Chapter One

Chapter One

Wyatt took a long slow drink from his canteen before dropping it back into his saddlebag and patting his roan mare’s neck. It was hot. He glanced over at Craig but it was clear the man was distracted. He’d been distracted quite a bit lately—something about a woman in a nearby town.

      Wyatt snapped his fingers to get the other man's attention. 

‘You okay?’ he mouthed when Craig glanced his way.

      Craig nodded, a smile curving his lips. "Just fine. Getting ready to call it a night though. I'd like to spend some time in town tonight." 

      Wyatt rolled his eyes. Of course Craig would. He spent all his time in town lately. Wyatt tried not to let it bother him. It wasn't as if Craig was ignoring him. He always tried to get Wyatt to come along but Wyatt hated towns. 

      Sure, Gill had taught him to fight back but that didn't mean Wyatt liked to fight. And every trip into town led to whispers about the dumb colored man who couldn't talk. He hated crowds. Hated not quite belonging the way everyone else seemed to. 

      Wyatt waved him away and Craig clicked his tongue. "You oughta come into town tonight, Wyatt. There's a few new girls and you might just find one you like." 

      Wyatt shook his head at the invitation. Craig sighed. "Alright then. I guess I oughta know better than to ask." The disappointment was plain to see in Craig's green eyes. Wyatt simply picked at a tear in his trousers. He and his best friend seemed to be drifting farther and farther apart lately. "I'll see ya tomorrow, Wyatt."

      Wyatt watched his friend ride away and fought off the waves of loneliness. He was accustomed to the feeling so it wasn't too hard. Wyatt had always been more of an outsider even among his family. Craig had always had Willie to take into town and have fun with. Now that Willie was gone, Craig had gotten a bit more distant. 

      Jeb and Gill were busy with Preston and starting up their ranch and Pete was busy taking care of a rather moody and very pregnant Jane. And Maria had moved into town and set up an office where she tended to the sick.

Wyatt wouldn’t complain. He loved his family and they were the only people in the world to have ever given a damn about him outside of his parents and they had died when he’d been too young to remember much about them.

      The sun was sinking low in the west. Wyatt figured he had time to patrol one more line of fence and then he'd start the ride back toward Jeb's. 

      Jeb and Gill had told him he didn't need to worry about keeping an eye out for danger. They told him the worry was all in his head. Wyatt didn't care. He'd been out repairing fences and he'd patrol one more line before he called it quits for the night. No one was going to sneak up on or cause harm to those he cared about. He'd already lost two family members and he didn't want to lose more. 

      Crickets began to chirp as frogs filled the evening with their calls. While a part of Wyatt ached with loneliness, there was yet another part that loved this solitude and quiet. No one trying to talk to him—no one struggling to understand what he was trying to tell them in return. 

      The line of fence revealed no dangers and Wyatt was preparing to turn his horse and begin the long journey home when a sound caught his attention. 

      A sneeze. 

      Wyatt's back stiffened. That had very definitely been a man sneezing. No one should be out here. 

      He slid from his mare's back and crouched down as he went to the top of the small rise beside him and took in the sight of a man crouched beside the small stream that ran there. 

      The man was big—it was clear to see he was over six feet tall even though he was crouched down and his body was thick with muscle. A long black braid hung down his back and he was also heavily armed. A rifle was slung across his shoulder. Two revolvers rested on his hips. A knife was strapped to his leg and Wyatt could see another revolver holstered to the side of his boot. 

      Wyatt let his gaze go to the man's black gelding and saw a shot gun holstered to his saddlebags. 

      What was a heavily armed man doing wandering alone in the middle of Jeb's land? Wyatt's mind instantly went to bounty hunter and he had to wonder if someone hadn't discovered that the Crane Gang wasn't all dead and had sent someone to finish them off. 

      The joke would be on them. 

      Pulling his sawed off shotgun from the holster on his hip, Wyatt crept silently behind the intruder; carefully placing each step to insure he made no sound. There wasn't a man alive who could move as stealthy as he could. When he was close enough, Wyatt stood straight and pressed that gun barrel tight against the intruder's broad back before cocking back the hammer. 

