Setting: Old West
Rating: PF — Profanity and AC — Adult Content
This is the second story set in the Hope Ranch AU (the first is A Shining Place Called Hope) Winnie, dear, I hope you salivate...
IMPORTANT AUTHOR"S NOTE: This was written in a bit of a hurry for a specific reason, no time for beta work or many edits, so read with kind eyes!.
Vin was grateful for Ezra's company. Standish had caught up to him late the previous day. The Southerner didn't prattle like JD, offer the Lord's words like Josiah or wax poetic on conquests like Buck. For the most part he kept quiet and surprisingly did not complain about the rough trek. Vin wasn't afraid of finding Chris, he couldn't explain it but somehow that sense of him being in trouble hadn't changed to a mortal fear.
The sun was starting to set and the air was cooling down. Vin eyed the dense wooded area and frowned. There was so much of it that Chris could be lying a few yards away and they could ride right by him. The thing that bothered him the most was the image of his best friend wounded, cold and alone somewhere. A call from behind with a sense of urgency caused him to turn back.
"Mister Tanner!"
Vin caught up to Ezra just as the conman was cresting the hill and heading up the path.
"What?" Vin called, chasing after him. Then he saw what caught the gambler's eye. By the time he arrived, Standish was already by the horse's side.
"It's Chris's, " Ezra updated, running a hand on the handsome animal's neck. "He's not been ridden recently."
"Hell..." Vin muttered, climbing off his horse and approaching Larabee's. He spent several minutes examining the horse for injuries or damage. "He's okay."
"No sign of blood on him," Ezra noted, hoping that would take the dark clouds from his friend's face.
"Don't mean he's not hurt," Vin replied of the missing rider. He then began a thorough search of the area. There were no signs of human habitation through the thick expanse of trees.
Ezra began to search as well, but after twenty minutes, they'd found little. He waited with the horses while Vin went back to the road and examined the path, both right, left and middle. Ezra finally saw Vin appear above him again and beckon.
"Only one set o'tracks. Chris ain't here and the tracks are comin' from the other direction. Don't make any sense."
"Well," Ezra theorized. "If he left town and some unscrupulous element followed him and shot him, it's possible he was thrown down an embankment and the horse took off."
In lieu of a reply, there was a slight flicker in the eyes and a small fall of the shoulders. "I'm sorry, Vin, but we must consider all possibilities."
"I know, Ez," Vin rasped, 'It don't make it any easier. "Ya head back t'town and board the horse. Wire JD and update Buck and Josiah. I'll keep goin' here."
"Alright," Ezra decided. It wasn't that he wanted to leave Vin, but it was clear that Vin prefered it that way.
It was as if he'd fallen off the fallen off the face of the earth. They'd been riding for over a day and a half, covering both sides of the river. The judge left Mantino on Friday and the hotel clerk didn't recall seeing him with anyone. Chris hadn't checked in and the sheriff said there wasn't any bodies matching his description. JD wired that the gambler and the tracker were still combing the dark hills in the area surrounding Grovers Pass.
Buck's hopes died with every mile they covered. As much as he wanted to believe Chris had taken off, it was very unlikely. He'd have sent word to them by now. With every new piece of ground they covered, his gut clenched a bit more. He was out looking for Chris but the icy dread of finding him was overpowering. He just was not ready to face Chris Larabee's corpse. Josiah was about a mile ahead covering the low ground. There was a lot of area near the river and Buck was covering the woods. Then the sound he'd been fearing since they left rang through the air. A single shot sent a cold terror over him. He pulled up his horse and bit his lip. For a moment he was paralyzed, unable to go in the direction of the shot. He felt an ice cold stake drive right through his chest. He exhaled long and hard, then moved his horse down the trail and the rocky incline.
Josiah turned around just as Buck's face drained of color and he slid from the saddle, his legs unsteady. The larger man wasn't sure what words would provide even a shred of comfort for the raw agony that was painted on every feature.
"No... aw, shit... no..." Buck whispered. His legs wouldn't move, it was as if they were mired in mud.
"He was in the water awhile," Josiah said of the bloated and discolored body on the bank. He saw the question in Buck's dark blue eyes. Riddled with pain yet a fleeting glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe it was a mistake. "I checked his pockets."
