some of these clothes first?" he said, starting to unbutton Chris's black shirt.
Chris nodded. "Your hands seem to be working again," he said.
Vin grasped the bulge hidden in Chris's jeans. "Looks like I'm cured," he said with a grin. Chris grabbed his wrist, staying his hand. Vin looked up, and met the other man's eyes, which were searching his, for what he didn't know. He didn't flinch under the piercing scrutiny and the growing ache in his wrist.
Whatever Chris saw there, he let go of Vin's wrist and backed toward the bed, undoing his pants as he went. He pushed them down, saying, "Grease is behind you on the shelf."
Vin turned to grab the round tin, and when he turned back around, Chris was lying face down on the bed, reaching for one of the cloths Vin had brought from Nathan. Vin hurried to pick it up, wetting it and handing it to Chris, who placed it back on his head. "You sure about this?" Vin asked again, as he sat by Chris on the edge of the bed.
"Vin, it's a miracle you ever get laid."
Vin grinned. "Ain't that the truth," he said. "OK, but we'll go slow. Can't have ya passin' out on me. What would I tell Nathan?"
He scooped out some of the grease, and rubbed it over his hands, then ran his hands down the length of Chris's taut legs.
"Don't waste it. That grease has got to last me until the end of the month."
Vin shook his head. "I'll get ya some more. Even wrap it in a purty bow if ya like."
"Tanner, if you ain't the biggest smart ass I ever met. And I've met a lot."
Vin moved his hands to Chris's ass, scooping out some more of the grease. He traced the puckered hole before gently inserting one finger, then stole a look at his friend. He couldn't see his eyes because Chris still had the bandage pressed to his head, but he could see the clenched jaw. Vin was going to get the man to relax if it killed him, and knowing the infamous Larabee temper, it might. He inserted another finger, and then a third. Ignoring his own aching cock, he used his other hand to lightly trace the contours of Chris's leg, like he was calming a horse. When he felt the gunslinger was ready, he removed his fingers and shifted his weight on the bed.
Chris instantly pushed himself up on his hands and knees, dropping the cloth. Vin climbed behind him, and lined up his cock, planning to take it slow, but as soon as he entered a little bit, Chris thrust backward, impaling himself all the way. Both men cried out, Chris in pain, Vin in surprise and pleasure. Breathing hard, Vin said, "What the hell did ya do that for? Ya trying to hurt yerself?" He stilled Chris's hips with his hands, feeling the man spasm around him.
"Hard," Chris said. "Do it hard."
"Slow down."
"No. Hard. Now." Chris tried thrusting backward again, and Vin gripped his hips harder to keep him still, although his cock was telling him to do what the man ordered. He didn't know what was going on in Chris's head, but he wasn't about to hurt him finding out. Instead, he moved back slowly, groaning as Chris clenched to keep him from pulling out all the way. He started a slow rhythm back and forth, aiming for that spot inside that he knew would bring Chris pleasure. When Vin hit it, Chris arched his back and hung his head, biting his lip. Vin kept up the slow rhythm, and reached around to stroke Chris's straining cock. The gunfighter swiped his hand away.
"No," Chris said from between gritted teeth.
Vin stilled. He was beginning to understand what Chris was up to. He lay against Chris' sweaty tense back, his chin resting slightly on the round of his friend's shoulder. Chris bucked to try to get him off, but Vin held on. "I know what yer doin'," Vin said quietly. "Ya want pain, 'cause ya don't think ya deserve pleasure. I been there, Chris, but I ain't there now, and I won't hurt ya, no matter what ya do." He paused, waiting for a response. When he didn't get one, he continued. "Don't do this to yerself, cowboy. Let me finish it. It ain't just pain that let's ya know yer alive."
Chris didn't answer, but Vin was prepared to wait as long as it took. Finally, Chris nodded almost imperceptibly. Vin realized he had been holding his breath, and let it out with a soft sigh. He scooped the last of the grease on to his hand and smoothed it on Chris's still hard cock. Chris closed his eyes, and Vin began a slow rhythm on his friend's cock, echoed in the tempo of his hips as he thrust in and out of Chris's ass. He speeded up the stroking of his hand, wanting Chris to come first, and was rewarded by streams of warm seed spilling on to his hand. Vin came soon after, filling his friend with his own seed, and collapsing on top of him, his arms wrapped around the other man's middle.