    

The man spun, his hand going for his gun. Wyatt swung his shot gun and caught the man hard in the temple with a resounding crack. The giant fell like a stone to the ground.

      Wyatt scratched at his jaw. Had he killed the man? A rise and fall of his chest revealed that Wyatt was not yet a cold blooded murderer. But now what? 

      He couldn't question an unconscious man and Wyatt wasn't about to take the man back to Jeb's house. Not until he knew what kind of threat he posed. 

      Tapping his chin, Wyatt studied the horizon. Then he grinned. There was a shack not far from where he was. It was meant to be a place to get out of the weather if you were caught out repairing fences. Wyatt could take his captive there, keep him tied, and question him whenever he regained consciousness. 

      Satisfied with that plan and yet tense and on edge about this stranger's presence, Wyatt clicked his tongue. His mare trotted down the hill to him and Wyatt took some rope from his saddle. He hog tied the man at his feet without taking time to truly study him. 

      Darkness was falling fast and Wyatt had to get him to the shack before he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. The mountain of a man was too heavy for Wyatt to lift alone but thankfully he'd taught his mare a trick or two and with just a single hand gesture from Wyatt, she was settling down on the ground and Wyatt was then able to drag the man across her back. 

      He took the man's black gelding by the reins and hopped onto the beasts back. It was gentle and tame and for that Wyatt was grateful. The night was silent save for the crickets and frogs as Wyatt made his way to the shack. 

      He had no choice but to drag the man inside and sweat trickled down his face as he gasped for breath once his task was complete and the captive was laying on the dirty cot in the corner. 

      Wyatt grabbed up the lantern and lit it before moving to the man and finally taking the time to study him more closely. 

      Holy hell! The man laying on the cot before him looked like something out of a nightmare. It was clear he had Indian blood with those high sculpted cheek bones and his long nose. His thick dark hair was pulled back away from his face and held in place with a piece of leather-none of that made him frightening. 

      It was his face.... His face was a litter of scars, each more pronounced than the next. It was as if something had exploded and the man had decided to catch all the shrapnel with his head! Wyatt studied his worn and tattered clothes, the scars that covered his calloused hands and the leather of his gun belt, worn and weathered with use. 

      The man didn't appear old—just aged from a hard life. 

      Wyatt removed the man's weapons and secured the ropes. He would leave the man here and come back in the morning. If he didn't return home, Jeb would worry and Wyatt didn't want him coming looking for him just yet. 

      He wanted to keep this man a secret until he knew whether or not he was going to have to kill him. 

      Taking the lantern outside with him, Wyatt hung it up and hitched the man's horse to the rickety post, hoping it would be enough to hold the critter. He took of the saddle, fed it a handful of oats from his own saddlebags and then began to rifle through the man's belongings.

      There was nothing of real interest. A bit of money, some tobacco and rolling papers, ammunition for his weapons and a bit of food. Nothing to say who he was or what he was doing on Jeb's land. 

      With a sigh, Wyatt killed the lantern and hopped up on his mare. The man clearly posed a possible threat but Wyatt was going to keep his family safe. He would let the man go if he could prove he meant them no harm—but he would be more than glad to kill him if he couldn't. 

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Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Wyatt was up before dawn and slipping unnoticed out of his room in the barn. It had been fixed up nice with all the things a man would need. Craig had one next to his but it was empty—he hadn’t come home last night.

      Wyatt hadn't slept a wink. His mind had been too focused on the stranger currently tied up in the line shack. Wyatt knew he'd be awake by now and probably real good and mad given his current situation. 

      Saddling his mare, Wyatt rode out across the fields. The air was still heavy with dew and mist swirled around his head. It took nearly an hour to reach to reach the shack and Wyatt hitched his mare alongside the gelding. 

      Wyatt drew his shot gun and listened closely for any noise coming from inside. All seemed quiet. It was time to go on in and get the answers he needed. Opening the door, Wyatt stepped into the dimly lit shack.

      "You better get to untying me, you no good son of a whore." 

      Wyatt's eyes widened at the insult and he strode toward the cot and smacked the restrained man roughly on the side of the head. His mama had most definitely 

not been a whore.

      "If you have any sense at all you'll untie me," the man growled, his deep voice rumbling over his firm lips. 