Buck was numb all over and staggered towards the surreal scene before him. He took the items in Josiah's hand and his heart broke. Wet, soggy papers that bore the print of the hotel name. Chris's billfold with the brand of the Hope Ranch on the front. Ezra had given it to each of them for Christmas. His watch, which had belonged to his grandfather and was very special to him. But the final item, the one that told Buck this had to be Chris was the small flat glass coin. Chris had it custom made for Sara on Adam's first birthday. It was a small photo of Adam that was sealed inside the glass. It resembled a large glass coin. Sara gave it to him the morning of that fateful trip they took . He was never without it, few knew of it but often Buck would see his hand go in his pocket and seek it out.
His burning eyes went past Josiah then to the body. The back of the wet blond head had a large hole in it, turning the locks a crude brownish red. The clothes were unmistakably Larabee's, as was the conch gunbelt. He brushed by Josiah and the large hand caught him.
"Don't," Buck whispered, shoving off the hand. "I want to feel it..."
But as he knelt down and laid a hand on the muck encrusted hard shoulder, he saw that Chris's face was gone. He turned away, throwing up violently in the water. He'd felt pain before but nothing like this, not since they'd discovered Sara and Adam. He punched the earth hard, over and over, with tears burning in his eyes. He was dimly aware of Josiah holding his shoulders. He raised his damp eyes skyward, "WHY?"
"That's not for us to understand, Buck."
"Don't be a preacher tonight, Josiah, okay?" Buck choked, turning slowly back towards the grotesque form.
He was grateful that Sanchez had covered Chris's face with one of his shirts. He gathered up his scattered emotions and crawled over to the body. His own trembling hand reached out to the swollen, blackened one of this oldest friend. He lifted it and dropped it, unable to fathom the finality of the icy hard skin.
Josiah stood behind Buck and prayed silently, for the safe passage of Chris's soul into heaven to be reunited with his family and for the lost soul in front of him. It was during the end of the prayer, he thought of the task yet ahead. As difficult as it was to feel the agony radiating off Buck, Vin would be shattered. Before he could voice his fear, another broken voice brought it aloud.
"Who will tell Mister Tanner?"
Buck and Josiah both turned as Ezra softly approached. It was rare that the Southerner exposed himself. But the mask was off and the pain on his face was very real. He knew Ezra respected Chris Larabee and it might be the first time he'd lost a good friend. That was what he saw looking back at him. The aloof, sense of unbelievablility that often is found in the young, when they bury a brother or loved one for the first time. The jade eyes were bruised and that hurt.
"I will." Buck's voice was hollow and he turned his broken heart back to Chris.
"He's on the trail, I can direct you. He's not far, perhaps an hour's ride. We found his horse and for a moment, hope arose."
"I'm not ready yet," Buck whispered. He felt Ezra's hand on his shoulder and sighed hard, glad for the touch.
Josiah and Ezra walked to the top of the path and waited for Buck to compose himself. Sanchez saw Standish eyeing the cloth covering Chris's face. "His face is gone." He couldn't have hurt Ezra worse if he'd hit him. The smaller man rocked back on his heels and Josiah grabbed him. "I got a feeling when we bury him, we'll bury a part of Vin too."
"I would disagree," Ezra answered, surprised by the hoarseness of his voice.
He couldn't believe the sight before him. When he arrived and saw the body on the bank, it was as if a sabre sliced through him. He'd never known grief like this and chastised himself for allowing himself to be drawn into this circle of friends.
"Vin will be changed by this horrific murder as we all will be, but his kinship with Mister Larabee was not like anything I've known. I think he'll take that gift and cherish it, keeping the fire alive. Anything less would be an insult to his memory."
Josiah was surprised that Erza had that much insight into the bond that their two friends shared. They turned away, leaving Buck a bit of privacy.
"It will be hard to ascertain what happened or where. The river carried him for miles and we don't know how long he's been... or was..." Ezra sighed and shook his head.
"God help the poor bastard when Vin finds him," Josiah predicted, "And I believe he'll search until he does."
