"Civilization on yonder horizon," Ezra Standish announced with a dry southern drawl.

"It's about damn time," Buck Wilmington grumbled. He drew his forearm across his sweat-beaded brow. "Why do horses always go lame miles from the nearest town?"

Chris Larabee shook his head, stifling his own impatience. When Josiah Sanchez's horse had picked up a rock that morning, Josiah had been relegated to either walk or ride double. The men had begun by taking turns riding double, but in the end the preacher had chosen to walk. Chris couldn't figure out how Josiah had managed the last couple hours in his boots. And without a word of complaint.

Chris glanced at Vin Tanner who'd kept Josiah company the last mile. The two of them spoke in low voices, and occasionally a word drifted to Chris. He figured they were discussing their experiences with different Indian tribes-a topic both Vin and Josiah enjoyed palavering about.

As they neared the outskirts of a bustling town, Chris spotted a weathered sign with the word Pocket carved into the wood.

"You reckon Pocket's the name of this town?" JD Dunne asked as he removed his hat and fanned it in front of his sunburned face.

Nathan Jackson, the black healer, shrugged. "Good a name as any, I guess."

"Sure is big," Vin commented.

A wagon rolled past and the driver shook his fist at them, yelling something about taking up all the road. Chris grimaced. Large towns like Pocket always made him uncomfortable. He was a man unaccustomed to closed-in spaces, and preferred wide open range where a person could breathe without the stench of civilization. Chris glanced at Vin and noticed the stiff set of his shoulders and the scowl that tugged at his lips. The tracker didn't like this kind of place any more than Chris did.

The seven men paused at the edge of town and studied the imposing main street, lined with shops, hotels, bath houses, Chinese laundries, and a huge brick bank. The Seven continued past the row of legitimate businesses until the storefronts changed to those of saloons and gambling halls. In this red light district, Chris saw sporting women dressed in various dishabille hawking their ample "merchandise" from second story balconies.

"I think we done found Eden, boys," Buck exclaimed, tipping his hat to the prostitutes and giving them his most charming smile.

The women giggled and spoke to each other behind their palms. Chris shook his head. He suspected they wouldn't be seeing much of Buck for the next few days while they waited for Josiah's horse to heal.

The hair prickled at the back of Chris's neck and he lifted his gaze to search the street and alleys. Some old men wearing faded overalls and smoking corncob pipes watched them from rickety chairs on the boardwalk, but none of them seemed particularly hostile. The unease faded, leaving Chris restless and wondering what had set his gut to churning.

Josiah and Vin led them to a large livery. After paying the hostler and making sure all the horses, especially Josiah's, were well cared for, the seven men headed down the street to find a respectable boardinghouse. They found one in need of a fresh whitewashing and a few repairs, but otherwise it appeared decent.

"If you gentlemen don't mind, I believe I shall find accommodations elsewhere," Ezra said.

"You don't like us?" Buck asked in mock disbelief, then laid his hand against his heart. "Damn, that hurts, Ezra."

The dapper gambler's eyes twinkled, though his mouth remained set in a firm line. "It has nothing to do with fondness, Mister Wilmington. I merely must have the lullaby of shuffling cards and clinking glass in order to slumber."

As Ezra continued up the street to a saloon and gambling emporium called The Barbary Coast, Chris and the other five men entered the boardinghouse.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" a woman with gray hair but a lively sparkle in her hazel eyes greeted them.

"We were wondering if you had any rooms available for some weary travelers," Josiah said.

"How many days you boys plan on staying?"

"A few, no more than a week."

She studied them a moment, then nodded. "As long as you all don't mind sharing. I've got three rooms, each with a couple beds in them."

Josiah smiled. "That sounds like heaven, and you're an angel in disguise, ma'am."

Chris lowered his head as a smile tugged at his lips. Though Buck was the ladies' man, Josiah wasn't lacking in charm either.

"My name's Mrs. O'Kelly and if you need anything, just let me know," she said as she led them up the stairs. "Breakfast is served at six thirty, lunch at noon, and supper at six. If you miss it, you're plumb out of luck." Mrs. O'Kelly stopped at the first door. "Two of you can have this one."

Buck and JD shrugged at one another and claimed it. Nathan and Josiah took the one next to it, and Chris and Vin the room across the hall.

"Thank you, ma'am," Vin said, touching two fingers to the brim of his hat.

"Such polite young men you are," Mrs. O'Kelly said, then added, "Don't forget to be down in the dining room at six."

"We wouldn't miss it," Chris reassured.

Mrs. O'Kelly chuckled. "I s'pect not, seeing as how you're growing boys and all."

Smiling and shaking his head, Chris closed the door behind her and tossed his saddlebags and rifle on the bed nearest the door. He knew Vin would want the one closest to the window.

"Reminds me of Nettie Wells some, don't she?" Vin commented as he dropped on to his bed and crossed his ankles.

Chris removed his hat and slung the stampede string around a bedpost. "I reckon." He sank down on the edge of his mattress and sighed. "Sometimes I think I'm gettin' too old for this."

Vin chuckled. "Ain't we all, pard. I figger we can use the time to rest up-in a civilized town like this, it don't seem likely we'll run into any trouble."

Chris nodded, though the nape of his neck continued to tingle. He knew the six of them in the boardinghouse weren't in any trouble, but he wondered about Ezra. Frowning, Chris hoped the gambler hadn't gotten himself into some calamity already.

He glanced up at the ceiling that appeared to be recently painted, then at the walls that were covered with flowery wallpaper. If the condition of the room was any indication, Chris doubted they'd find bedbugs in the muslin sheets. He recalled the outside of the house and figured Mrs. O'Kelly had done the fixing up inside first.

A soft snore startled him and he looked over to see Vin had fallen asleep. He smiled fondly. After the run-in with the Jordans, the barbed wire, and a bullet through his side a couple weeks ago, Vin hadn't regained all of his normal strength. Maybe it was a good thing Josiah's horse had thrown its shoe.

Chris pressed his palms against his thighs and pushed himself upright. His back and knees cracked, telling him he was definitely getting too old to be spending so many hours in a saddle. He only hoped his reflexes hadn't slowed, also. Too often his lightning speed had saved himself or one of his friends. If he lost that edge, he may as well dig a grave and lie in it. There were too many young gunfighters out there wanting to make a name for themselves by outdrawing a gunslinger like Chris Larabee. He scowled-he hadn't been looking to make a reputation as a fast gun. It was just something that had happened after he thought he had nothing left to live for.

The words his father had spoken to him nearly twenty years ago came back to haunt him.

Chris stepped over to the window and opened it, letting the cool breeze in to flutter the gingham curtains-curtains like the ones Sarah had made for their cabin. With trembling hands, he rubbed the material between his fingertips. Memories like tin daguerreotypes flashed through his mind: Sarah rocking Adam gently as she fed him; Sarah's shining eyes as she buried her nose in the bouquet of wildflowers he'd picked for her; Sarah standing by the stove stirring the Sunday chicken and dumplings; and Sarah's whispers of pleasure after the day's work was completed and the moon's glow bathed her smooth skin in silver....

Moisture stung his eyes and he released the curtain, but the images faded more slowly than the feel of the cloth's texture on his callused fingers. Lord, he missed Sarah and Adam. If anyone had told him the pain would still be this intense four years after their deaths, he might have ended his own life right after he found their charred bodies. Instead, he'd pursued whiskey and faceless women to fill the aching emptiness that he'd come to learn could never be filled.

He pulled a chair over by the window and sat heavily upon it, then leaned his forehead against the glass pane. Watching the busy street below, Chris felt the vague sense of unrest anew. He searched for a familiar face among the bustling crowd, and spotted Buck and JD as they emerged on to the street to enter the saloon Ezra had gone into earlier. A few moments later, he heard Josiah and Nathan's voices as they came out of their room and the sound of their boots on the stairs told him they were going to get a drink, too. He watched them cross the street to the Barbary Coast and was tempted to join them. Whiskey would dull the memories, and make the loss of Sarah and Adam a little more bearable.

Chris swallowed hard and turned to look at Vin. The long-haired man's slack features appeared more vulnerable as he slept. Though Vin seemed to be slumbering peacefully, Chris wasn't fooled. Nightmares had plagued him since his time with the murdering outlaw gang hired by Justin Jordan, and Chris had awakened Vin more than once in the past couple weeks. He'd stay close in case the nightmares returned to haunt him.

Having a mission to keep his thoughts occupied, Chris leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long, lean legs in front of him. He threaded his fingers together and laid his clasped hands across his belly as he watched over his friend. And hoped one of them would find some peaceful sleep.

Ezra managed to procure a room above the fancy saloon that happened to be a cut above the standard hotel abode. He suspected the room was rented to traveling gentlemen who preferred to remain circumspect in their 'affairs of the heart'. Not that Ezra had designs on any of the ladies-at the moment Ezra would rather have a deck of cards in his hands than a soft woman.

He washed up and replaced his dusty green jacket with his red one. As he donned it, he caught sight of the neat stitches used to repair the coat after the unfortunate incident with the mountain lion right after they'd left Four Corners. He thought of Vin's embarrassment when he'd thrust the brown paper package into his hands and couldn't stop a fond smile from tilting his lips upward.

"Mister Tanner, one should not be ashamed of doing a good deed," Ezra said quietly and his brow furrowed thoughtfully. "I, for one, have learned that from you and our other fine friends."

After a quick look in the dresser mirror to check his appearance, then ensuring he had a new deck of cards in his breastpocket, Ezra left the room. Downstairs, he found a table with four poker players-all dressed in fine business suits-and approached them with a friendly smile. "Might I be so bold as to inquire if I could join you, gentlemen?"

They did the expected visual inspection and after a moment, nodded.

"Be our guest," one of them said.

"Thank you." Ezra seated himself.

"I'm Astor Phillips and I own Phillips Mercantile," the heaviest of the four men introduced with a wide smile. He pointed to the man on his right who was completely bald. "This is Jameson Kirkwood, he owns this choice establishment. The gentleman wearing the glass spectacles is Ralph Johnson-he's the manager of the bank. And the last one is Norbert Calloway who owns the Imperial Hotel, the finest hotel in the territory."

Ezra shook hands with each of the men in turn. "Ezra Standish, and I am a traveling man."

"I'll bet you've seen most of the gambling halls this side of the Mississippi," Ralph Johnson commented as he pressed his wire glasses up on his narrow nose.

"And some on the other side also, my good man," Ezra said smoothly. "Would that be a problem for you gentlemen?"

"Do you cheat?" Kirkwood demanded.

Ezra met the bald man's dark eyes. "No, sir, I do not."

Kirkwood studied him for a long moment as Ezra held his gaze. Suddenly Kirkwood smiled. "Welcome to Pocket, Mister Standish. I hope you find your stay...profitable."

Ezra returned the smile. "Thank you, Mister Kirkwood. That is my expectation also." He glanced around at the other players. "No offense intended."

"None taken," Calloway said with a magnanimous wave of his hand. "It's always good to get some fresh blood in."

"I do hope you are speaking figuratively and not literally, Mister Calloway," Ezra said, arching a sandy eyebrow.

The hotel owner chuckled, a deep resonant sound. "Of course, Mister Standish. We're peace-loving men in a peaceful town."

A tingle of alarm slid down Ezra's spine though he had no reason to be suspicious. Pocket appeared to be one of those frontier towns that had passed the initial tests of civilization and had settled into being a cultural oasis in the wilderness.

Calloway shuffled the cards and dealt. Ezra picked up his five cards-among them two nines and an ace-and the thrill of the game surged through his blood. A few minutes later, Ezra noticed Buck and JD enter the saloon. They headed straight to the polished mahogany bar and ordered a couple drinks. Picking up their mugs, Buck led JD to a table a few feet from where Ezra played poker.

"I see you didn't waste any time, Ezra," Buck said with a grin.

Ezra didn't like having his attention divided during a poker game, but managed a quick nod. "And I see you did not loiter in your room before acquiring refreshments."

JD's brow creased. "Huh?"

Buck removed his hat and tossed it in the center of his and JD's table. "He said we musta been thirsty."

Ezra bit back his smile. "How very astute of you, Mister Wilmington."

A few minutes later, Josiah and Nathan joined Buck and JD.

"Are you going to introduce your friends, Mister Standish?" Phillips asked.

"Excuse my atrocious manners. These are my traveling companions," Ezra said, then introduced the parties to one another.

"Five of you ride together?" Kirkwood asked.

"Actually there are seven of us," Ezra replied.

Kirkwood's eyes narrowed and that same apprehension tightened Ezra's neck muscles. Something here was amiss, but the gambler couldn't place his finger on the reason for his misgivings.

"Chris and Vin aren't here yet?" Nathan asked, one dark eyebrow pitched upward.

Buck shook his head. "Seems kinda strange, don't it?"

Josiah slid his hat off, allowing it to rest against his back, held by the latigo strap around his neck. "Vin was mighty tired and I think his side was painin' him some."

"Why didn't he say somethin'?" Nathan demanded. Buck, JD, and Josiah all gazed at Nathan mutely, but the healer had no trouble reading their message. "Vin would rather eat nails than admit he's hurtin'," he sheepishly answered his own question. Impatience returned to Nathan's dark features. "I'm goin' to have a talk with him next time I see him."

"So why ain't Chris here?" JD asked.

"Because Mister Larabee owes Mister Tanner," Ezra said softly, then laid down four kings. "I believe this game is mine."

"Is that Chris Larabee, the gunman?" Kirkwood asked as Ezra raked in his winnings.