      Wyatt had to admit that in the early morning light shining through the window, the man was rather handsome—in a scarred up, dangerous, deadly kind of way. 

      Realizing the man posed no threat in his current situation, Wyatt holstered his shot gun and pulled the rickety chair closer to the cot. "What the hell are you doing?" the man grunted as Wyatt pulled his notebook from his pocket. 

      He flashed the man a smile which had his gray eyes widening, and then began to jot down words with his pencil. 

‘Who ar you? Wy ar you heer?’

      Wyatt held the paper up for the man to see and he only growled deeper and struggled to readjust himself on the cot. "What the hell is that? Why don't you go ahead speak up?" 

      Wyatt rolled his eyes. He pointed to his throat, then to his mouth and shook his head. 

      The man's brow furrowed up as he frowned. "You can't speak?" 

      Again Wyatt shook his head. 

      "Well that's just fine and dandy. How about you just let me go now and I'll be on my damned way. Can't believe I got caught by a damn boy anyhow... won't happen again. Wouldn't have happened the first time if I hadn't had a face full of dust making me sneeze." 

       Wyatt scoffed at hearing the term 'boy'. He was a twenty year old man, not some boy. He pointed to the shack, then to himself, then back to the man and shrugged. 

      A thick black brow quirked upward and those gray eyes, quite sharp and hard, narrowed as they studied him. "Is this your land?" Wyatt nodded. "And I suppose you're wondering what I'm doing on it?" Another nod. The man shook his head. "That's my business and not yours. Now let me go before I decide to kill you for the trouble you've caused me." 

      Wyatt laughed silently. His captive sure was a cocky bastard. Last time Wyatt checked it was 

him who had a gun. Wyatt pointed to himself and squared his shoulders.

      The man glared. His scarred face and stormy eyes full of nothing but contempt as he lay on his side and stared hard at Wyatt. "Let me go, boy." 

      Wyatt held up the notebook again and tapped the page. The man simply grunted and looked away. Wyatt rolled his eyes. Stubbornness was an irritating trait. 

      But it was okay because Wyatt himself had bucket loads of it. 

      He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest and waited. 

---

      Zachariah lay there tied up like a hog and glared at the man currently relaxing in the chair. When he got loose that smug smile was going to be wiped clear off that jackass's face! He'd heard that some folks out here lacked hospitality and he knew most enjoyed their privacy—but he'd never had someone knock him unconscious, tie him up and keep him prisoner with cause. 

      Zachariah still couldn't believe he'd landed himself in this situation. He was a trained assassin—a killer—and now he was trussed up like a boar hog and at the mercy of a man little more than a boy....

      He let his eyes wander across the man currently occupying a rickety chair and staring out a dirty window. His skin was dark, nearly the color of night itself. H had a slim build but it was clear he was strong beneath the red chambray shirt and gray trousers he wore. Zachariah let his gaze go to the stranger's hands. He liked a man with strong hands and this man had them.... Though they were currently wrapped around a shot gun that he seemed more than willing to shoot Zachariah with. 

      He wasn't about to tell the man what had brought him up to the New Mexico territories. He wasn't going to pull someone else into the mess he'd gotten himself into. And Zachariah had a feeling that despite the man's inability to speak, he was still plenty smart. 

      "You have much experience keeping prisoners?" Zachariah finally asked, deciding that threatening the man's life clearly wasn't going to get him the freedom he desired and deciding to try another tactic. 

      The man seemed surprised to hear the question as his eyes, so dark a brown they were nearly black as his skin, widened and he shook his head. "I didn't think so," Zachariah admitted. "But you have killed before, haven't you?" 

      The man nodded. Zachariah found his eyes drawn to the man's full, firm lips. "Yeah, I figured you weren't just giving an empty threat. I know I'll die if I try anything tricky, but a man has to relieve himself and I'd rather not do that in my trousers."

      Zachariah would have sworn that a blush covered the man's dark cheeks as he stood up quickly. "You've done took my weapons, just untie me, allow me to do my business and I'll let you tie me back up if you think that's what you need to do. I wish you'd just let me go. I don't mean anyone any harm." 

      The other man's eyes narrowed. His lips moved though no sound came out. Zachariah was smart enough to understand he was being asked what he'd been doing on this land. 