Buck put his hand on the cold hand and felt his chest tremble again. "Well, pard, we sure had a good ride. " His voice broke and he swiped his eyes. "You tell Sara and Adam I'm thinkin' on 'em. And don't you worry about Vin, I'll watch out for him. I sure am gonna miss..." The words died then and he didn't try to save them.
Ezra and Josiah turned around when Buck joined them. Ezra never saw agony in a moving form before.
"You uh... take him back to the ranch... for tonight... we'll take him in town in the morning." Buck whispered, barely able to find his voice.
He kept shivering, unable to ward off the awful cold that encased him. He moved to his horse and took out his bedroll. He handed it to Ezra and frowned at how badly his hands were shaking. "Keep him warm, Ezra, okay?"
"I shall, my friend," Ezra answered.
"How the hell am I gonna tell him?" Buck wondered aloud.
"He'll know, Buck," Josiah answered, giving the younger man a solid tug on the back of his tense neck. "As soon as he sees your face. But Chris would want it this way. Go on... God keep you."
Vin retraced the path the horse must have taken and it left him more puzzled than before. It didn't make much sense that Chris would have been this far off course. If frigthened off, the horse would have headed home, following the path. So how did they become separated? The sound of hooves crunching gravel brought his head up. He was studying the uneven tracks near a tree by the side of the road. His hand went to the Mare's leg until he recognized the hat and coat on the distinctive body riding up.
"Ezra caught ya fast," Vin hollered, "I can't figger how the horse ended up here. But mebbe..."
The air seemed to die then, when Vin looked up at him There was no words to describe the absolute shock that resounded from Vin. And that just about broke Buck's heart. He slowed his horse and climbed down Buck's throat went dry and his heart was about to explode, it hurt so bad.
Vin didn't move, nor did he feel any pain. Rather, he felt nothing. Buck didn't have to say a word, the rippling anguish in his eyes was now spiking a hole in his own chest. A part of him died then, a life force slipped from inside and spiraled away into the night. He'd felt grief before, burying his mother and father and adopted grandfather. But this was different. Shouldn't he feel a huge hole inside? Why wasn't that raw, throbbing pain there? He felt the loss of his friend but not in death. Was he too close to Chris? Hadn't it sunk in yet?
Buck had seen grief before, had felt it and carried it within himself. But never had he seen it so brutally naked and stark. Vin hurt to look at. It was is something sucked the life right out of him. He just stood there, not blinking or moving. But when Buck got closer and saw the normally emotive sky eyes so fragile and lost, his heart took over.
Vin wasn't aware of anything around him. The sky dissolved, the air disapated and the ground moved under his feet. A coldness enveloped him and then the pain hit. So hard and brutal, it drove him to his knees. He wrapped his arms around his chest and rocked.
"I'm sorry, Vin," Buck choked, gripping Tanner's shoulders from behind. He felt every sharp intake of breath and every hard fought choke of air. He couldn't take the pain away, he doubted if anyone ever would. But he'd hold on, and keep holding on.
The numbness that enveloped him began to wear off. Reality began poking at him and the questions formed. The first came from within, Vin was as startled as Buck when his voice sounded.
"Ya sure?"
The voice sounded so small, so young and tinted with fading hope that Buck winced. He helped Vin up and grabbed the younger man's elbows when his knees buckled. The eyes were searching his own, for some sign of hope. Buck could offer none, he held out the glass coin and Vin's eyes closed and he pulled away.
"We found him upriver, he'd been in the water awhile. Ezra and Josiah are taking him back to the ranch."
"Did he suffer?"
"No, Vin, it was quick. He uh... uh... somebody... shot him... point blank." He hated to do this and when Vin's head shot up, his lips moved but he couldn't get the words out.
"Chest?" Vin asked and Buck shook his head and moved his hand in an upward fashion. "Face?" He squeaked and the slight nod came. "Aw, fuck..."
Buck watched as Vin shot up and walked to the edge of the road. He saw the hands turn to fists and the head twist sideways facing the night breeze. The wind took his hair off his face and the fury in the eyes matched the clenched square jaw. The change was occuring before his eyes. The initial shock had worn off and Vin was losing control. Buck knew then that the bloodhunt would begin as soon as Chris was buried. Then he saw the hands trembling and the chest heaving. Vin was struggling and losing badly.