"See, pard," Vin said sleepily. "Ain't that a much nicer way to spend an evenin'?" He rolled off Chris and closed his eyes. Chris watched him for a while, and then climbed quietly from the bed. He pulled on his pants and stepped on to the porch. It was a clear night, stars dotting the ink sky. Chris lit a cheroot and leaned against the doorway.
"Chris?" He heard Vin say behind him.
"I'm fine. Go back to sleep," he replied. He looked back and the sharpshooter had already lain back down in the bed. Chris sighed and stared back out at the night. He was fine, for now, but he knew it would come back, whatever it was that was gnawing inside him. He wished he knew what it was, something he could name and touch and shoot if need be, but whatever it was disappeared just when he thought he had a grasp on it. It was a void that Vin helped fill, but Chris could already feel the edges crumbling, and when he tried to fight it, it dodged away from him like the smoke of his cheroot into the night.
<<<<<<<<<<~~~~~~~~~~>>>>>>>>>>
Vin had been gone ten days, two days longer than he'd said. It was supposed to be a short run to pick up supplies for Nathan, who was watching two expectant mothers, but he'd wired from Suarez with the terse message "Late. VT." Chris thought about riding after him. He didn't want to face the three-year anniversary alone. He thought maybe with Vin's help he might get through it for once without losing his mind.
For the first week Vin was gone, he'd been okay. He wasn't drinking or fighting. He'd taken extra patrols, which Ezra was more than willing to donate, and spent the rest of his time outside the jail, staring at the street, seeing everything that was happening but seeing beyond it as well. When Vin's telegram came on the seventh day, he'd opened a bottle of whiskey. On the tenth, he was saddling his horse.
He headed out of town at daybreak. He didn't want to think about what he was doing, or why. Even when Vin was gone, he'd been able to shut down the parts gnawing at him, disappear to a place inside of numbness, perhaps even calm, that hadn't been there before Vin had showed up in his life. But when he didn't know when Vin was coming back, the dam burst and all that pent-up restlessness came gushing forth, and he left before he ended up in another bar fight.
He intended to follow Vin. Suarez was a far ride, and there was the possibility that Vin was in trouble, bounty hunters or others, but his gut didn't think so. He paused at the road leading west and allowed himself to voice the question he'd been ignoring for a week. Why was he following Vin? What he was feeling for Vin was sick. He was a man, for pity's sake, and if Vin ever found out, Chris wagered he'd head out of town soon after. So instead of leading his horse west, he turned south, and headed toward Purgatorio.
<<<<<<<<<<~~~~~~~~~~>>>>>>>>>>
Considering he was soaking wet, walking his horse through the mud that used to be a road, and was now four days overdue, Vin Tanner was in a relatively good mood. He was heading home. Home. He still shook his head every time he thought of that dusty backwater as home. He figured if it came down to it, he could leave the place and be on his way, but he hoped it didn't come down to that, and in the back of his mind, he knew he wouldn't be alone if he left. When Chris had first offered to ride with him to Tascosa, he'd agreed, knowing in the end he'd be going alone. But over the past year, through all the ups and downs and flying bullets, he'd come to trust Chris's word, and since he knew he wouldn't be alone, he wasn't as anxious to head out. Didn't make no sense, he knew, but that's how it was.
He'd been a bit worried when that storm kicked up and washed out the roads, leaving him trapped in Suarez. He thought Chris might come after him and get caught in a flash flood, or start drinking and fighting again. Vin didn't know the depth of Chris's pain; he knew it was there and he left the man to deal with it the best he could. If Chris needed a punching bag, he'd go at it with him, but he much preferred the other way they'd found to calm that fury - riding each other like broncos until they couldn't move. Vin smiled into the rain at the memory. Vin'd had a few good times in his life, but none of them held a candle to Chris Larabee. The man was a force of nature, that's for sure. Vin realized he missed him. He'd realized it in the cramped bedroom of a tired working girl back in Suarez. He couldn't get it up for her, despite her best efforts and then ridicule, but here in the freezing rain he felt stirrings at the memory of the man in black. Hell, that's why he was heading back now, despite the rain. He was going loco waiting around in Suarez, and he suspected Chris was even worse off back home. Home. That damn word again. He had a home now, and if it didn't last, he knew at least he'd always having someone watching his back.
Continued in Desperate
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