Ezra's muscles stiffened and he noticed his four friends had the same reaction. "I believe he has a somewhat overblown reputation as a 'fast gun'," Ezra replied carefully.

"And he don't like no one remindin' him," Buck said menacingly.

Ezra wasn't surprised by Buck's defensiveness. The tall man, though often the brunt of teasing due to his 'animal magnetism', was overly protective of the blond gunslinger. Buck and Chris had known each other a long time-Ezra had heard ten or twelve years-and though the two often butted heads, they would defend the other against any threat, real or perceived.

Kirkwood held up his hands. "I was just curious is all."

Josiah lifted a shot glass of whiskey to the light and seemed to be admiring the subtle shades of amber shooting through the liquid. "They say curiosity killed the cat."

"It's a good thing I'm not a cat."

Josiah turned to the bald man and suddenly laughed. "I guess it is, Mister Kirkwood."

The tension eased and Ezra went back to his poker game while his four friends ordered another round. An hour later, Ezra had won more than he'd lost. The heady taste of triumph buoyed him and he bought a round of drinks for his fellow players.

Buck, JD, Nathan, and Josiah said something about going to eat supper then left Ezra alone once more. As he watched them leave, Ezra felt a split second of hollowness and he blinked at the odd sensation. He was perfectly at home here with his best friend-a deck of cards.

Phillips excused himself for a moment and the poker players took a break to stretch their legs. Ezra ordered a cup of coffee with a shot of whiskey in it to fortify himself for the next round. He waited by the bar for the refreshment and watched the hive of activity in the busy saloon. This was the type of place Ezra wanted someday-refined, but with enough rough edges to make it interesting.

One of the waitresses, a woman dressed in a knee-length emerald green dress, approached Kirkwood. Her face, though pretty, had hard lines around her eyes and mouth, characteristic of women in her profession. She appeared angry and Kirkwood took her arm, drawing her into an isolated corner. Kirkwood's back was to Ezra, but he could plainly see the woman's expression. No doubt about it-she was piqued.

Kirkwood said something to her and Ezra saw her impatient gaze flicker to him across the room. She narrowed her eyes as if assessing Ezra and finding him inadequate, then gave her attention back to her employer. After another couple minutes, she calmed down, though it didn't appear as if Kirkwood had completely mollified her antagonism.

The bartender set a cup of coffee in front of Ezra and added a couple shots of whiskey to it. After laying two coins on the bar, Ezra carried the cup back to his table where the other four men had already returned to their places.

And the poker game resumed.

Chris lightly slapped Vin's boot. "Time for supper."

Vin opened his eyes and his startled gaze darted to Chris, but when Vin didn't see any danger, he commanded his muscles to relax. He swung his legs off the bed and planted his feet on the floor. Rubbing his grizzled face in his palms, he waited as his heart slowed its thunderous beat. The nightmare had come again, of Chris riding toward him in the night as the man next to Vin had aimed his rifle at Chris. In the dream, Vin stood up and shouted at his friend, but Chris couldn't see or hear him, and the man shot Vin in the gut, then turned the weapon back toward Chris, who was riding closer and closer to his death....

"Nightmare again?" Chris asked softly, uncannily guessing Vin's thoughts.

"Yep," Vin said simply and stood. In reality, Vin had been able to save Chris, but the nightmare taunted him with what might have been. And what might happen in the future. Talking to Chris about his fears would be useless-death wasn't a stranger to any of the six men he rode with, especially Chris Larabee. They all knew the risks, but balanced it against the good they could accomplish.

Vin stretched and bit back a grimace. His side remained stiff and sore. However, it was a tolerable ache and not worth mentioning. He glanced over at Chris to see him studying him with that closed-in expression that told everybody, Vin included, that there were some things the gunman didn't share.

"You ready to go get some grub?" Vin drawled.

Chris set his hat on his head and nodded curtly. Vin followed him, shaking his head slightly. Chris changed moods faster'n a rattler could strike.

As they went downstairs, Vin heard Buck's teasing voice and Mrs. O'Kelly's laughter.

"Sounds like Bucklin is workin' his animal magnetism on Mrs. O'Kelly," Vin said, a chuckle in his voice.

He was rewarded with a smile from the blond man. "Yep. Course, if he wasn't, we'd figger something had to be wrong with him."

"Ain't that the truth."

Vin and Chris joined the four men already seated around the oval oak table.

"Glad to see you boys made it. I was just about to sweet talk Buck into going up to check on you," Mrs. O'Kelly said, sending Chris and Vin a wink.

"I believe sweet talkin' is my job, ma'am," Buck said, a twinkle in his eyes.

She propped a hand on a generous hip. "Sure hope you're better at it than that prattling you've been doing."

Buck blinked and his expression faltered a moment, bringing a round of laughter from his friends. His confidence returned and he gave her his most charming smile. "Well, now, ma'am, I guess your beauty has just made me plumb tongue-tied."

Mrs. O'Kelly's eyes sparkled with humor. "You hold on now, Buck. I don't think I have a shovel big enough for all them horse apples."

Chris snorted with laughter and Vin found himself chuckling at both Buck's red face and Chris's amused reaction.

"I think she got your number there, Buck," Nathan said with a big grin.

"'Bout time, too," JD added, bubbling with mirth.

Vin's gaze caught the scar on the boy's cheek and his high spirits faded. The boy's tussle with the barbed wire had left other scars, but this one was the most obvious reminder of Vin's inability to protect his friends. Or leave them behind on his journey to Tascosa.

He glanced at Chris and found him smiling at Buck's sputtering reaction to the teasing. The words Chris had spoken to him by Jordan's corral came back to Vin: the bottom line is we're in this together until the end...one way or another. And Vin believed him, but sometimes the full impact of those words tormented his conscience.

Mrs. O'Kelly set a huge platter with steaks on it in the center of the table. "Buck, JD, come help me with the rest of the victuals."

JD and Buck jumped to their feet, and Mrs. O'Kelly ordered them about like a good-natured cavalry sergeant. It took only two trips for each of the three to bring the rest of the food in from the kitchen. The table groaned under the abundance of food: mashed potatoes, gravy, carrots, beans, slices of fresh bread, butter, pickled beets, deviled eggs, and applesauce.

She poured glasses of buttermilk for each of them, claiming it was good for 'growing boys' and that if they didn't drink it, they wouldn't get dessert. Vin managed to swallow the thick sour milk though he quickly washed it down with strong coffee. His gaze caught Chris's mirroring expression of distaste, but noticed his friend drank all his buttermilk, too. JD appeared to be the only one who liked it.

Silence was broken only by silverware against plates, requests for second and third helpings, and the unexpected belch from JD, who quickly excused himself with a guilty look at Mrs. O'Kelly.

She smiled at him. "Your ma raised you right, JD."

JD's cheeks flushed. "She tried, ma'am."

Mrs. O'Kelly returned to the kitchen and came back with a huge round cake with thick chocolate frosting. "Hope you boys saved a little room."

"Ezra's gonna be mighty upset he missed all this," Buck commented.

"Depends on if he's winnin' or losin'," Nathan said. "You know how he gets when he's winnin'."

Vin nodded. He'd seen Ezra go thirty-six hours without eating or sleeping while his luck was holding at the poker table. The gambler could survive on coffee and whiskey, a bad combination if it went on too long.

Mrs. O'Kelly cut thick slices of the rich chocolate dessert and placed them on plates which she passed around to the six men. Vin relished the treat, as did the others.

"I remember when Sarah used to-" Chris broke off as if suddenly realizing what he'd said. He took a deep breath and continued with a somewhat tremulous voice. "Sarah made this chocolate pudding that melted in your mouth, a lot like this cake, Mrs. O'Kelly."

"Why thank you, Chris," she said, but wisely refrained from pressing him.

"My ma used to sneak me this stuff from the kitchen called chocolate mousse," JD said. "The cook only made it when there were important folks visiting."

"Well, I don't think I ever ate anything this good," Nathan said, his dark eyes glittering with pleasure.

Vin had had chocolate cake before, but it didn't come close to Mrs. O'Kelly's. He cleaned his plate off and pushed it away. "You're gonna have to roll me outta here," he said and patted his belly. "I ain't ate that much good food in a long spell. Thanks."

The others echoed Vin's sentiments, and after each of them had another cup of coffee, they forced themselves up. With unspoken agreement, they headed to the door and across the street to the Barbary Coast to check on their compadre.

Vin walked beside Chris, sensing his thoughtfulness.

"That's the first time I ever said her name without rememberin' the fire first," Chris said quietly.

Vin sent him a sidelong glance and his gut clenched at the melancholy in his friend's face. "Maybe it's time you start rememberin' the good things first," Vin said carefully.

"Maybe." Chris's voice sounded...lost.

Vin paused on the boardwalk outside the saloon and Chris stopped beside him. The lamplight from the Barbary Coast's windows slanted across Chris's face, shading half of it in austere darkness and bathing the other half in muted light. "I won't pretend to know how you're feelin' since I ain't never been married or had a son," Vin began quietly, his throat tight with nervousness. "But seems to me Sarah woulda wanted you to remember the good times and try to forget the bad."

For a moment, Chris remained silent, then his jaw clenched. "You know what Hank Connelly said to me right before he died?"

Vin shook his head.

"'Remember not to forget,'" Chris quoted softly. He met Vin's questioning blue eyes. "I don't want to forget, Vin. I can't forget."

"And you won't," Vin reassured. "But you gotta remember the times before, too, or her life and your son's won't have meant a damn." Vin held his gaze for a long moment, then slapped Chris's shoulder. "C'mon, cowboy, I'll buy you a drink."

Vin led the way through the batwing doors and immediately spotted Ezra playing poker. The flush in the southerner's face and the too-wide smile worried Vin. It appeared Ezra had drunk his supper again, but it also looked like he was winning.

He and Chris grabbed chairs and joined Buck, JD, Josiah, and Nathan.

Vin motioned toward Ezra. "He looks happier'n a pig wallowin' in the mud."

Chris snorted and the others chuckled.

"He's doin' good," JD finally said. "He's won nearly every hand and that fella," he pointed to a bald man, "is losin' the most."

"He owns this place," Josiah said.

Chris narrowed his eyes. "I'm surprised he's losin' as bad as he is."

Vin glanced at Chris, but his attention was diverted by a woman--at least, he thought it was a woman--wearing a grimy buckskin jacket and trousers. Her hair, a few inches longer than his own, was in need of a washing, as was her face which was smudged with dirt. She stood by the bar with a mug of beer and when he caught her eye, she sent him a wink and a gap-toothed grin.

Buck punched his arm. "I think she likes ya, Vin."

"You can have her, Buck," Vin said with a shiver of revulsion and turned his attention to the poker game.

Suddenly Ezra whooped, startling everyone in the saloon. He turned to his six friends and his green eyes blazed with triumph. "You are looking at The Barbary Coast's new owner and proprietor."

Surprised, Vin exchanged a glance with Chris who was frowning.

JD leaned over to shake Ezra's hand. "Congratulations, Ezra."

"You finally won a saloon, just like Maude said you should," Buck added with a smile. He clapped his hands and headed for the bar. "Hot damn, Ezra, I'd say drinks are on you the rest of the night."

Ezra jumped to his feet and joined Buck. "Wait one moment there, Mister Wilmington. "

Nathan shook his head in disgust or practiced tolerance--Vin wasn't certain which. "Now what's Ezra gonna do with a saloon here?"

Josiah shrugged. "Maybe he's found a place where he'll finally feel like he belongs."

"I thought he already found that," JD said, his brow knitted.

"Hard to say what a man's searching for." Josiah settled a deliberate gaze on Chris. "And sometimes the man doesn't even know until it's right under his nose."

Chris eyed Josiah coolly from beneath his wide brim. "This is somethin' Ezra's always wanted." He downed a shot of whiskey, then refilled his glass. "Ain't a lot of us that can be so sure about things."

"Howdy there."

Vin turned around to see the buckskin-clad woman standing directly behind him. She smelled nearly as bad as she looked. "Howdy, ma'am," Vin managed to say politely.

She pulled a chair over beside him, then asked. "This chair taken?"

"Uh, I guess not," Vin stammered.

Though Chris wasn't smiling, his eyes were laughing as he withdrew a cheroot from his duster pocket.

"You got an extra one of those, mister?" the woman asked Chris.

He shrugged and passed her one, then lit it for her. She smoked the cigarillo like she'd been doing it all her life. And Vin wouldn't be surprised if she had been.

"I'm Martha Jane Cannary. What's your name?" she asked Vin.

"Vin, uh, Larabee, Miz Cannary," he replied helplessly.

She held out her hand which Vin took after a moment's hesitation. Her strong grip equaled a man's and Vin gritted his teeth as she shook his hand vehemently. "Nice to meet ya, Mister Vin Uh Larabee. Who're your friends?"

"I'm Josiah Sanchez, ma'am," Josiah introduced gallantly. "And this is Nathan Jackson, J.D. Dunne, and Chris Larabee."

She eyed Chris, then Vin as if trying to see any similarities. "You two kin?"

"Cousins," Chris said smoothly. "He took after the other side of the family--I got all the good looks."

Miss Cannary's gaze moved up and down Vin like she was buying a piece of horseflesh, and she licked her lips. "I ain't so sure about that."

Vin's cheeks heated with embarrassment. "Was there somethin' you wanted, Miz Cannary?"

"There was, but there ain't no more. You'll do just fine."

Vin swallowed hard-he didn't like that sound of that. "For what, ma'am?"

"My new boyfriend. My last one run off with a sportin' gal from Jake's Saloon a few days back."