"M'fine!" Vin snapped, glaring at Buck.
"No, you ain't, son," Buck corrected, making the mistake of reaching out to Vin.
"I ain't yer son," Vin vented, his pent up rage seeking an outlet. "and leave me the fuck alone."
Buck let him ride off. He knew there wasn't anything he could say or do now that would reach Vin Tanner. But in the coming days, when they grieved, cried and toasted their friend's memory, he would try. And when Chris was laid in the earth and the last prayer went airborne, he'd ride with Vin, or after him. He watch out for the Texan, he owed Chris that much.
"I got his back, Chris," he whispered, stroking the glass coin in his palm.
He rode far enough behind Vin to give him room but close enough to watch out for him. He wasn't surprised when Vin turned off the road that led to the ranch. He knew where the heartbroken body was headed. Vin wasn't ready to face them tonight. He couldn't handle all the people and faces in the closed space. He wanted to feel Chris's essense, so he watched from the hillside until Vin went inside Chris's old cabin. Vin deserved this time alone with Chris's memory. It was a place he'd often sought refuge in when troubled and Chris always stood by him. So it was here where Vin would come to terms with the grievous loss of his soul. Buck had just turned away, seeking the ranch when a single sob sounded on the night breeze. Something so deep and primal it cut right through him.
Miguel worked harder that usual this shift. He filled his cart with more than the usual amount. He knew the guards routine and he had their patterns memorized. So he knew that about an hour before the bell sounded for end of shift, they took a break. That was when he was going to teach a lesson to that arrogant blond American. He took what he wanted, extra food, extra water and anything else he wanted. The first time the American got in his face was the day he came into the mine. The guards had to split them up. He wouldn't make that mistake twice. This time, he'd find that blond dog and beat him senseless.
Greg kept pretty close to Chris, he'd seen Miguel eyeing him and knew the large Mexican was still sore about being put in his place. But then on the last check through, the guard split them up. He was now in a different tunnel . He had a feeling that the guards did that on purpose. They enjoyed the fighting between the men and even caused some of them. He tossed another hunk of ore in the cart and swiped his face. As soon as the last guard passed by, he began to count. Once he got to a hundred, he was heading back to check on Larabee.
Chris was done. He couldn't lift the pick and didn't try. His cart was full and he was spent. His shoulder throbbed and he knew the burns were infected. The stress on his bruised ribs was causing his lungs to ache. He didn't know if the cough he developed was from a fever from the burns or something else he'd caught. Was the throbbing headache from his concussion or something else? Then there was the ripping pain in his gut that doubled him over before he could stagger down an empty tunnel and let the painful, burning watery diarhea escape. Finally the pain subsided and he sat up, coughed and rested his hot face against the cold walls.
Miguel waited in the shadows for the dazed blond man's eyes to close, then he crept forward. He eyed the pick and thought on using it, but that wouldn't be any fun. He wanted to feel the white man's life die out as he choked him. He wanted to look right in the arrogant pale eyes and have his face the last thing the Gringo saw. So he moved forward until he was looming over the smaller injured man.
Chris knew the Mexican was behind him and moved his hand slightly to grab a good sized piece of ore. So when the beefy paw was laid on his shoulder and he was dragged to his feet, he swung around and hit the brute's face with the rock.
Miguel cried out and shoved Larabee hard into the side of the cart. He didn't give him a chance to recover, he grabbed the back of the uniform collar and hauled him up, turned him around and punched him hard in the stomach. Then when the blond fell to his knees, he yanked his head back by the hair and punched him in the jaw.
Chris grunted and struggled, using the only thing he had as a weapon. He ducked his head down and launched himself, sending Miguel hard into the wall. Then he kicked him in the back of the knee and sent two punches to his kidneys. The effort sent him to his knees and he was gasping for breath. He saw Miguel stagger to his feet and the hint of silver in his hand.
Miguel knew better than to use the homemade knife when the guards were around. He'd be punished severely. They didn't mind him using his fists, but a weapon was a violation. But in this dark tunnel, no guards were around. So he sent his right hand on a hard path upwards, seeking to stab the other man.