      Zachariah shook his head. "That's my business and none of your concern. I was just passing through. Now, dammit, either let me up to go take care of my personal needs or I'm gonna make a mess on this damned cot." 

      Zachariah was shocked damn near speechless when he was nearly certain he saw mischievousness in the man's dark eyes. For a moment he worried he would be forced to relieve himself in his pants, but then the man heaved a sigh, stood up and leaned his shot gun against the wall. 

      He moved in close and Zachariah stiffened when their bodies brushed as the man leaned over him and loosened the ropes. Instantly the man leapt away and grabbed up his gun as Zachariah worked his hands free of the loosened bonds. 

      Zachariah stood and his cramped muscles yelled in protest. He took a moment to let the blood return to his aching legs before turning his attention once again to the man holding him at gunpoint. 

      He was shorter than Zachariah, who had been told more than once he was more oak tree than man. The top of the man's head barely came to Zachariah's shoulder. It wouldn't be too hard to overpower him and get away but Zachariah didn't want to hurt the man. 

      Zachariah had worked hard to put his days of killing behind him—until the past had come back to bite him in the ass and send him on the mission he was now on. A mission in which he had no time to lose and needed to be getting back to. 

      Zachariah went to the door, fully aware of the gun aimed at his back. He stepped outside and glanced around for an outhouse—there wasn't one. The man nudged him with the gun and Zachariah glanced at him. "I'd rather you didn't poke me with a loaded shot gun... just what kind of man carries a gun like that anyhow? Hellfire, if you shot a man with that his head would disappear." 

      The man simply grinned. Zachariah figured the man had probably seen that very thing happen a time or two. Crazy ass.  

      Zachariah found himself a nice cozy thistle bush and made a decent sized puddle behind it. The man motioned toward the door with the gun and Zachariah sighed. "Yeah. Yeah."  He stopped beside his horse and slid his hand under his mane, slipping the small pocket knife from the holster he had hidden there. 

      He kept his fists clenched as the man went about retying him upon the cot. "Can I have food and water?" Zachariah asked. 

      The man rolled his eyes and pointed toward the questions he'd written on that paper earlier that morning. "My business is my own," Zachariah insisted. "But I can say I don't mean you a bit of harm." 

      The man appeared conflicted a moment before squaring his shoulders and heading for the door. "Hey! Are you going to leave me tied up?"

      With a nod, the silent man slipped away and closed the door behind him. 

      Zachariah waited patiently until the hoof beats of the crazy man's horse faded into the distance and then he opened up his knife and went to work on his ropes. He had no intention of still behind around whenever shotgun man returned.

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Wyatt was happy that Craig had returned when he made it back to the barn. He didn’t want Jeb or Gill to know that he had the man tied up in the shack but Craig could help him get the answers he needed and decide whether or not to let the man go on his way.

      Craig grinned as Wyatt ran up to him. 

‘I have to show you something’ Wyatt mouthed.

      "What is it?" Craig asked. "You look about as excited as a dog with a new bone." 

      'I got a man....'

Wyatt began, happy that Craig was fluent in lip reading. It made it easier to have a conversation when Wyatt wasn’t having to write down most of it.

      Craig chuckled. "You do? I didn't know you were like Jeb but it does explain a few things." 

      Wyatt rolled his eyes and glared. He was like Jeb. If he were to ever fall in love, which he didn't anticipate happening, it would be with a man. Wyatt had never told anyone that, however. He figured there were enough things about him that made him different. He couldn't speak, he was mistrustful, overprotective and he had an overpowering fear of going to town alone. He didn't need to add one more thing to that list. 

      "Sorry." Craig ran his hand through his hair. "Continue." 

      

‘I found a man. I tied him up. He’s at the shack.’

      Craig's eyes widened. "You tied someone up?! Where did you find him? Did you tell Jeb?" 

      

‘NO!’ Wyatt shook his head forcefully to emphasize his unspoken word. ‘I need you to help me figure out if he’s dangerous.’

“Well if he wasn’t a danger before, he probably will be now that you’ve tied him up and made him good and mad.”

      Wyatt grabbed Craig's shirt sleeve and gave him a tug. Craig nodded. "Alright. Alright. Let me saddle a horse and we'll go have a chat with the man in the shack." 