Vin's mouth became as dry as a desert in the summer. "Now hold on there, Miz Cannary. I ain't--"

She patted the back of his hand and he jerked away. "You are a skittish one, ain't you? Don't worry, Vin, you and me is gonna get along jist fine."

"I don't think so," Vin said firmly, trying to regain control of a situation that had somehow spun completely out of control.

Buck returned to the table bearing a tray of beer mugs and a bottle of whiskey. "This is all I could get out of Ezra, so enjoy." He looked at the woman. "Hello there."

"That there is Buck Wilmington," Vin volunteered, and added hastily. "He's got something called animal magnetism that women can't resist."

She leaned close to Buck and sniffed, then wrinkled her nose. "He don't smell any different than any other drifter passin' through." She smiled coyly at Vin. "'Ceptin' you, a'course."

Vin glared at his friends, daring them to laugh. Although their mouths twitched, each of the men managed to stifle their amusement.

Buck sat down beside JD and took one of the mugs of beer. "Help yourself there, ma'am."

"Don't mind if I do." She poured herself a shot of whiskey and swallowed it in one gulp, not flinching at all. "How long you boys goin' to be in town?"

"Just a few days," Vin replied quickly.

"Could be a week, maybe more," Josiah refuted somberly, though Vin could see the twinkle in his blue eyes.

"All righty then, that'll give you and me some time to get to know each other a lot better." She slapped Vin's thigh.

Pushing back his chair, Vin scrambled to his feet. "'Scuse me, I gotta go use the privy." Then he was gone before the woman could offer to escort him.

"He shore seems jumpy. He ain't one of them sissy men, is he?" Martha Cannary asked. "Not that I got anythin' against them type. Why, I got me a few good friends like that. I was just hopin' that Vin wasn't taken by nobody yet."

"Don't you worry about Vin. He likes women just as much as the next man, and--" Buck leaned forward and spoke in a conspiratorial tone, "--I know for certain Vin ain't spoken for."

Chris rolled his eyes. Buck was asking for trouble if he kept goading the woman. Vin was easy-going to a certain degree, but even he had his limits. And Chris suspected Miss Cannary had pushed beyond all of them, which meant Vin was going to be ornerier than a two-headed bull.

"Who's that?" JD asked.

Chris drew his attention to a distinguished looking man entering the saloon. The stranger had white hair and a cane, though he carried himself like a younger man with pride in every muscle of his body. He wore a white shirt with a black and gray vest over it. Black trousers and boots lent the man a dangerous aura.

"That's Cap'n Ham Daniels, used to be a Texas Ranger until a bullet caught him in the back," Martha said.

"A Texas Ranger?" JD whispered in awe.

"One of the best. Single-handedly cleaned out a camp full of Commancheros 'bout five, six years back."

"Better shut your mouth, JD, afore one of them bugs fly right into it," Buck teased.

"But, Buck, he's a Texas Ranger." The way JD said it, he could've been talking about God.

"So?"

JD leaned close to the mustached man. "Don't you see, Buck? He's what I been wantin' to be since I was in short pants."

"Which ain't been all that long," Buck said, his eyes twinkling.

JD glared at him. Buck could be so dense sometimes! Captain Ham Daniels had done all those things JD only dreamed. He looked back at the man who sat by himself, his back to the wall as he studied everyone in the bar. The Texas Ranger's gaze settled on JD and the young man managed a smile and nod. Daniels dipped his head slightly in reply.

This was JD's chance to talk to a real live Ranger...if he could work his nerve up to doing it. He grabbed a shot glass, filled it with whiskey and slammed it back. His eyes teared, but he managed not to cough at the burn all the way down his throat. He gripped the arms of his chair and took a deep breath, then pushed himself upright. Taking hold of his gunbelt, he shifted it on his hips and drew his shoulders back.

"Where ya goin' kid?" Buck asked.

"Gonna go talk to him," JD replied in a liquor-husky voice.

"Whatcha gonna do that for?"

JD rolled his eyes at Buck's puzzled expression. "'Cause he's a Texas Ranger."

"JD," Buck began.

But JD ignored him as he tried to walk casually to the captain's table. "Mind if I join you, sir?"

The man studied him and JD forced himself not to squirm beneath his perceptive gaze. "Be my guest."

JD smiled and quickly sat down. He couldn't believe how close he was to a genuine Texas Ranger....

"You're new in town," the Ranger commented.

"Yeah, that's right. My friends and me, we're just travelin' through," JD answered enthusiastically.

"I hope you're finding our little town accommodating."

"Oh, yes, sir, it's got real nice accommodations. We're stayin' at Mrs. O'Kelly's. She makes the best chocolate cake I ever had," JD rambled nervously.

The man smiled in amusement. "That she does." He paused. "My name's Ham Daniels."

"I know," JD blurted out. His face flamed with embarrassment. "I mean, that woman, Miz Cannary, she told us you were a captain with the Texas Rangers."

"Even though Martha hasn't been in town long, she knows everybody and isn't shy about sharing her knowledge. What's your name, son?"

"JD Dunne, sir."

"You don't have to keep calling me sir, JD. You can call me Ham or Captain, whichever you feel most comfortable doing."

"Okay, s-Captain." JD forced himself to casually lean back in his chair, tipping it back on two legs...and nearly falling over backwards. He regained his balance, humiliation making him clumsier than usual.

"Don't worry, JD, I don't bite," Daniels said with a smile.

JD attempted a nonchalant shrug. "How long were you with the Rangers?" he finally managed to ask.

"Joined in 1855, but fought in the War Between the States for four years. After the War, I came back to Texas and rejoined."

"You must've liked it."

Daniels nodded. "It was my life, JD. Tracking Commancheros and trying to keep the peace was all I knew." He smiled crookedly and shook his head. "I remember one time when me and my friend, Ben Thompson, went after these men who robbed a bank. We trailed them for a hundred miles, into Mexico to this whorehouse." He laughed. "You should've seen them, JD. Caught them with their pants down around their ankles."

JD imagined the two Rangers disturbing the robbers' fun and chuckled at the picture.

"So what do you think is so funny over there?" Buck asked, pointing toward JD and the Ranger.

"Probably telling the boy old war stories," Josiah said.

Buck snorted. "If he wants stories, he oughta come to me. Why, hell, I got a whole store of 'em."

"And he's heard 'em all a hundred times," Nathan added.

Chris chuckled at Buck's hurt expression. "Afraid you're gonna be replaced?"

The mustached man sent Chris a glare. "That ain't ever gonna happen. Why, JD thinks I can damn near walk on water. He looks up to me."

"Too bad that Chinese potion didn't work or you mighta been lookin' up to him," Nathan said, winking at Chris.

"I can't even get no respect from my friends," Buck groused. He shook his head and scanned the saloon for a more receptive companion.

"Vin's shore takin' his time," Martha Cannary commented with a frown. "You don't think somethin's happened to him, do ya?"

"He can take care of himself," Chris reassured.

"Unless he fell in or somethin'," Buck added with an artificial expression of concern.

"Maybe I'd best go check on him." Martha stood without looking and her shoulder crashed into tray of drinks one of the waitresses was carrying. The men cringed at the clatter when the tray fell and the glasses shattered.

Martha sighed. "You need some help cleanin' that up?"

The saloon girl shook her head without hesitation and with more than a little anxiety. "No. I can do it."

Martha shrugged and headed to the door.

Chris expected her to stumble around after three shots of whiskey and two beers, but she walked like she was stone cold sober.

"Think someone should go warn Vin?" Nathan asked, looking at Chris.

The blond man shook his head. "If he don't wanna be found, he won't be." He grinned. "And he don't wanna be found."

Buck spotted a woman needing some attention and pushed back his chair to stand. "Excuse me, boys."

He didn't look back as he headed toward the blonde wearing a knee-length sky blue dress. Leaning against the bar beside her, Buck flashed his ladykiller smile. "May I say that you're looking as lovely as a drop of morning dew on a rose petal?"

The woman stared at him like he was a few peaches short of a lug and shrugged. "You can say anything you want. Last I heard it's a free country."

Buck smile faltered only for a moment. "That's right and we're both free to do anything we want--" he winked, "--together."

"Or not," she quipped. She took two mugs of beer from the bartender and shook her head. "Sorry, mister, I'm not interested. Now if you'll excuse me, I have real customers."

She hurried away to a nearby table and set the drinks down in front of two dusty men who looked like they'd just come in off a trail drive. One of them pulled the woman into his lap and she giggled, then leaned over to whisper something in his ear. The man nearly split his face wide open with his grin.

Buck rubbed his brow. Why would a woman choose someone like that cowhand over Buck Wilmington? Could there be one or two women in the world who were immune to his animal magnetism? That had to be it--there couldn't be any other explanation.

He surveyed the room, looking for another companion. Spotting a redhead wearing a green dress, he headed in her direction and crossed her path. "Good evening, ma'am. Has anyone ever told you that your hair is like a crown of glory and your eyes gems of the rarest form?"

She shook her head impatiently. "Nope. And I hope no one ever does again." With a snort of disgust, she went around him and was caught in a bear hug by a grizzled man who looked like he'd been in the mountains for more than a few years. She laughed, took him by the hand and led him up the stairs.

"Son-of-a--" Buck began. He removed his hat and raked his fingers through his hair, leaving it standing on end. What the hell was going on? With something akin to desperation, he found another saloon gal and went up to her. "Evenin', ma'am. You could put a field of wildflowers to shame with your beauty and that's the honest-to-God truth."

The working girl narrowed her gaze. "You shouldn't be taking the Lord's name in vain."

Buck drew back as if slapped. "I didn't mean no disrespect, ma'am."

She planted her hands on her full hips. "The hell you didn't. Besides it ain't me you should be apologizing to." And with that, she flounced away to be caught by a beanpole of a man who swung her around to dance to the tinny piano music.

Buck swallowed hard. What was going on? Frantically, he sought out the remaining women separately and each one brushed him off like he was a snot-nosed kid. In a daze, he rejoined Chris, Nathan, and Josiah.

"What's wrong there, Buck?" Chris asked.

"I lost it," he murmured.

"Lost what?" Nathan asked.

Buck blinked and lifted his frantic gaze to the healer. "You gotta help me get it back, Nathan."

"What are you talkin' about?" Nathan repeated impatiently.

"My animal magnetism, it's gone!"

Chris covered his smile with his hand and Josiah managed to stifle the first chuckle, but not the second.

"I don't reckon I got a cure for that, Buck," the healer managed to say with a straight face, though his dark eyes danced mischievously.

Buck leaned across the table, desperation in his features. "But you gotta, Nathan. What am I gonna do?" His eyes widened. "Damn, I may even have to start payin' for it."

Chris, Josiah, and Nathan couldn't contain their laughter any longer.

Buck drew back, staring at them like he'd been betrayed. "It ain't funny. I've heard tell a man can damage himself bad if he don't, well, you know."

"You'll have to let us know, Buck," Chris said with a wicked wink. He stood and stretched. "I'm going to hit the sack. Been a long day."

Josiah and Nathan joined him.

"You comin' Buck?" Chris asked.

The mustached man shook his head. "I think I'll stay here a little longer and see if it comes back, y'know?"

Chris smiled crookedly and he, Josiah, and Nathan left the saloon. As they walked toward the boardinghouse, Chris spotted a shadowy figure in an alley across the street. The person was standing just inside the darkness, a dim silvery outline in the darkness. Unease washed across Chris.

"You go on boys, I'm gonna check on my horse," Chris said.

Josiah and Nathan nodded and continued on, while Chris strode across the street, his spurs jingling unnaturally loud in the night's quiet. He neared the alley and slowed as he put his hand on his revolver. But where he'd seen the person, the alley was empty. He narrowed his eyes, searching, but nothing moved.

An eerie sensation slid down Chris's spine. He didn't believe in ghosts, but whatever he'd seen had disappeared like a phantom.

"You okay?"

Chris spun around, palming his Colt as he turned.

"Whoa," Vin said, holding his hands in the air. "It's just me."

Chris shoved the weapon back in his holster, and forced himself to breathe slowly-in, out, in, out. "Damnit, Vin, you almost got your head blown off."

"What's got you jumpier'n a frog in a frying pan?"

Chris's heart slowed its rapid-fire beat, but his hands continued to tremble. "I thought I saw someone in the alley watchin' me."

Vin frowned and his gaze skipped to the dark corridor. "You wanna take a look?"

Chris shook his head. "If there was anyone there, he's long gone by now."

Vin studied him a moment. "You know anybody here in town?"

"Nope, but maybe someone knows me." He met Vin's eyes, and in them he saw mirroring concern. He shrugged. "But then, it could just be my imagination, too."

"You don't believe that." It wasn't a question.

The unease lingered in Chris, but he knew neither he nor Vin could do anything about it right now except worry. He forced a crooked smile. "Where's your new girlfriend?"

"That ain't funny, Chris," Vin said in a low voice. "She damn near tracked me down after I left. Would've too, if I hadn't slipped through the livery."

"Must be quite a burden to be plumb irresistible to the ladies," Chris said with a smirk. Vin glared at Chris, who slapped his shoulder slightly. "C'mon, pard. Let's get back to the boardinghouse before your paramour finds you."

"Damnit, Chris, you been spendin' too much time around Ezra," Vin growled. "Can't hardly understand what the hell you're sayin'."

Chris chuckled, and side by side, the two men returned to the boardinghouse.

Mrs. O'Kelly's breakfast was as delicious and filling as her supper had been: fried potatoes, scrambled eggs, ham, bacon, fluffy light biscuits with honey, and hominy porridge, plus strong hot coffee.