Chris managed to move enough to avoid a serious wound but the blade caught him under the ribs and he felt the burning pain as metal sliced through flesh. He rolled sideways and ducked just in time as the blade came flying towards his face. He grabbed the wayward wrist with both hands and snapped it hard, sending the knife to the ground.
"You think that will stop me?" Miguel panted, swiping the blood from his chin.
"No, I think this will," Chris growled, reaching for the knife and stabbing the huge man in the thigh.
Miguel screamed and grabbed Larabee by the shirt. In his effort to get away, Chris slipped and Miguel moved in. He slammed the greasy blond head into the wall and then while the other man slumped, he spun him around and began to choke him.
Chris felt as if his neck was caught in the middle of two pieces of steel. He couldn't move and tried futally to fight back. Spots appeared before his eyes and he felt himself slipping away. Just when he thought he was going to die in this dark place, he was released. He collapsed on the ground, coughing and choking. Through the blood running in his eyes, he blinked through his dazed state and saw Miguel on his knees. The Mexican man turned away from him and Chris saw blood running from a large area on the back of his head. Then he saw Greg and the broken wooden support beam in his hand. He tried to stand to help his new friend, but couldn't. He throat wouldn't open and he wondered for a moment if his windpipe was crushed. He rubbed it and continued to cough and wheeze as the two fought.
Greg knew he risked the wrath of the guards by leaving his post but he felt he had to. He snuck away to check on Chris and discovered Miguel was missing. He heard the echo of the odd sounds and arrived in the shaft just in time. Now the wounded bear had him in the middle of his sights. He got in a punch to the jaw and the neck, before Miguel swung back.
Miguel felt sick and dizzy, the blow to the head stunned him. The man before him was blurry and at times, there were two of them. So he swung wildly and when his fist caught something firm and one of the blurry twins went down, he pounced.
"Arghh..." Greg grunted when the full weight of the ox hit him. He was face down and pinned beneath Miguel's weight. He felt like a fish skewered on a stick. The dead weight was crushing him.
Chris finally got his legs and rose, staggering badly ahead. Miguel was lying on Greg and he knew by the gaping mouth, the other man couldn't breathe. He kicked Miguel's side and then his neck. That got his attention.
Miguel got up an went sideways, not able to keep his balance. That was enough for Greg to rise up. He and Chris advanced on the large coward, who was shaking his head and trying not to fall. Glancing over at Chris who nodded, the each drew back a fist and hit him hard.
Miguel fell backwards and something bit into his back. He looked stupidly at the pick went it came through his side. He was dead before he felt any pain.
For a moment, neither man moved. Then Greg saw Chris's legs wobbling and grabbed him, sitting him down. He heard the Spanish echoing in the tunnels and grimaced.
"We're fucked," Chris read the telling look on the other man's face.
"Pretty much," Greg agreed.
"Sorry," Larabee panted. He felt guilty that Greg would be punished for his fight.
"Don't be, I'm not," Greg stated as the guards arrived.
"What happened?"
Before Greg could answer he was hauled to his feet by two guards. The third one used the baton hard, striking him on the lower back. He cried out but didn't fall.
"Who killed this man?" The guard asked, nodding to the fourth guard who kicked the blond prisoner hard in the side.
"It was... an... accident..." Greg panted, rewarded by a hard punch to the gut and then the face.
"You lie... and you will both be punished..." He turned to the other guards. "Take them to the interrogation room. " He yanked up the leering blond man's head by the hair. "You will not be so arrogant by morning. You will beg like a woman."
"At least I know what a woman feels like," Chris shot back and never saw the blow from behind that sent the black curtain down.
Awareness came to him slowly. The first thing he felt was a burning pain in both arms. He tried to move and couldn't. He tried to stand up and realized he was kneeling. Then a hard slap to his face brought his eyes open. He saw the uniform belt buckle at his eye level and just beyond it, to the side he saw Greg Wilson. He was tied to a chair and his head was down. Blood dripped from his face onto his naked chest. His chest was black and blue and it looked like two of his fingers were broken. For a moment, he thought Wilson was dead. Then he saw the blood on his abdomen moving, he was alive.
"Sick... fuckin'... bastard..." Chris vented on the beating his friend had taken. Unlike Wilson, he was not in a chair. His arms were in shackles suspended above his head and he was forced to kneel before the tyrant.