---

“Wyatt there is no man in the shack.”

      Wyatt ignored his friend's statement of the obvious and stormed to the now empty cot. He picked up the discarded rope and studied it closely. It had been cut but by what? Wyatt had checked the man for weapons and removed them! The man was gone, the horse was gone and the sack of weapons was gone. 

      Had the stranger had a partner riding with him that Wyatt hadn't seen? Panic began to bubble in his chest. His family was in danger! He had to know where the stranger had gone!

      "Wyatt, settle down," Craig scolded gently. "Did the man say why he was riding through?" 

      Wyatt paced the shack, his hands clutching his shot gun. He shook his head. Craig sighed. "Did he act like he wanted to hurt any of us?" 

      Wyatt glared at Craig a moment before shaking his head with defeat. Craig nodded. "Then I'm sure he was just passing through and you overreacted. You've got to quit acting like that, Wyatt. You've always been protective but ever since...." Craig's voice broke and he cleared his throat as he looked away.  "Ever since 

he died you’ve gotten worse. It’s making us all crazy.“

      Wyatt felt as if Craig had just punched him in the gut. He swallowed hard and holstered his gun as his shoulders slumped. Craig simply went to the door. "I'm gonna head out. I might be gone a few days so don't worry about me." 

      Wyatt slumped down hard in the cot once Craig had ridden away. His heart ached. He didn't know how to fix whatever was wrong. He and Craig had always been best friends but lately it seemed they hardly knew one another. 

      Losing Billy, losing Willie, losing the work that they'd done together as a gang—it had changed Craig. Hell, it had probably changed him too. 

      Wyatt stepped out into the sunlight and took in a deep breath. He had to believe that the stranger hadn't been a danger to his family.... With a heavy heart and a worry that he couldn't completely ignore, Wyatt headed back to the house. 

---

       Zachariah had checked into the hotel of the nearest town after escaping the shack. He had needed a bath, a good night of rest and a chance to catch his bearings. He'd been on horseback a long while. But it was all going to end soon. He was catching up to the sons of bitches who had his sister and when he got his hands on them they'd wish they'd messed with someone else. 

      The next morning dawned early. Zachariah had a week long trek to reach the tiny territory town where heard the man he was hunting for called home. 

      Feeling refreshed and ready for the task ahead, Zachariah shouldered his saddlebags and left his room. When he approached the desk, the hotel clerk jumped a bit, clearly startled by his appearance.

      "P..pardon me, sir," the thin, wiry man squeaked as he slid his glasses up his nose. "You startled me." 

      Zachariah grunted and pulled the money for his stay from his pocket. "Yeah. I'm sure I did." He was used to the stares, the fear and the way women shielded their children and pulled them across the road when he came walking by. 

      Not only was half his blood Indian blood, but the hard life he'd led thus far had left their marks on him—including a tangle of scars on his face. He was thick bodied, tall and he'd been told a time or two that he always had a hard, angry look about him. 

      "Just sign the register here and you'll be checked out," the desk clerk informed him, sliding the fancy stationary and fountain pen in Zachariah's direction. 

      Zachariah grabbed up the dainty pen in his gnarled fist and scribbled a few markings. He felt shame coloring his cheeks as he shoved the book back toward the clerk. Zachariah didn't know how to write. He could barely even read. His mother had died bringing him into the world and his father, a poor excuse of a man, had drunk himself to death only eight years later. Zachariah had been on his own since then.... And a boy of eight surviving on his own had more pressing things to worry about than education. 

      Without another word, Zachariah shouldered his saddle bags once again and stepped out into the sunlight. For some reason the silent man from the day before came to mind. He wondered exactly what had been going through the man's mind when he'd knocked Zachariah out cold and tied him up like a prisoner.... Not many people in the world would have been brave enough to stand up to him the way that man had—and the man had slapped him upside the head to add insult to injury!

      Zachariah shook his head. He had to focus on finding his sister. He didn't have time to think about the quiet man. 

      He headed toward the livery down the street but stopped in his tracks when he saw the man who had moments ago been occupying his thoughts. He was walking down the road with another man of color, though the new man's skin was much lighter in tone than the quiet man's. 