"Good thing we ain't gonna be here long. Sire'd end up with a swayed back for sure," Vin said as he sent Mrs. O'Kelly a wink. "Buck and JD are gonna be plumb disappointed they missed it."

"Where are those two boys?" Mrs. O'Kelly asked.

"Sound asleep," Nathan replied. "Heard 'em snorin' when we walked past their room."

"That was a mighty fine feed, ma'am," Josiah said with a smile.

"I gotta admit, I enjoy cooking. Me and my late husband had five strapping boys. Cooking for all of you reminds me of those days."

"Where are your sons now?" Nathan asked.

"Two oldest were killed in the war. My youngest two are in California and the middle one's in Colorado, all raisin' their own families now."

"Why aren't you livin' with one of them?" Vin asked.

"I couldn't live in a house with another woman. I'm too used to doing things my own way, and I like running a boardinghouse." She sighed. "There's just so many things to do, sometimes I despair of ever gettin' them all done."

"I ain't been one to just sit around twiddlin' my thumbs. Maybe I can give you a hand," Vin volunteered.

Mrs. O'Kelly waved a blue-veined hand. "I couldn't be havin' one of my guests working on the place."

Vin shrugged. "I don't mind. Fact is, I'd rather be doin' somethin' than not."

"I'd be willin' to lend a hand, too," Chris spoke up. He grinned self-consciously. "It's either that or spend my time in the saloon."

Mrs. O'Kelly studied the two of them for a moment. "I've been meanin' to whitewash the fence and house one of these days. If you'll do it in exchange for room and board, I'll show you where everything is."

Vin could see the woman's pride in her expression and he nodded somberly. "We could do that, ma'am."

She smiled widely and clapped her hands. "Then we have us a deal. The whitewash is in the shed out back. You and Chris can start whenever you'd like."

Chris glanced at Nathan and Josiah. "What about it, boys?"

Nathan smiled. "I'll give you a hand, but first I'd like to go see the doctor in town."

"You sick?" Mrs. O'Kelly asked.

He shook his head. "No, ma'am. I'm kinda what you'd call a healer. I ain't had no doctor learnin', but I picked up a few things during the war. I like to talk to real doctors 'bout things so's maybe I can learn more."

Mrs. O'Kelly's expression grew troubled. "Our doctor died about a year ago, but his widow took over."

"You got a woman doctor?" Nathan asked in amazement.

The older lady nodded reluctantly. "She took her test about six months back and got permission to hang out her doctor shingle, but she doesn't have many patients. Not many folks will talk to a woman about their ailments."

"I'd still like to visit her," Nathan said after a moment's hesitation.

"Her place is at the south end of town. Big house with a wide porch. Can't miss it."

"Thank you, ma'am." Nathan stood. "I think I'll head over there."

Josiah also got to his feet. "I'll walk with you, Brother Nate. I'd like to pay a visit to the Lord's house."

The two men said their good-byes and filed out of the dining room.

Nathan and Josiah walked side by side, observing the early morning traffic, both on the street and the boardwalk. Though it was barely eight a.m., people were bustling in and out of the shops and businesses. At the end of town, Nathan caught sight of a large house with a sign that swung gently with the breeze. As they grew closer, he could make out the lettering: Dr. Elise James, M.D.

"You want some company?" Josiah asked Nathan.

The healer shook his head. "Don't need any." He flashed Josiah a smile. "'Sides, I figger you're wantin' to get over to that church to visit with the preacher."

The large man grinned sheepishly. "I'm always interested in other shepherds of the flock."

"See you at lunch."

Josiah nodded and headed across the street toward the steepled building. Nathan climbed the stairs to the porch of the doctor's home and knocked on the door. A few moments later, it was swung open by a woman in her early thirties with dark hair knotted at the base of her neck.

"Yes?" she asked curiously.

Nathan removed his hat and held it in front of him. "Are you the doctor?"

She nodded. "Can I help you?"

"No, ma'am, I'm just travelin' through town. I'm a healer--just thought I'd stop by and maybe visit if you ain't too busy."

The woman studied him a moment, her hazel eyes curtained. She stepped back, opening the door further. "Come in, Mr.--"

"Nathan Jackson, ma'am. You can call me Nathan," he said, walking across the threshold.

A slight smile lifted her lips. "I'm Dr. Elise James."

"Yes, ma'am, I read your sign there."

Dr. James closed the door behind Nathan and motioned for him to follow her into the spacious kitchen. "Have a seat. Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Thank you."

He remained standing as the doctor filled two cups with dark, rich-smelling coffee. She set one on the table in front of Nathan, then lowered herself to the chair across from him. Nathan sat down and took a sip of coffee.

"Were you curious about a woman doctor?" she asked, her caustic tone catching Nathan by surprise.

Nathan smiled self-consciously. "Fact is, I am, but I'm more curious about how you learned all your doctorin' skills."

She couldn't mask her own surprise. "So the fact that I'm a woman doesn't bother you?"

He shrugged. "I've learned that sick folks don't care if you're a man, woman, white, black, or purple. All they want to do is get to feelin' better."

Dr. James relaxed and leaned back in her chair. "You're an unusual man, Mr. Jackson."

"Nathan," he reminded. "No, Dr. James, I ain't that unusual. I just like to help people."

She studied him a moment, her expression thoughtful. "That's what I wanted to do, too, at one time."

Nathan tilted his head in question. "Not anymore?"

The bitterness returned to her features. "Nobody wants a woman doctor to help them, even when they're sick."

"Maybe they ain't been sick enough yet," Nathan said quietly.

"Maybe. Or maybe they'd rather go to a Negro healer than a woman doctor."

Nathan couldn't feel anger at her for her sharp remark because he heard the hurt in her voice.

She reached across the table and laid her hand on Nathan's forearm, startling him. "I'm sorry, Mist-Nathan. That was a petty and mean comment. It's just that I've tried so hard to get people to trust me and nothing has worked."

"Some people just don't understand, Doctor," Nathan said. "Iffen they'd been in the War, they'd be grateful to have a doctor."

"You fought in the War?"

He shook his head. "No, ma'am. I was a stretcher bearer, helped out the doctors and nurses, too. That's where I picked up most of what I know 'bout healin'."

"There's been many advances since then," Dr. James said.

Nathan leaned forward, excitement keening through him. "Could you tell me 'bout some of them? I try to keep up with things in them medical journals, but I don't get one very often."

The woman's expression grew more animated and her hazel eyes lit with a fire that told Nathan of her love of medicine. For the next couple hours, they shared knowledge, personal anecdotes, professional empathy, and the rest of the pot of coffee.

Josiah removed his hat as he entered the silent church. Though larger than the one he'd fixed up back in Four Corners, this house of God wasn't as well kept and the candles were unlit. The altar was bare except for a foot-tall crucifix that stood in the center of it.

Josiah walked halfway up the aisle between the pews, then paused and closed his eyes, trying to absorb this church's unique sanctity. The faint smell of beeswax and extinguished candle flames mixed with the scent of aged wood.

He opened his eyes and slipped into one of the pews, kneeling down and clasping his hands. Light seeped in through the colored glass, illuminating dust motes drifting lazily in the pale rays. The sounds from outside were muted, lending less importance to the matters of men than God's serenity inside.

Josiah rested his forehead on his folded hands and pondered the footsteps in his life that had led him to this place. The rebellion against his father, his guilt over his sister's insanity, the lives he'd taken in the name of God and man, and the six friends to whom he'd chosen to give his loyalty and, if required, his life.

He lost track of time in the contemplative silence, though with every passing minute, his mind shed more and more of its earthly burdens. Only in the Lord's house could he remove the mask he wore and be Josiah Sanchez, whoever that man was.

"Welcome."

The low voice startled Josiah back to the mortal world and he looked up to see a man wearing a plain brown robe belted at the waist with a rope. "Hello, Father," Josiah greeted.

"You're new in town."

"Just a lost soul wandering through," Josiah said.

The bald priest smiled. "Not too lost -you found your way here."

Josiah chuckled softly. "Maybe you have a point, Father--?"

"Father Schyma." He sat down in the pew in front of Josiah and leaned across the backrest. The smell of stale liquor from the holy man made Josiah frown inwardly. "What brings you to Pocket?"

Josiah shifted to sit on the hard seat. "My horse threw a shoe. Maybe it was divine providence?"

"Sounds more like a case of bad luck," Father Schyma said dryly.

Josiah laughed. "One man's bad luck may be another's godsend." He paused. "How long have you been here?"

"Fifteen years."

"That's a long time."

The priest averted his gaze and nodded. "Perhaps too long."

Josiah kept his expression neutral and remained silent, hoping Father Schyma would continue on his own.

The priest sighed heavily, sending another wave of stale liquor breath across Josiah. "Folks come to expect so much from me. They forget I'm a man, too, and want me to perform miracles."

"Like what?" Josiah asked quietly.

"Tell them why their son or daughter was taken by God, or why an innocent babe was born without life." He rubbed his brow. "And why evil continues to flourish when they pray each day for it to leave their town."

"What evil is that?"

Father Schyma's Adam's apple bobbed up and down and a droplet of sweat rolled down his grizzled cheek. "Devils exist everywhere, Mr. Sanchez."

"And most of them are only mortal men who have become greedy in this life."

The priest chuckled, though it was a bitter sound. "Aren't they one and the same?"

Josiah leaned forward. "Let me help you."

"Do you truly want to help?"

"Yes."

"Then go to the saloon and buy a couple bottles of whiskey and bring them back here. I fear my faith needs to be fortified."

"Faith isn't found in the bottom of a whiskey bottle," Josiah said in a low voice.

Father Schyma pushed himself upright. "That's where you're wrong, my brother. Faith is where each of us finds it."

Josiah watched the priest shuffle to the front of the church and go through a doorway leading to his living quarters. He glanced at the crucifix on the altar. "I have a feeling You put that stone in my horse's hoof for a reason. But I'd appreciate it if You'd give me a little clue as to what I'm supposed to be doin' here, 'cause if it's helping this priest regain his faith, You've come to the wrong person. You know better'n anyone I'm lacking in that area myself."

A deafening silence filled Josiah's ears and he nodded reluctantly. "All right. I'll see what I can do, but I can't make any promises."

Then Josiah knelt back down and bowed his head.

"You got some more paint over there?" Chris asked.

Vin glanced over at his partner and noticed he'd removed his shirt, leaving him in his underwear top with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Though it was hot, Vin preferred to work with his shirt on, keeping his scars hidden. He carried his pail over to Chris and poured some whitewash into his empty pail. He looked at the side of the house Chris had been working on. "You musta done this before, pard."

The blond man grinned. "Once or twice. How 'bout you?"

Vin shook his head. "Nope. Never stayed in one place long enough." He leaned over to dip his brush in the whitewash and grimaced.

Chris's smile faded and he placed his brush in his pail. "What do you say we take a break and drink some of that lemonade Mrs. O'Kelly left on the porch?"

Vin followed Chris around the house to the wide porch and up the stairs. Chris sat down in one of the rocking chairs and Vin settled in the other. He removed his hat and raked a hand through his long sweat-dampened hair as he watched Chris pour each of them a tall glass of the cool beverage.

The same comfortable silence the two men had been working in all day surrounded them as they drank their lemonade. Vin, however, was aware of Chris watching him through narrowed, concerned eyes. He knew his friend was worried about him--about the nightmares that had dogged Vin since his time with the outlaw gang and about his wound which still bothered him occasionally when he overdid it, like now.

"You all right with this waitin' around in Pocket?" Chris suddenly asked.

Vin understood the layered meaning to his question and he met Chris's narrowed gaze solidly. "I'm all right."

Chris's eyes warmed and he smiled slightly, then poured them each another glass of lemonade.

"There you are, Vin Larabee!"

Vin turned to find the source of the woman's voice and flinched when he spotted Martha Cannary crossing the street. "Aw, hell, now what?" he muttered.

Chris almost laughed but Vin's caged expression made him stifle his amusement and he watched the dread in Vin's face grow as Miss Cannary approached them.

"Afternoon, ma'am," Chris greeted, touching the brim of his hat with a finger. "You here to give us a hand?"

The woman's lovelorn gaze remained on Vin as she answered Chris. "Only if you got whiskey mixed in with that lemonade."

"Well, I guess you're plumb out of luck there," Vin said with forced cheer. "Don't you think we'd best get back to work, Chris?"

"Since when do Mrs. O'Kelly's payin' customers work for her?" Martha asked.

"When we volunteer," Vin said as he stood. "C'mon, Chris."

Drawing his hat brim lower to hide his smile, Chris followed Vin back to their pails of whitewash. And so did Martha.

"It ain't that I got anything against Mrs. O'Kelly. Fact is she's a right fine cook and a mighty good landlady," she said.

"You board here?" Chris asked curiously.

She wrapped her grimy fingers around her gunbelt that was strapped on over her greasy leather jacket. "Used to, 'til she made me leave."

"Why?" Vin asked.

"Sometimes things happen when I'm around a place too long," she replied vaguely.

"Like what kind of things?" Vin questioned, his paintbrush poised in the air.

"Oh, you know, just things."

Whitewash rolled down the brush on to Vin's arm and he took an involuntary step backward, his boot landing in his pail of paint. "Sonuva-"

"Things like that?" Chris asked, gazing innocently at Vin's whitewashed boot and trouser leg.

Martha nodded reluctantly, and laid a hand on Vin's shoulder. "Come on, Vin honey, let me go clean you up."