"Your compadre won't be awake for our party, Senor Dog. That is a pity, he was a pretty Gringo. But my men like the pretty ones and he will be well used before he dies."
"What do you want?" Chris asked
"I want you to beg," Santiago sneered. "I want to hear your voice shake and see your balls quiver."
Chris ignored the sick warden's groping and glared at him hard. He knew the sticky mess on his face was blood as was the oozing wound on his side from the knife. The scarlet stain ran down into his waist.
The blows descended from all sides, to his back, face and gut. He would pass out and cold water would be thrown on him to rouse him. The pressure on his arms was unbearble and the burning pain was torture. He grit his teeth, grunted a few times but held his tongue. Vin's voice sounded again and he felt his strength return.
Show 'em yer balls."
But when Santiago ground his palm hard into the slash in his side, Larabee cried out.
"Look," Santiago noted, turning to the laughing guards. "His wound has opened up. Something should be done, yes?" He snapped his fingers and saw the flicker of fear appear briefly in the green eyes.
"Si, Patron," the closest guard answered, bringing over a glowing stick.
Chris steeled himself as best he could, but when that flame was laid to his wound and the skin sizzled, sending the acrid scent of his own burning flesh upwards, he screamed and then fell into a deep blackness.
"What now?" The guard asked, eyeing the two unconscious men.
"Diego, did you not say that El Presidente was sending us ten prisoners from the rebel camp tomorrow?"
"Si, Patron, that is what the courier said this morning."
"Well, then," Santiago crooned, cupping the chin of the bloodied face of Chris Larabee. He raised it up and grinned, tapping the slack cheek with his other hand. Pulling his crimson cloaked hand back, he eyed it and a slow smile formed. "The weather should be just right for a blood hunt, no?"
The excitement rose in the room and the guards began to cheer. Santiago held his hand up to silence them. "Take them to the infirmary, they will have tomorrow to recover, but before the sun rises the day after, they will be turned out.
It did the guards good to have this diversion; it had been some time since they enjoyed that sport. Sometimes they caught up to the prey and used their knives slowly, carving them up. Other times they were too late, the snakes, scorpions or brutal sun would cause them a slow painful death. The one certain element was that they never survived.
Inez normally locked up before midnight, but tonight was not a normal night. Her eyes were red from the tears she shed upon learning the news about Chris Larabee. The others were already at the ranch, but Buck came in town to tell Nathan and herself. The pain she felt inside was nothing compared to what she saw ebbing from every part of the lone man before her. He hadn't touched the shot he'd poured and appeared numb. She walked over and wrapped her arms around him from behind.
"I am so sorry, Buck."
He took the shot, drained it and stood up, kissing her cheek and hugging her. She cried softly into his chest. Funny, Buck couldn't produce a tear. Was he too close to Chris? Although the dull ache inside had been plaguing him since the moment he saw the body, he felt oddly detached, as if it was a dream. Would the full gravity of the loss hit him in the coming days and weeks? Then he thought of someone who could use her warmth in his time of need. Someone he'd not turn away.
"Thanks for that, Darlin," Buck whispered, pulling back and sighing hard. "But there's somebody out there who's hurtin' a lot more than me. He needs you, tonight. I don't think he's ever been this cold."
"Where?" Her wet eyes sought out Buck's face.
Buck used his finger to wipe the tear streaks on her cheek. "At Chris's old shack."
She nodded, she would go to her Vin and he would not be alone tonight. She would take some food and blankets. She froze halfway across the floor and turned back to Buck. A mometary panic consumed her.
"What will I say?"
Buck strode across the room and took her hand. He held that gaze for a moment and saw more there than any words could equal. He smiled then and gave her hand good squeeze.
"You just said more to me with those eyes than any words would. You won't need words, Inez and if you do, you'll find the right ones. The ones from here..." He tapped the spot over her heart. "You tell Vin to come home."
"Si... si..."
Under the company of the full moon, Inez arrived at the cabin. She pulled two large sacks tied to either side of the saddle. One had food, the other blankets. She tiptoed onto the porch and peeked through the window. There was a soft light from the fireplace and it was then her heart broke. Vin was sitting on the floor barechested and wearing his longjohns, a bottle of whiskey between his drawn up knees. His face seemed like a statue until you saw the eyes. The anguish that was pouring from them reached right into her soul.