      Zachariah attempted to duck out of sight but the quiet man saw him. He grabbed the sleeve of the man walking with him and began to hop up and down as he pointed at Zachariah with his free hand. 

      Zachariah thought about running but that would only result in him appearing guilty. So, instead, he remained still and sure enough, the quiet man led the other man to him. The other man appeared wary and a bit confused. 

      "Who are you?" he asked, his free hand hovering close to his gun. 

      Zachariah recognized the look of a man who was comfortable with his gun and probably talented with it as well. "Name's Zachariah," Zachariah admitted with a tip of his head. "Your friend here sure ain't the most welcoming of folks." 

      Zachariah saw the quiet man's head dip and the new man chuckled. "Yeah, well, we've learned well that not all folks are worth welcoming." 

      Zachariah nodded. "Fair enough. I'll be on my way now...." 

      "Wait." 

      Zachariah stopped at the command and it was spoken as a command. It was clear this new man had at some point in his life held some authority. "Wyatt here tells me he caught you sneaking around my land. Can I ask what you were doing there?" 

      Zachariah kept finding his eyes drawn to the quiet man; Wyatt was his name. He was currently chewing on his full bottom lip and kicking at the dirt with his boot as he stared at the ground. 

      Zachariah turned his attention back to the man questioning him. "As I told your friend there, my business is my own. I didn't realize I was on anyone's land and I'm only passing through." 

      The man studied him a moment and Zachariah was aware of Wyatt watching them closely. Finally the man nodded and a friendly smile split his face. "Alright then. You'll have to forgive Wyatt. We've been through a real rough year and it's put us all on guard. Name's Gilliam."

      Zachariah shook the hand offered him before adjusting his saddlebags. "I gotta be going now." He tipped his hat and turned his gaze to Wyatt. "Y'all take care." 

      "Before you go.... Wyatt wants to know how you got free." 

      Zachariah realized Wyatt was indeed studying him and seemed eager for the answer. Zachariah sighed. "I had a knife holstered and tied to the underside of my horse's mane. I grabbed it when you let me go outside. I gotta go now." 

      Zachariah quickly made an exit before anything else could be said. He entered the livery and went about saddling up his horse. As he led the black gelding from the stall, Zachariah couldn't help but notice that it was limping. He lifted the horse's right front leg and cursed. 

      "Sir?" he asked, approaching the man currently mucking out a stall. "Do you all tend to hooves and shoes?" 

      "Yeah, I reckon." He spit a long stream of tobacco. "If you'll come back in an hour or two, I'll have him ready to go—or you can buy another horse off me right now and I'll keep that one..." 

      Zachariah shook his head. He'd had his horse for five years. He wasn't looking to replace him. "That's alright. Just fix him up and I'll come back." 

      He stepped back outside and glanced down the road before yet another curse flew from his lips. He recognized Gus McTeague... that bastard had been tailing him for weeks with his gang of brain addled or brain lacking pals. 

      He saw Wyatt step into the mercantile alone and Gus McTeague and his four friends chuckled to one another and followed the man inside. 

      Zachariah knew what kind of men those were and he had seen the looks on their faces as they'd followed Wyatt. The man was in trouble. Zachariah didn't owe him a damn thing—not after the man had all but kidnapped him! But still, he couldn't let those bastards hurt him. 

      It seemed Zachariah wasn't going to make it out of this New Mexico town without a fight.

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Wyatt was standing in line behind an elderly lady purchasing fabrics. Gill had sent him to the mercantile while he’d gone down to the apothecary to get the medicine they’d ordered for Preston. Wyatt had to give the store clerk the long list of supplies Gill and Jeb needed and help load up what was on hand.

        He was smiling and tapping his finger on his thighs, feeling a bit better about things now that he'd had his worry about the stranger taken care of. Zachariah didn't pose a threat and for that, Wyatt was grateful. His family had had enough threats. 

        A chill ran down his spine and Wyatt's fingers still instantly. In his peripheral vision, Wyatt saw the five men enter the mercantile. They were sneering, chuckling and nudging one another as they approached him. Why did men like them always seem to find him? 

        He'd known they'd been watching him since he'd come into town but he'd hoped that watching and chuckling from a distance was all they'd do... apparently his hopes were pointless. 