Vin jerked away from her like he'd been snakebit. "You just stay away from me, Miz Cannary." He tossed his brush in the pail his boot had just vacated and strode away.

"Looks like we had our first lover's quarrel," Martha said matter-of-factly. "Guess I'd best go see if I can smooth things out."

Chris grabbed her arm. "I don't think that'd be a good idea just now. I think he wants to be alone."

Martha thought for a moment. "All righty then. I'll come by later, see if he wants to take me out for dinner."

"Well, ma'am, I'd maybe leave him alone for the rest of the day. My cousin can be downright ornery when he wants to be."

Worry creased the woman's forehead. "Seems he ain't as sweet-tempered as I thought he was."

A genuine chuckle broke through Chris's lips. "I ain't ever heard him called sweet-tempered before."

Martha's shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh. "You know him better'n me, so I'll take you on your word, and leave him alone for a time and hope he gets over his snit. See ya later, Chris."

He watched her walk away with a stride that would rival any man's. As she strode across the street, she sneezed so loudly Chris could hear it, and a nearby horse began to buck, throwing its rider onto the dusty street.

Chris frowned, remembering the accident Martha had with a tray in the saloon, then what had happened with Vin, and now the bucking horse. It seemed Miss Cannary was a walking calamity looking to happen.

And Chris was suddenly glad he wasn't Vin.

Buck leaned back in his chair, a mug half filled with beer cradled between his palms. He gazed at Ezra across the table from him, engrossed in the business books Kirkwood had left him. "It just ain't fair, Ezra."

"What isn't fair, Mister Wilmington?" Ezra asked without glancing up from the column of figures he was adding.

"Life," Buck replied morosely. "I mean, one minute I got the pick of the ladies, the next not a one of them will give me the time of day."

Ezra scribbled a number down on a sheet of paper on the table. "Perhaps you are being overly dramatic." He raised his eyes to Buck. "Have you perchance tried another establishment?"

"Hell, yes! In fact, I tried all of 'em in town. It's gone, Ezra."

"Your animal magnetism?" Ezra asked dryly.

Buck looked around the Barbary Coast, Ezra's new pride and joy, and nodded dejectedly. "What am I gonna do?"

Ezra clasped his hands together and laid them on the open accounting book. "Would you be interested in gainful employment as a bartender?"

"Here?"

"Of course, here. My bartender only recently informed me that he will not return to his position."

Buck narrowed his eyes. "What'd you do to him?"

Ezra scowled. "I assure you, his decision had nothing to do with me."

"Seems awfully funny that as soon as you win the place, he leaves."

"Purely coincidental." The gambler raised the bottle of scotch on the table. "Shall we drink to it?"

"Sure, what the hell. I got nothin' better to do."

Ezra poured them each a shot of scotch and raised his glass. "To a long and prosperous alliance."

"Why not?" They clinked glasses and downed the scotch.

"Have you seen JD around?" Buck asked.

Ezra, his attention back on his ledger, nodded. "He met his new hero in here around noon and the two of them meandered away together."

Buck felt a sharp twinge in his gut. "He say where they were goin'?"

"No and I did not inquire." Ezra raised his head and aimed his pencil at Buck. "Surely you cannot be concerned with his acquaintance with a man of such stellar proportions?"

Buck rubbed his forehead. "I s'pose you're right, but it just don't seem right, him wanderin' off like that without tellin' anyone." He picked up his mug, emptied it and raised it for another.

Ezra lowered Buck's arm. "You have imbibed all the liquor you will consume for the day. In fifteen minutes, you shall be working behind my bar. And as my employee, you will be completely sober. Is that understood, Mister Wilmington?"

Buck rolled his eyes heavenward. If it wasn't enough that he had lost his magnetism and his best friend, now Ezra was going to turn him into a bartender. A sober bartender.

Damn.

The Barbary Coast boomed with business all evening as Ezra moved from table to table, acting like a politician, a position that seemed aptly fitting for the chameleon-like man.

Chris sat with Vin, Josiah, and Nathan in the darkest corner of the saloon. It had taken some serious cajoling and a couple near threats to get Vin to leave the sanctuary of his room. Martha Cannary had done something not even the most cold-hearted of killers had--scared the hell out of Vin. The ex-bounty hunter had stayed between the other three men as they entered the saloon and found a table nearly hidden in shadows. Fortunately, Martha hadn't shown up all night.

JD's laughter floated over to them and Chris eyed the table where the young man sat with Ham Daniels. JD had stuck to the Texas Ranger like a burr to a dog, but the former captain didn't seem to mind. In fact, the man appeared to be basking in JD's idolization.

"Never thought I'd see Bucklin behind a bar with an apron on," Vin commented.

Chris glanced over at their lanky companion who set two mugs of beer on the bar as he smiled at the redheaded barmaid. She took the beer and ignored Buck. "I wonder how long Buck's gonna go without a woman afore he blows up."

"I give him two days," Vin said with a crooked grin.

"One and a half," Josiah said, then turned to their thoughtful friend. "What do you think Nathan?"

The healer blinked. "What?"

"What's got you thinking so hard?"

Nathan sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I was just thinkin' about Dr. James and wonderin' how I could help her get folks to trust her."

"Ain't nothin' you can do, Nathan," Chris said quietly. "You can lead a horse to a water trough, but can't make him drink."

"I know that, but it just seems a shame folks can't see past their own noses."

"Fact of life, Brother Nate," Josiah said. "Take Father Schyma for instance, he's drowning his doubts in whiskey, not lookin' past his own pain to his flock's needs."

"Sounds like you two got your work cut out for ya," Vin commented. He finished his beer and glanced around at the nearly empty bar. "I s'pect it's about closin' time."

"I reckon," Chris said. He had nursed two beers all night, not even touching whiskey for the first time in months.

Captain Daniels limped out of the saloon and JD moved over to join them, pulling up a chair between Chris and Vin. His face was flushed and his eyes too bright. It appeared JD had imbibed more than his usual amount of alcohol. "That captain sure has been in a lot of fights."

Chris shrugged. "Any man worth his salt has."

"But not like him. Even when he was outnumbered by Commancheros and bandits, he always won," JD said enthusiastically.

Vin arched his eyebrow as he and Chris exchanged looks. "Maybe he just ain't tellin' you about the ones he lost."

"He never lost a battle."

"According to him," Josiah interjected. "I'd say he lost one when he was shot in the back."

JD's face reddened. "Well, maybe one, but that was all."

Ezra walked up to their table. "Shall I charge you overnight accommodations, gentlemen, or will you be leaving?"

"Looks like your first day of ownin' the Barbary Coast was a good one," Vin said.

"I believe so, Mister Tanner. I must admit I am enjoying being the owner and proprietor of this profitable establishment," Ezra said, a twinkle in his green eyes.

"One thing I don't understand," Chris began. "If it was so profitable, why did the owner risk losing it in a poker game?"

"One cannot question fate, but only welcome it when fortune smiles upon him."

"Something just don't feel right." Chris glanced around, noting they were the only ones left in the saloon and the door had been closed.

"What could be wrong, Mister Larabee? Certainly you don't believe that Mister Kirkwood intentionally lost such a lucrative business?"

The back of Chris's neck tingled, but just as before, he couldn't pinpoint the reason for his unease.

Buck hopped up onto the bar and swung his legs across the top, then jumped down on the other side. He removed his apron and tossed it onto a nearby table. "Looks like my job is done."

"Hardly," Ezra said dryly. "The floor is not swept."

Buck's lips thinned in irritation. "That wasn't part of our agreement."

"Being a bartender includes sweeping the floor and cleaning the glasses and emptying the cuspidors before retiring for the night," Ezra said firmly.

"Emptyin' the what?" Buck demanded, then shook his head. "It don't matter. You're just gonna have to hire a swamper for that, Ezra, 'cause I ain't gonna do it. Besides, I'm bone tired."

The gambler scowled. "If you insist on shirking your duties, I will have no choice but to hire another man to clean up at night."

Buck slapped Ezra's arm and grinned widely. "Now you're talkin'. Let's go, boys."

The men said their goodnights to Ezra and left, but Chris waited on the boardwalk until he heard Ezra lock the door behind them.

Josiah, Buck, JD, and Nathan had gone ahead, but Vin waited for Chris. "What're you thinkin'?" he asked softly.

"I'm thinkin' that I'm actin' like a she-grizzly protectin' her young," Chris replied in disgust.

Vin chuckled quietly. "Can't change your nature anymore'n I can."

"Reckon you're right."

The two men walked side by side across the dark street, their footsteps the only sound in the strangely ominous silence.

Until a gunshot broke the night and the bullet struck a post between Chris and Vin. The two men jumped off the boardwalk and rolled over to the water trough that offered them scant protection. Two more shots exploded, one of the shells plunked in the water while the other plowed into the wood, making a hole in the trough.

Chris and Vin leaned around the ends of the trough and fired a couple rounds in the direction of their ambusher. They ducked back behind the trough, back to back, breathing heavily. The sound of running footsteps on the boardwalk and more gunfire told the two men their friends had returned.

"Chris, Vin, you okay?" Buck called out.

"Yeah," Chris shouted back. "You see where he's at?"

There were a few moments of silence. "Nope."

"I believe he has departed," Ezra said, his voice coming from behind a barrel above them.

Chris rose slowly and Vin shadowed his motion. No more gunshots. Breathing easier, Chris holstered his revolver as he searched for a sign of the person who'd fired at them.

"What the hell was that all about?" Buck demanded as they all congregated around Chris and Vin.

"You have any enemies here, Vin?" Chris asked.

"None that I know of. How 'bout you?" Vin said.

Chris shrugged. "It's possible." Was that why his hair had bristled at the nape of his neck on more than one occasion? Was someone watching him even now? He looked around warily, almost fearfully. He wasn't scared to die, but he wanted to be looking in the eyes of the person who killed him. And this coward wasn't giving him that courtesy.

"Should we go look for him?" JD asked eagerly.

"We won't find him in the dark," Chris said.

"Maybe it was just some yahoo out to blow off some steam," Buck suggested.

"Maybe," Chris said, unconvinced.

"We'll find out if he tries again," Vin said matter-of-factly.

Chris glanced at the tracker, appreciating his practical nature--one of the things he admired most. "Guess we will. Let's go."

Ezra returned to his saloon while the other six men continued to the boardinghouse.

Ezra muttered aloud the entire time it took him to sweep up the old sawdust. An hour after everyone had left, he finally completed the chore and breathed a sigh of exhaustion. He'd hoped to finish going through the books that night, but he was much too tired to concentrate on numbers. His feather bed upstairs was summoning him.

A noise in the back room shoved aside his fatigue. He instinctively reached for his gun, then scowled, remembering he'd removed his coat and shoulder gun earlier and had laid them on the bar. Moving stealthily toward his weapon, he was caught off guard when four men burst out of the back room into the saloon. Each of the men wore masks and their clothes were dusty and plain, with no distinguishing features.

"The saloon is closed, gentlemen," Ezra stated, hiding his fear behind his characteristic aplomb.

"We ain't here for a drink," one of the men said, his voice muffled beneath the cloth mask.

"Then perhaps you should leave."

The four men drew closer and Ezra's heart thundered in his chest, but his voice didn't reveal his apprehension. "If it is money you are searching for, I am afraid there is little to be had."

"You'd best hope not," one of the faceless men said. "Mister Kirkwood had a deal with us, one which you're gonna honor."

"And what deal is that?"

"An insurance deal."

Ezra was beginning to get the picture in detail. He'd seen the same type of thing firsthand in Kansas City and Denver. "You are running a protection racket."

"Call it what you want. You don't pay us, you and your place have an accident."

Ezra's palms grew moist with perspiration. "How much will this protection cost me?"

"Fifty dollars a week. And since Mister Kirkwood was behind three weeks, you owe us two hundred dollars."

Ezra couldn't help it-he laughed. "You honestly expect me to pay you?"

Two of the men came up to flank him.

"Only if you expect to live," the seeming leader said.

Ezra's humor was short-lived as cold dread sent a shiver down his spine. "I am afraid I am short of cash at this moment. You see, I had to pay my employees or they would have walked out on me, and then where would we both be? Penniless, I assure you." Ezra knew he was rambling, but he had a tendency to do that when his life was threatened.

"Since this is your first day, we'll give you until the day after tomorrow to pay us."

Relief flooded Ezra. That gave him, with his companions' assistance, time to track down these men. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet." He sent a quick nod to his three lackeys, and the two men on either side of Ezra each grabbed an arm, effectively holding him prisoner. "We're gonna leave you with a little taste of what's gonna happen to you if you don't have our money next time we come calling."

Ezra sighed. "I was afraid of that." He tensed his stomach for the first blow.

The third man threw his fist into Ezra's belly, eliciting a groan from the gambler who would've fallen if he hadn't been held by the other two henchmen. Then he struck Ezra's left cheek with a bone-jarring thud and the gambler felt the wetness of blood running down his face. Another blow to his other cheek, then to his gut again and again. Agony crushed him as he endured each strike to his body which throbbed and ached from the merciless beating. Blood filled his mouth and a tooth was loosened by an exceptionally vicious punch. The room wavered in and out of focus as Ezra struggled to remain conscious.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the two thugs released him. Ezra slumped to the floor, praying for unconsciousness, but the gods weren't so merciful.

"Remember, two hundred dollars in two days or you're dead."

"How original," Ezra murmured through swollen lips.

The men's footsteps faded away and Ezra heard the back door close behind them. He was alone.

Pain rose and fell through his body like an ocean's waves. Breathing was sheer torture and he wondered if one or more of his ribs had been broken. Blood pooled on the floor beneath his face from his cut cheek and split lips.