Despite the fire before him, VIn Tanner was cold. His skin was warm, due to the heat coming from the hearth. But the chill came from within, from a place deep inside. His soul was broken and that was causing him to feel a horrid chill that went to his bones. He just couldn't believe Chris was gone. He should be at the ranch, with the others but he wasn't ready for that yet. He'd lived alone for so long, mourned his losses alone, buried his family alone and grieved alone. He didn't know how to share the pain or wasn't sure he was ready to have someone comforting him.
"Vin?" She called out softly, setting the bags down and closing the door. He didn't hear her and she drew a blanket out, laying it behind him on the floor. She went past him into Chris's old room and took the quilt down from the closet. Chris kept things here because he still used... or had used, the cabin from time to time. She spotted Vin's cast off blue shirt on the bed. She stepped out of her skirt and took the blouse off, then pulled his shirt on. Wrapping the quilt around her, she returned to the front room and knelt in from of him. He never even blinked. SHe used one hand to touch his cheek and took a sharp breath.
"Inez?" Vin rasped, quickly eyeing the cabin. "How'd... ye..."
"Shh!" she put her fingers on his lips. "Buck came to town to tell Nathan and I about Chris. Oh, Vin..."
Vin sank into her arms, resting his weary head on her shoulder. He felt her rocking him and closed his eyes, accepting the soft cooeing sounds and the firm hand stroking his head. Finally, she drew back, looking right through his agony.
"You are cold... I will keep you warm." She pushed him back on the blanket and moved over him.
The need inside of him was overwhelming. So he accepted the gift of her heart and pulled her close. He poured all of his emotional want into the heartfelt lovemaking. It was if every star in the heavens fell onto them as they created their own song. Between the hours of darkness and light, under that quilt and surrounded by her love, he worshiped her body and celebrated her soul as they deserved.
It was still when Vin rose, pausing briefly on his elbow beside her. He loved her, he was sure of that now. And he would do whatever it took to clear his name and take her heart forever. He brushed the hair back off her cheek and marveled at the love that radiated off of her. He bent down to kiss her lips and then brushed his own over her temple.
"I love ya, Inez..."
"...love you too..." she whispered, cracking her eyes. She reached over for him but he was already rising.
"...keep warm..." He eased himself away and covered her up, stoking the fire so she would keep warm.
She curled up again, her skin still glowing from the rapture of the night. She thought he was coming back and dozed off again.
He wasn't just leaving to see Chris, he was on a mission. He'd had a very strong dream and needed to go to the mountains to speak to the spirit of his grandfather. His soul was troubled. He was sure what he felt was not the grief of losing Chris, rather the pain of not finding him. He couldn't understand why he couldn't accept his best friend's death. The dream was powerful, full of secrets. Dark, narrow places full of blood and pain. He felt Chris calling out to him. But he knew the dark place wasn't Hell. He needed to find out the answers. He dressed quickly, taking time to grab a sandwich from the bag she'd brought on his way out.
"You are leaving?" she yawned, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "You should eat, Vin."
"I got a sandwich." He held up the wrapped bundle.
"You are going to see Chris?" She rose, wrapping the blanket around her and shivering in the predawn chill. She didn't stop until she was resting against his chest and those arms were around her.
Vin held on for a moment and then pulled her back, tipping that beautiful face up with his hand.
"I got no words t'tell ya how much yer gift last night meant t'me, Inez. I ain't never been that cold. Ya filled that hole inside... ye gave me yer heart and chased that ice away." He paused to seek out those wonderful eyes. "I gotta go now... and not jest t'see Chris. I need t'talk to Gray Eagle, m'grandfather. His spirit is in the mountains. Somethin' ain't right inside. I ain't never had a pain like this, but somehow I can't feel Chris's death. It don't make no sense, but... I need t'seek out Gray Eagle, he'll guide me t'the answers I need. I won't be long."
"I will be here Vin Tanner, tomorrow and forever." She sealed the promise with a kiss and then he turned and was gone. She watched him ride away and her worry increased. What could she or the others do if he would not accept that Chris was truly gone?
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