Nathan. He had to find the healer. Inch by inch, Ezra pushed himself up until he was on his hands and knees. The room tipped and Ezra's stomach rolled. Barely able to hold his head up, he vomited until he had nothing left inside to lose. Feeling weak as a newborn kitten, Ezra's chin rested against his chest as he gasped for air.

After a few minutes, he was able to struggle to his feet. He grimaced and wrapped an arm around his middle, and took the first step. The floor tilted and he fought to hold the nausea and dizziness at bay. He took another step, then another and another. He managed to unlock the front door and stumble onto the boardwalk. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, Ezra made his way across the street to the boardinghouse where the rest of the Seven were staying.

Darkness danced on the periphery of his vision. All he wanted to do was make it to his friends. "My friends," he whispered hoarsely. A loner most of his life, Ezra found it odd to have men he could turn to for help.

He made it up the first and second steps, but stumbled on the third and pitched onto the porch. Ezra laid there gasping for air, then wished he could stop breathing. He'd gotten so close, but he'd failed. He hadn't gotten to Nathan and Chris and Buck and Vin and...

"Who's out there?" a woman's voice called out.

"H-help me," Ezra said weakly.

"What happened?" Her voice sounded closer.

"N-Nathan. G-Get Nathan and Ch-Chris," he managed to say.

The woman scurried away. Ezra remained where he was, curled up with his knees close to his chest and battling the agony that seared his insides.

Chris heard the knock on the door and rolled out of bed, grabbing his revolver from its holster. His bare feet moved soundlessly across the wood floor as he went to the door and he wasn't surprised when Vin sidled up beside him, his weapon also in hand. Vin gave him a nod and Chris opened the door a crack. Seeing Mrs. O'Kelly, he swung it open. "What's wrong?"

"There's a man on the porch. He's hurt bad. Asked me to get you and Nathan," the woman said.

Chris put a hand on her arm. "Get Nathan!"

She nodded and hurried down the hall. Chris and Vin quickly tugged on their trousers and boots, then strapped on their guns. They raced downstairs, arriving before Nathan. Seeing the figure curled up on the porch, Chris and Vin knelt down on either side of him.

"It's Ezra," Vin said, his voice low and angry.

"Sonuvabitch," Chris swore.

They eased him onto his back carefully and Ezra moaned.

"Ezra, it's me and Vin," Chris said quietly. "How ya doin', pard?"

Ezra's eyelids flickered open and his lips quirked upward. "M-Mister Lara...bee," he said with a raspy voice.

"What happened, Ezra?" Vin asked, laying a hand on Ezra's shoulder.

Ezra raised his hand weakly and after a moment's hesitation, Chris awkwardly took hold of it. There was little strength in the gambler's grasp. "S-some men ...came. Extortion. T-told them I d-didn't have . . . the money. D-did this."

Chris trembled with rage, but he kept his voice steady. "Who were they?"

"D-don't know. Wore m-masks." He began to shiver violently.

"We have to get him inside," Vin said, concern creasing his brow.

Chris nodded tersely. The long-haired man put his arms under Ezra's shoulders while Chris took the gambler's legs. Ezra moaned and lost consciousness as his head lolled against Vin's arm. Working together, Chris and Vin carried him into the parlor and laid him on the sofa. Vin placed a pillow beneath his head while Chris covered him with a blanket.

Nathan rushed in and knelt down beside the couch where Ezra lay. "Someone did a job on him," he said, his tone vibrating with fury.

Chris nodded and glanced up to see Josiah, Buck, and JD enter the room behind Mrs. O'Kelly. Buck's face paled when he caught sight of Ezra's battered body.

"God almighty, what happened?" Buck demanded.

"Some men came in askin' for money. Ezra said he didn't have it so they did this to him," Chris explained.

"Let's go find the bastards."

Chris grabbed Buck's arm. "Hold on, Buck. Ezra said they wore masks."

Helpless frustration made Buck spin about. "I shoulda stayed there, cleaned up like he asked."

"Then they just would've waited until you left," Josiah said softly.

"Who is he?" Mrs. O'Kelly asked.

"His name's Ezra Standish, a friend of ours," Chris replied.

"He must be the one Kirkwood tricked into takin' his place."

Everyone but Nathan turned their attention to the woman.

"What do you mean?" Chris asked.

Mrs. O'Kelly shrugged. "Everyone in town knew Kirkwood was trying to get rid of the Barbary Coast."

"Why?"

The woman looked away as if embarrassed or afraid she'd said too much. "He was going to lose it anyhow."

Chris took a step toward her, rage vibrating from his lean body. "Why?"

"It's not like it's a big secret. It's just that no one talks about it."

"Talks about what, ma'am?" Vin demanded.

"The insurance money people have to pay to stay in business," Mrs. O'Kelly admitted. She shrugged. "They don't bother me, but I guess I'm just small potatoes. But I hear tell all the saloon and store owners have to pay."

"How long has this been goin' on?" Chris asked.

"Close to six months now. When they first started, a lot of folks left, and those who stayed have barely been able to make their payments."

"They ever beat anyone like they did Ezra?" Buck asked.

She nodded reluctantly. "Killed a couple men, too, though Sheriff Lassiter could never prove anything. 'Course, I think he's being paid not to prove anything."

The men exchanged glances.

"Just a nice quiet little town," Vin commented wryly.

"I should go get the captain," JD said.

Chris grabbed his arm. "No. We'll take care of this ourselves," he said coldly.

JD frowned and opened his mouth to argue, but Buck shook his head, silencing him.

"How is he, Nathan?" Vin asked.

"Don't know yet," the healer replied. He raised Ezra's shirt to examine his ribs and abdomen. "Josiah, I need the doctor."

Josiah strode out of the parlor, while the remaining men hovered over Ezra's still body. Nathan cleaned the blood from the gambler's face and found those injuries weren't too serious. But it was the bruises on his chest and the possibility of cracked or broken ribs that concerned the healer.

Ten minutes later, Chris heard the front door open and he glanced up from where he sat. A woman carrying a doctor's bag hurried in. At her entrance, he came to his feet, as did Vin, Buck, and JD.

"What happened?" she demanded, kneeling beside Nathan.

"Beat up bad," he replied. "I took care of his cuts but I figgered you'd best check him for broken bones and internal injuries."

Dr. James nodded curtly and checked Ezra's eyes, and did a quick examination of Nathan's work. "You did a good job." She probed Ezra's chest and abdomen with her fingers. "Feels like there's no broken bones, but I'm sure the bruises are pretty deep. We should wrap him up tight in case he has a cracked rib. It'll keep it from breaking completely and puncturing a lung."

Working together, Nathan and Dr. James wrapped a wide cloth around Ezra's chest. Once they were done, the woman searched the faces surrounding her, lingering a moment on Chris's face.

"Who are all these men, Nathan?" she asked.

"We're friends of Ezra's," Buck replied. "He gonna be all right?"

"I think so. The beating was brutal but," she paused and bitterness filled her face. "But I've seen worse, and more than likely for the same reason."

"Protection money," Mrs. O'Kelly said.

Dr. James glanced at the older woman and nodded curtly. "That's right. I don't have enough business for them to bother me."

The older woman watched the doctor for a few moments. "It appears you know what you're doing."

"This may come as a surprise to you, but I passed my medical exam with flying colors."

Mrs. O'Kelly's face reddened, but she didn't make any comment.

"Is this Kirkwood still in town?" Chris asked tersely.

"I don't think so," Mrs. O'Kelly said. "I believe he caught yesterday's stage."

Chris swore. "Who in town might know where he's at?"

"Lily," Dr. James answered. "She and Mr. Kirkwood were more than employer and employee."

"She the one with the bright red hair?" Buck asked.

"That's her."

"Do you know where she lives?" Chris asked.

Dr. James nodded. "She's one of the few people who let me treat her." She gave them directions to Lily's place. "Are you going there now?"

Chris didn't answer her, but said to Nathan. "Stay here with Ezra."

Nathan shook his head. "Dr. James and Mrs. O'Kelly can watch him."

Chris glanced at the women who didn't protest and he nodded. "All right, let's go."

His step determined, Chris led the men down the two blocks to Lily's place, which turned out to be a small, but well-kept frame house, nicer than Chris had anticipated. He pounded on the door, but there was no answer. He tried again.

"Hold on, I'm comin'," a sleepy voice called from within. Two minutes passed before the door was swung open by the redhead from the Barbary Coast. Instead of her fancy dress, she wore a silk dressing gown. "Business hours are over, boys."

She began to close the door, but Chris stuck his boot against it. "We have some questions that need answers."

She narrowed her eyes. "What do I look like, some damned fountain of knowledge?"

"Where's Kirkwood?" Chris demanded.

"Gone, last I heard."

"Where?"

"How would I know, I just worked for him."

"That's not what we heard," Vin said, his quiet voice just as menacing as Chris's.

"Then you heard wrong."

"I don't think so," Chris said. "Why'd he let Ezra Standish win his saloon?"

Surprise flickered in her expression, but she quickly masked it. "What're you talkin' about?"

"You know damn good and well what we're talking about," Chris said, his voice dangerously low. He shoved the door wide open, slamming it against the wall behind it with a thunderous noise, and startling Lily. He took a step toward the woman and stared down at her. "Our friend just got beat up bad by some men wantin' money, and we think that Kirkwood tricked Ezra into takin' that place off his hands before he ended up like Ezra."

"And lady, we don't take kindly to folks usin' our friends," Vin added.

Her gaze hopped from Chris to Vin and the other four men. "Look, I didn't know your friend was gonna get hurt. Jameson told me he couldn't afford to pay the money anymore and that's why he wanted to get rid of it."

"So he used Ezra to take it off his hands," Nathan said.

"That's about it," Lily said with a shrug.

Chris knew she had more information than she was giving them, and he was going to get it from her one way or another. He continued to close in on her, forcing her to retreat farther into the house. The five men followed and Josiah closed the door behind them.

"You're gonna tell us where we can find Kirkwood," Chris said.

"Go to hell." Lily's words held more tremor than force.

Chris smiled coldly. "Only if we have to follow you there."

"If you don't leave, I'm gonna scream."

"Go ahead. Everybody knows what you do for a living--they'll just think you're workin' late."

The fear grew in her face. "If I tell you, he's gonna kill me."

"We'll protect you."

She laughed bitterly. "Like you protected your friend?"

"If we woulda known what was goin' on, we woulda protected him," Buck interjected. "But no one bothered to let us know what the hell was goin' on around here."

Lily planted her hands on her generous hips. "You come sashayin' into our town and figure you got the right to butt into our business."

Cold fury spilled through Chris and he leaned close to her, his face full of sharp angles and chiseled planes. "Our friend is lyin' unconscious because of your damned business, so it's our business now, too, lady."

"You don't know what'll happen if you go after those men," Lily said.

Another humorless smile touched Chris's lips. "I know exactly what's gonna happen to those men."

Lily spun around, giving her back to them and wrapped her arms around her waist. The silence was broken only by the ticking of the mantel clock. Chris exchanged a look with Vin, whose blue eyes had gone hard and frigid. The other men held themselves stiffly, tense and anxious to track down the bastards who'd beaten Ezra so badly.

"He bought another place in Rifle, about twenty miles north of here," she admitted.

"And here you said he didn't have any money left," Josiah said mildly, though there was no doubt he was banking his anger behind the quiet voice.

She turned to face them. "Jameson asked Lewis the bartender and me to come join him. I was gonna tell Mr. Standish I was quittin' tomorrow." She glanced at the clock which read three forty-five. "Today."

"Vin, JD, ride into Rifle and bring Kirkwood back," Chris ordered.

"We'll have him here afore noon," Vin assured.

He and JD left quickly.

"Do you know who's involved in this racket?" Chris asked Lily.

She shook her head. "No, and that's the honest-to-God truth. I don't know if anybody knows who they are."

Chris studied her a moment, then accepted her answer. "If you hear anything, you tell me, understand?"

"I ain't gonna be sticking around long enough to hear anything. When those two bring Jameson back, he's going to come looking for me." Lily shivered.

Chris's anger receded slightly. "All right, but if we find out you were hiding something, we'll find you no matter where you run."

"I just want to get out of this mess."

Chris granted her a quick nod, then without another word, he led Josiah, Buck, and Nathan out of the house.

"You think it's a good idea for her to be leavin'?" Buck asked.

"We got what we needed from her," Chris replied.

"Now what do we do?" Nathan asked.

"We wait until Ezra wakes up then see what else he knows. Maybe we can set a trap and catch some vermin."

The four men returned to the boardinghouse where Dr. James and Mrs. O'Kelly remained in the parlor beside Ezra.

"Any change?" Nathan asked.

Dr. James shook her head. "If he doesn't regain consciousness in the next twelve hours, come and get me." She stood.

"I'll walk you back, ma'am," Josiah volunteered.

"Thank you."

After the door closed behind Josiah and the doctor, Mrs. O'Kelly excused herself and returned to her room. Nathan, Buck and Chris remained in the parlor, settling in the chairs to watch over Ezra.

Ezra awakened slowly, his mind still locked in the nightmare he'd had. He opened his eyes, blinked a few times in the bright room, and looked around. He didn't recognize the place. Panic threatened to choke him and he drew long deep breaths to ease his alarm. His ribs throbbed and his face felt stiff and swollen.

Had the nightmare really happened?

Nathan's dark face came into focus above him. "You're awake."

"I-I had hoped I wasn't," Ezra said, not recognizing the weak voice as his.

"You remember what happened?"

Ezra stared at the ceiling, concentrating past the painful ache in his head. "I had hoped it was a nightmare."

Nathan shook his head. "Nope, it was real enough to give you some pretty nasty injuries." He lifted a cup of water to Ezra's lips. "Drink this."

The liquid stung his cut mouth but he swallowed it gratefully. "Thank you, Doctor Jackson."

"You can thank Doctor James next time you see her."

Though still groggy, Ezra caught the last word. "You said 'her'?"

"That's right. You got a problem with that?"

Ezra studied the man who he wouldn't have even associated with two years ago, yet today claimed as a good friend. Nathan had taught him not to judge a person merely by their external appearance, so who was he to take exception to a woman doctor?

"Not at all, Nathan," he said quietly. Weariness tugged at him, luring him back to its refuge. "I believe I shall...succumb to..." Ezra's eyes closed and his face relaxed in slumber.

Chris awakened with a start, and for a moment couldn't remember where he was. Then he saw Nathan leaning over Ezra and joined the healer. "He wake up?"

Nathan nodded. "Wasn't awake long, though. He needs to sleep now."

Chris sniffed the air and his stomach growled. "Smells like Mrs. O'Kelly's got breakfast on. We'll eat something then do a little askin' around town, see if we can find out anymore."

"I got a feelin' no one's gonna wanna tell us anything."

Chris ran an impatient hand through his hair. "More'n likely, but we got to try."

"What about Miz Cannary?" Buck asked. "She seems to know everyone's business."

Chris turned to look at the lanky man. "Good idea, Buck. Why don't you and Josiah see if you can find her after breakfast?"

"We can pay Father Schyma a visit, too. I have a feeling he knows more than he lets on," Josiah, who had slept in one of the crushed velvet wing chairs, spoke up.

"Do it," Chris said with a curt nod. "Me and Nathan'll check with other business owners, see if they'd be willin' to tell us anything."

"What about Ezra? He gonna be okay by himself?" Buck asked.

Mrs. O'Kelly stepped into the room. "I'll be in the house all day, and I've taken care of my share of hurt folks." She paused a moment, then added. "If he seems to be gettin' worse, I'll get Dr. James."

"Thanks, we appreciate it," Chris said.

Nathan gave her a kind smile. "Dr. James'll appreciate that, too."

She glanced down self-consciously, then announced, "Breakfast is ready."

Chris smiled for the first time since they'd found Ezra lying on the porch. "I think we could all use some of your cookin'."

The tension eased slightly, and the men walked into the dining room.

"We need to find out what's goin' on in this town, Miz Cannary," Buck began.

Josiah shifted on the hard chair, watching Martha's face closely. After checking ten other bars, they'd finally found her in the Lucky Chance Saloon.

She downed half a glass of beer and swiped her mouth with her arm. By the looks of the leather sleeve, she often used it as a napkin. "I heard about your friend, that fancy gambler fellah who won Kirkwood's place. How's he doin'?"

Josiah glanced at Buck, shrugged, and answered, "He's gonna be sore for awhile, but he'll be all right."

"Can you tell us who might've done that to Ezra?" Buck reiterated.

"Reckon it was probably some men lookin' for some easy money." She looked around. "Where's Vin?"

Buck's lips twitched. "He had to leave town."

Martha's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. "Just like that he left?"

"He'll be back," Josiah assured. "He went to get Kirkwood."

Relief covered Martha's expression. "That's right good to hear. But then I didn't figger he'd run out on a friend."

Josiah smiled. "You're right about that."

Martha stared into her empty mug. "I was real sorry to hear about your friend. He didn't seem a bad sort--maybe a little high-hat, but I seen worse. I been in this town a couple months now and I seen what's been goin' on. Nobody talks about it, but everyone knows."

"Knows what?" Josiah prompted gently.

"That there's someone gettin' rich off them, but everyone's too scared to find out who it is."

"Has anyone tried to stand up to them?" Buck asked.

"Two did and they're both dead."

Buck and Josiah exchanged somber looks. Dr. James had said the same thing.

"What about the men who do the dirty work? Any idea who any of them are?" Buck asked.

"They wear masks and nobody's been able to follow'em. Could be any one of a bunch of no-goods that hang around in this here town," Martha said grimly. "I been turnin' the other way for too long. I'll see what I can find out, boys."

"Thanks, Miz Cannary," Josiah said.

"Anyone ever tell you you got a nice smile, Josiah?" Martha asked.

"Thank you, ma'am."

Martha sighed. "Iffen I wasn't already Vin's girlfriend, I'd ask you to buy me a drink."

Josiah laid a coin on the table and said in a low voice, "We just won't tell Vin." He sent her a wink.

As he and Buck started to rise, one of Josiah's chair legs collapsed, sending the preacher to the floor in an undignified heap.

"You okay, Josiah?" Buck asked.

"I think so."

Buck offered Josiah a hand and helped the big man up. Josiah brushed his hand across his backside, wincing slightly.

"Sorry 'bout that, Josiah," Martha said sadly. "I just got no control over it."

Buck and Josiah exchanged puzzled looks then shrugged and left the saloon. They crossed the street and walked down a block to the church. Josiah paused by the door. "You mind waitin' out here, Buck? I might get more out of him alone."

Buck motioned for him to go ahead. "Give me a holler if you need help."

Josiah entered the church and walked down the aisle to the back room doorway. He paused to look inside the living quarters and saw Father Schyma lying on his cot, snoring loudly. Josiah crossed the floor and shook the priest's shoulder. The smell of stale whiskey emanating from Father Schyma told Josiah he'd drunk himself to sleep.

"Father, wake up," Josiah said.

The priest roused and sat up with Josiah's help. "What time is it?"

"Nearly ten thirty. We need your help Father."

"At this ungodly hour?" The priest glanced upward. "No offense intended."

"You said something to me about the evil in this town. I need to know what you meant."

Father Schyma pressed his hands to either side of his head and stared down at the floor. "Nothing."

Josiah frowned. "By lying you're breaking a commandment."

The priest laughed bitterly. "It wouldn't be the first I've broken."

"But it can be the last. Help yourself and help your flock, Father." Josiah paused, then said quietly, "Help us."

Father Schyma raised his head. "It's been a long time since anyone has asked for my assistance."

Josiah waited patiently as the priest pushed himself upright and shuffled around the small room. He prayed the man hadn't lost all his faith.

Father Schyma stopped beside the grimy window and peered out at the street . "When I helped build this church fifteen years ago, I was young and my convictions ran deep," he began. "I believed that as long as God was on my side, I could do anything.

"I held the first service when only the frame was standing. As I gave my sermon, I looked up at the blue sky and thanked God for giving me this home and a flock to lead."

"What happened?"

The priest rubbed his brow. "My first burial was a young woman who died in childbirth along with her baby. Her husband blamed me."

"Why?"

"He said if I'd prayed harder, they would've lived. I told him it didn't work that way. God was the only one who could give or take life." He turned to face Josiah, his face stricken. "But there was a tiny piece of me that wondered the same thing. Maybe if I had prayed harder. Then I began to question God, asking Him why He would take two innocent lives."

"Nobody but God knows why He does what He does," Josiah said quietly.

Father Schyma smiled bitterly. "I kept telling myself that as I went about my day-to-day duties, ministering to my parishioners. About five years ago, an influenza epidemic swept through town." He scrubbed his anguished face with his palms. "For over a month, I was burying someone every day, usually a child who had done nothing wrong in their short lives. And I saw greedy, selfish men continue to cheat and swindle decent folks. Nothing made sense to me any more, but I tried. I figured God was testing me."

"So what was the last straw?"

"A couple years ago, a poor family who had only the clothes upon their backs were passing through town. They had a little girl who needed to see a fancy doctor in St. Louis or she was going to die. I tried to help them by having a special collection during service, but there wasn't nearly enough. So I sold the gold chalice and cross, and gave them the money to save her life. They left right away." The priest took a deep breath. "Later I heard they'd done the same thing in five other towns. My parishioners blamed me." Father Schyma rubbed his eyes. "All I wanted to do was help."

"You can't be faulted for that, Father," Josiah said softly. "Folks should've understood."

He shrugged. "A few did, but most didn't. From over a hundred parishioners, I now have maybe twenty people who attend service."

Josiah's heart went out to the reverend, but pity was the last thing Father Schyma needed. "And when those few faithful came to you for help against the men who are holding your town hostage, you only crawled deeper into your bottle."

Fire flashed briefly in the priest's eyes. "What was I supposed to do? I'm only one man."

Josiah shook his head and moved to leave. He paused by the door. "Jesus was only one man," he said quietly, then turned and walked away.

Buck, feeling guilty for having left Ezra alone the night before, opened the Barbary Coast at its usual time. Only a few tables were taken by noon, and one of them was occupied by Chris and Josiah. Nathan had stayed at the boardinghouse, visiting with Dr. James quietly as they both watched over the still-sleeping Ezra.

Buck brought a couple beers over to Chris and Josiah, set them down, then wiped his hands on his apron. "Vin and JD ain't back yet?"

Chris shook his head. "Nope."

Buck understood his abruptness; he was worried, too. "Maybe you two should ride out to meet them."

"If they ain't back by one, we will," Chris said.

A scuffle on the boardwalk outside made the three men turn to the batwing doors. A moment later, a suited bald man was shoved inside followed by Vin and JD, both covered with dust.

"You have no right," Kirkwood shouted.

Chris pushed back his chair and stood, then stared at Kirkwood like he was something he didn't want to step in. Without warning, he punched Kirkwood, felling him like an oak tree. Chris smiled coldly. "That was for our friend, Ezra Standish."

Kirkwood stared at Chris as he lay on the floor, his hand pressed to his bleeding lip. "You're Chris Larabee."

Chris nodded. "That's right." He paused, letting Kirkwood sweat for a moment. "You're going to tell us everything you know about this protection racket--or you and me are going to have a little meeting in the middle of the street."

The bald man's face paled and he seemed to shrink into himself. "You'll kill me."

Chris tipped his head slightly. "Probably."

Kirkwood scrambled to his feet, only to find he was caught in the middle of a circle created by the five men. "I don't know anything."

"Hear that boys? He says he doesn't know anything," Chris said in a dangerously mocking voice.

"Maybe he just needs a little persuadin'," Buck added.

"And I'm in the mood to do a little persuadin'," Josiah commented.

Chris almost shivered at the cold look in the ex-preacher's eyes.

Kirkwood held his hands in front of him. "No, please, I swear I didn't recognize any of them."

"Who're they workin' for?" Vin demanded.

"I don't know."

Buck grabbed the bald man's arm and spun him around. "Who're they workin' for?"

"I don't know."

Then Chris jerked him around to face him. "Who are they?"

Kirkwood stumbled slightly, obviously getting dizzy. "I don't know. I swear it."

"Why'd you pick Ezra?" Josiah asked.

Kirkwood licked his dry lips. "When he said his friend was Chris Larabee, I figured you could get rid of whoever's running the racket."

"Why didn't you just ask for our help?" Buck demanded.

"I would've been killed. Anybody who talks is killed. Besides, why would you have helped me?"

Chris studied the slick gambler--he had a point. "So you threw Ezra to the wolves to save your own damned hide."

Kirkwood swallowed hard and looked away, unable to hold Chris's gaze. "I didn't think they'd hurt him."

Chris grabbed the man's lapels and jerked him close, until their faces were only a couple inches apart. "You sonuvabitch! You knew exactly what they were going to do when Ezra didn't have the money."

Kirkwood's face lost any color it had left. "There's one thing I remember."

"About what?"

"One of the men who collected the money."

Chris stared into Kirkwood's close-set eyes, then shoved him away. "What?"

"One of 'em wore those fancy spurs, big rowels. Made a lot of noise when he walked."

"Think you could identify them?"

Kirkwood nodded jerkily. "Yeah, I think so."

"All right, Mr. Kirkwood. Until we catch the men, you're going to jail," Chris said.

"You can't do that. I didn't break any laws."

"Sure you did." Chris's smile was anything but pleasant. "We'll figure out which ones after you're safely in a cell."

He grabbed the back of Kirkwood's jacket and shoved him toward the batwing doors. "Buck and Josiah, you two stay here, keep an eye on things. JD, go get some sleep."

Vin joined Chris as he escorted Kirkwood down the boardwalk toward the sheriff's office.

"Have any trouble findin' him?" Chris asked.

Vin shook his head. "Nope. Just asked someone and they pointed us in the right direction."

"What's going to happen to me?" Kirkwood asked.

"Depends on how much you cooperate," Chris said.

They entered the sheriff's office, pushing the gambler in ahead of them. Sheriff Lassiter looked up from behind his desk. "What's goin' on here?"

"We're makin' a citizen's arrest," Chris said.

Vin motioned for Kirkwood to enter one of the cells and locked the door behind him while Chris kept an eye on the lawman.

"I thought Kirkwood left town," Sheriff Lassiter said.

"He got homesick," Vin said innocently.

The sheriff stood. "What'd he do?"

Chris shrugged. "Haven't figured that out yet."

Lassiter's hand moved toward his revolver.

"I wouldn't," Chris said quietly.

The sheriff froze. "I seen you men when you came into town a few days ago, but figgered since you were stayin' at Mrs. O'Kelly's, that you weren't no troublemakers. Guess I shoulda known better when your friend won the Barbary Coast."

Vin wrapped his slender fingers around his gunbelt and leaned on his right leg. "How come you know so much about our business?"

Lassiter's face reddened. "It's my business to keep an eye on drifters. Make sure they don't cause any trouble."

"Seems to me you got all the trouble you need already," Chris said. "If you know so much, tell us about this protection racket."

The lawman's gaze flickered away. "I don't know where you're gettin' your information, but there's nothin' like that in Pocket."

Vin's jaw clenched. "Tell our friend that. He was beat up bad last night by these men that don't exist."

"You don't know that's what happened."

Chris took a step toward the sheriff, whose shoulders stiffened. "You tell those men who're payin' you that they made a big mistake hurtin' our friend. We're comin' after them and ain't nothin' gonna stop us, includin' a tin badge."

Lassiter's lips compressed in a tight line.

"And if somethin' happens to Kirkwood, we're comin' after you," Vin said, his voice low and deadly.

As Vin crossed the office, Chris kept his attention on the sheriff, then he backed to the door, never losing eye contact with Lassiter.

"You can't leave me here," Kirkwood called. "I got rights."

"You gave up your rights when you set up our friend," Chris said.

He and Vin stepped outside into the fresh air.

"They might try to kill Kirkwood," Vin said softly.

"I'm willin' to take that chance," Chris said, his voice almost feral.

Vin nodded. "Yeah, the bastard deserves it." He glanced around. "What's next?"

"You get some sleep. I'm gonna see if I can find some spurs."

Chris started across the street, but Vin grabbed his arm. "I ain't tired."

The blond man eyed him critically, noting the dark circles beneath Vin's eyes, and said gently, "If you were any more tired, you'd be sleepwalkin'. Besides, if you're in your room restin', Martha can't find you."

Vin scowled. "I ain't gonna leave you alone to be a target. What do ya got planned?"

Chris shook his head--he should have known he wouldn't be able to convince Vin to get some sleep when there was a possibility of gun trouble. In spite of his concern, Chris knew the long-haired man wouldn't appreciate his overprotectiveness. Although he and Vin had become good friends, there was still a line Vin didn't allow him to cross. It obviously came from the many years Vin had been on his own.

"See that store across the street?" Chris asked.

Vin glanced at the large mercantile. "Yep."

"I'm gonna sit down over there and listen to spurs."

Vin blinked, then grinned. "I'll do the same on this side of the street whilst I keep an eye on the jail, too."

"Sounds like a plan." Chris slapped his shoulder and strode across the street.

An hour later, Chris took a deep breath and shifted his numb buttocks on the hard chair. He'd hoped the man wearing the big spurs would walk past either him or Vin, so they wouldn't have to go chasing him, but so far they hadn't had any luck.

He looked across the street at Vin who sat in a chair in front of the sheriff's office. His legs were stretched out, crossed at the ankles and his hat was pulled low on his forehead. If Chris didn't know better, he'd figure Vin was sleeping.

A rifle boomed and Chris felt a burning pain in his temple. He tumbled to the boardwalk, vaguely aware of a woman screaming behind him. His head throbbed and he couldn't think beyond the blinding agony. Consciousness wavered, and Chris fought the temptation to give in to the calming darkness that beckoned.

Who the hell shot me?

Vin heard the rifle shot a split second before Chris was punched backward to the boardwalk. The tracker came to his feet, drawing out his sawed-off carbine in one smooth motion. He dashed out into the street, searching the rooftops and windows where a sniper would be. Nothing moved and there were no more shots.

He ran to Chris, his heart thundering against his ribs, and fell to his knees beside his friend. It was just like his nightmare, where Vin had been unable to save Chris's life and could only watch helplessly as he was shot down.

Blood pooled on the weathered boards, making the wood even darker. Fear made Vin's breath come in quick gasps. He set his weapon on the boardwalk and carefully turned Chris onto his back. On one side of Chris's head, his blond hair was matted with fresh scarlet blood.

Vin's throat tightened. "Chris. Chris, can you hear me?"

Chris's eyelids fluttered open and his mouth moved, but no words came out. At least he was still alive.

"Take it easy, pard." Vin lifted his gaze to the surrounding people and yelled, "Someone help me get him over to Mrs. O'Kelly's."

"Let me take a look at him."

Startled, Vin turned to see the proper looking doctor rushing toward them. Her face was pale, and he figured she wasn't used to seeing men shot down on the street.

"I heard the gunshot," the doctor said as she dabbed the blood from Chris's brow with trembling hands.

"D-Didn't see...who it was," Chris murmured.

"He's conscious and cognizant," Dr. James said with a slight tremor in her voice. "That's a good sign."

"I'll take your word on that, ma'am," Vin said absently, his attention focused on his wounded friend.

Chris's gaze settled on Vin. "D-Did you...see anyone?"

Vin shook his head impatiently. "Nope. Bastard got away." He looked at Dr. James. "He gonna be all right?"

She applied some smelly salve to the bullet gouge and Chris hissed in pain. "I think so. He was very lucky. An inch or two to the right and he'd have been dead." She brought out a roll of cloth from her bag. "Could you hold him up while I wrap his head?"

Vin nodded and raised Chris's shoulders then put an arm around him, holding him sheltered against his chest. Chris's jaw clenched and Vin knew his friend was hurting. Bad.

The blond man met Vin's gaze with his own pain-filled eyes. "I'm...all r-right."

"Sure you are, cowboy," Vin said. He looked up at the people gathered around them. "Go on about your business folks. Let the doctor do her job."

Martha Cannary pushed through the dispersing crowd. "Vin, honey, you all right?"

Vin wasn't in the mood for the aggravating woman and he didn't bother to hide his displeasure at seeing her. "It wasn't me who was shot."

She glanced at Chris and genuine concern crossed her face. "Was it them men you're after that done this?"

"We don't know," Vin said tersely, tightening his hold around Chris's shoulders as his friend stiffened.

Martha squatted down beside him and glanced around nervously. "I might have some information for you."

"What is it?"

"I was talkin' to Leo over at the Lucky Chance. He said that he was expectin' some company tomorrow night--the same type o' company your friend Standish got," Martha said in a low voice.

Surprised, Vin stared at the woman's dirty, but earnest face. "I thought nobody talked about it."

Martha shrugged. "Me and Leo is friends."

"Does he know...you were gonna t-tell us?" Chris asked.

"Nope. Iffen I was you, I'd head them off after they leave the Lucky Chance."

Dr. James finished wrapping the bandage around Chris's head. "That ought to take care of you, Mister Larabee."

"Think you can stand?" Vin asked.

"Don't m-matter. I'm goin' to," Chris stated.

With Martha on one side and Vin on the other, they got Chris to his feet. Chris closed his eyes as he swayed a moment. They moved down the boardwalk slowly with the doctor walking closely behind them.

Five minutes later they arrived at the boardinghouse. Nathan came out of the parlor where he'd been watching Ezra and his mouth dropped open at the sight of Chris supported between Vin and Martha.

Nathan slipped in to take Martha's place beside Chris. "What happened?"

"Someone bushwhacked him right on the street in full light," Vin replied, fury and disgust layering his tone.

Nathan's jaw muscles clenched. "Could you sit with Ezra, Miz Cannary?" he asked over his shoulder.

Looking unsure of herself for the first time since Vin had met her, Martha nodded nervously.

Dr. James followed the three men upstairs and opened the door that Vin pointed out. Vin and Nathan made Chris comfortable on the bed, pulling off his jacket, gunbelt, and boots. The doctor, who'd carried his hat back, hung it on a wall peg.

Though Dr. James had taken care of Chris, Vin noticed that Nathan did a quick inspection of her work. He knew the healer trusted her abilities, but Nathan had been taking care of the Seven's wounds for so long, it was a tough habit to break. Besides that, it didn't matter if the doctor had been a man or woman, Vin felt better with Nathan looking Chris over.

The bandage about Chris's head was soaked with blood and Dr. James perched on the other side of the bed to remove it.

"It needs some stitches," she said. "Will you give me a hand, Nathan?"

Vin leaned against the doorjamb, his thumbs propped on his belt, as he watched the healer and the doctor work together. Nathan managed to keep Chris from moving too much while the doctor sewed up the wound. Vin gritted his teeth. He'd had a head wound a few weeks ago so he knew what Chris was going through and it was damned unpleasant. The only good thing was that Chris had lapsed into unconsciousness when they began so was spared the worst of the pain.

He should've tried to track down the bastard who'd shot at Chris the night before--was it only twelve hours ago? But after Ezra had been beaten, they'd all banded together to find the men who'd done it. In fact, Vin had almost forgotten about the gunshot that had sent him and Chris rolling for cover after they left the Barbary Coast. This time, though, Vin wasn't going to forget.

He didn't know if Chris's attacker and the men involved in the protection racket were related, but his gut told him they weren't. It didn't make any sense, but Vin couldn't ignore his instincts.

A floorboard creaked in the hall and Vin turned to see JD walking toward him. "What's goin' on?" he asked drowsily, pulling a hand through his dark, sleep-tousled hair.

"Someone shot Chris," Vin replied without embellishment.

His reply jolted JD wide awake. "How bad?"

"Took a chunk outta the side of his head."

JD's face paled. "Who did it?"

"We don't know. Might be the same people who hurt Ezra, but I ain't so sure."

Dr. James stood and washed her hands in the basin. "He's going to have a whale of a headache and he'll be more tired than usual for the next week or so. There's also a good chance his vision will be blurry and his stomach upset. If he has other symptoms like numbness or unusual clumsiness, come and get me."

Nathan nodded.

"Hey, get down here," Martha called from downstairs. "That Standish fellah is wakin' up."

"Will Chris be all right alone?" Vin asked the doctor.

"He'll just sleep now," she replied.

Dr. James led the way downstairs with Nathan and JD following closely. Vin took one last look at Chris's pale face and closed the door softly behind him, then went to join the others in the parlor.

The moment Vin entered the room, Ezra's gaze found him and the gambler sent him a swollen, lopsided smile. Despite his concern for Chris, the tracker couldn't help but smile in return. "Welcome back, Ezra. How ya doin'?"

"I have been better, Mister Tanner." Ezra's voice was so hoarse Vin could barely make it out.

"Drink some water, Ezra," Nathan said, tipping a cup up to his lips.

The gambler drank it all, then closed his eyes for a moment. When he reopened them, they were trained on Vin. "What happened?"

"You were beat up," Vin replied.

"You misunderstand. What recently transpired?"

JD shifted uncomfortably while Nathan and Vin exchanged grim expressions. Martha stood off by herself, watching and listening with narrowed eyes, while Dr. James hovered near the sofa where Ezra lay.

"Chris was shot," Vin said curtly.

"Badly?" Ezra asked, a slight tremor in his voice.

Vin looked to Nathan, who replied. "He'll live."

"Were they the same criminals who perpetrated the act of violence against me?"

"We don't know," Vin said. "Don't worry, we'll take care of 'em, Ezra." He smiled, though the expression was grim. "You can bet on it."

Ezra sat up and tried to swing his legs off the sofa, but Nathan pressed him back down firmly.

"Where do ya think you're goin'?" Nathan asked.

"I have a business to manage."

"Buck's over there watchin' it for you."

Alarm crossed Ezra's bruised features. "Then I surely must return to my establishment." With surprising strength, he pushed Nathan's hand away and sat up, planting his feet on the floor.

Dr. James propped her hands on her hips. "Mister Standish, you were badly injured and if you insist on moving about, you may cause further damage."

Ezra blinked, and his gaze roamed up and down the woman curiously. "Who, pray tell, are you?"

"Doctor Elise James," she replied defensively.

His smile was made crooked by his swollen lips. "So you are the angel of mercy Mister Jackson told me of. Thank you for your kind and knowledgeable assistance. However, I assure you, I have been maltreated worse than this and have survived."

He pushed himself upright and the room tilted. A strong, dark hand caught his arm and steadied him.

"See, you ain't ready to be up yet," Nathan chastised.

"Nathan's right, Ezra. You ain't in any condition to go gallivantin' about," Vin said.

Stubbornness hardened Ezra's usually impassive expression. "I was assaulted in my own establishment. I will not allow those Neanderthals to scare me away from my home. When they return tomorrow night, I shall be there to welcome them."

"Whoa there, pard," Vin soothed, laying a hand on the gambler's shoulder. "You ain't gonna welcome them alone. You said tomorrow night?"

"That's correct, Mister Tanner."

"That'll give us time to get a plan together," Vin said. He eyed Ezra closely. "You hellbent on gettin' back to your place?"

"Yes, sir, I most certainly am."

Vin sighed. "Aw, hell, me and Nathan'll help you back."

Resignation made Nathan shake his head, and he glanced at Dr. James. "You ever seen such a mule-stubborn patient?"

Dr. James smiled. "No, but I hope to see more of them."

A look of long-suffering crossed Nathan's face. "You will. In fact, real soon." He rolled his eyes upward to where Chris's room was.

Dr. James's smile faded and it seemed to Vin that her face paled a little. He shook his head-she probably wasn't used to folks getting shot right in front of her.

JD watched as Nathan and Vin got on either side of Ezra and helped him out of the boardinghouse. JD followed them to the porch then lowered himself to a chair and twirled his derby hat between his hands. He had to do something to help. With both Chris and Ezra hurt, they were down to five men and JD had an idea the group they were after far outnumbered them.

He wondered why Chris hadn't wanted Captain Daniels to help them. The man was a Texas Ranger and he'd lived in the town for over a year. He had to have some idea what was happening in Pocket.

He gazed down the street. A group of boys and girls played hoops; two men were filling a buckboard with supplies from the general store; a smithy's hammer rang in the clear air of the bustling town. JD half expected to see some sign of the town's corruption, but it