        "What ya doin' there, little negro?" the man who appeared to be ringleader of the group drawled. 

        Wyatt simply kept his gaze straight forward and did his best to ignore them. The store clerk cleared his throat while the elderly woman gathered up her supplies and quickly made her exit. 

        "Can I help you, Wyatt?" Edgar Thompson asked from behind the counter. 

        Wyatt nodded and fished the supply list from his pocket before laying it on the counter. "What's the matter, negro?" the ringleader cackled. "Cat got your tongue? We saw you outside gesturing and such with your negro friend. Did your mama drop you on your head as a child and rattle your brain?" 

        "I don't want any trouble, gentleman," Edgar warned. "Why don't you get what you came in here for and leave?" 

        The ringleader spat on the wooden floorboards while the others chuckled. "I came in here to teach a negro his place. He ain't got no right to be walking around town in broad daylight." 

        Wyatt bristled but said nothing. He wasn't afraid of fighting back but what was the point? He tapped the list to get Edgar's attention and then pointed to the watch hooked to his belt. 

        "Okay. I'll see about getting these things from the back. You gonna be okay, Wyatt?" 

        Wyatt nodded and the ringleaders arm was suddenly around his shoulders. "He'll be just fine." 

        Wyatt waved Edgar away and the man hesitantly walked through the door to the supply room, shaking his head as he went. "I got a problem with the way you look, negro," Gus stated once the older man was gone. 

        Wyatt pulled away from the man and glared at him. 

‘Leave me alone.’

The ringleader laughed. “What was that? Speak up, boy!” He shoved Wyatt hard. “I think a cat may have his tongue.”

        Wyatt had had enough. He had been shoved around enough in his life and nothing got under his skin quicker. Without warning, he swung his arm hard and caught the ringleader sharply in the jaw. 

        The man stumbled back, anger flashed in his blue eyes and he snarled. "Hold him boys!"  

        Wyatt attempted to fight but two of the men rushed forward and grabbed his arms. Wyatt found himself unable to move as he glared at the man with blood dripping from his split lip. 

        "I'm about to kill me a negro," he snapped, pulling a knife from his belt. "I hate negros." 

        "What about injuns, Gus?" a familiar voice asked. "How do you feel about us?" 

        The ringleader turned quickly at the sound of Zachariah's voice. "What the hell are you doin' here, bounty hunter?" 

        Zachariah shrugged his broad shoulders. "Fixin' to kill me a bastard. What are you doing?" 

        Despite the hands squeezing bruises into his arms, and the knife still clutched tightly in Gus' hand, Wyatt laughed silently at Zachariah's statement. The scarred Indian's eyes landed on him and Wyatt felt himself tremble. He'd never been looked at quite like that before. 

        Then, just as quickly, Zachariah looked away. "Put the knife away, Gus, and leave this man be." 

        "That was always your biggest problem," Gus spat, swiping blood from the lip that Wyatt had busted. "You never could resist a charity case." 

        "Must be why I always seem to be bumping into you," Zachariah agreed. "You got an ass that's just begging to be kicked." 

        Wyatt tensed when Gus suddenly lunged forward with the knife. He swung at Zachariah but Zachariah appeared almost bored as he twisted out of the way, grabbed Gus by the back of the shirt and tossed him, sending him careening into a barrel of dried fruit. 

        The two men not holding Wyatt went after Zachariah and Wyatt knew he needed to get free and help the man. He stomped down hard on one captor's foot and as the man yelled in shock and loosened his hold, Wyatt yanked his right arm free and swung, catching the second man in the temple. 

        The mercantile quickly erupted in chaos. Wyatt spun and kicked the hopping man in the gut, sending him careening backward. The man Wyatt had hit in the temple, recovered from the blow and swung. 

        Wyatt attempted to dodge the hit but it caught him in the ear and he went sideways. Before he could recover, Wyatt was tackled to the ground and pinned by the angry man. 

        His heart sped up when Gus suddenly appeared over him, holding that knife and grinning. Wyatt shot a glance at Zachariah but the other man was currently preoccupied with three combatants of his own. 

        Gus sneered. "Hold him good and tight, LeRoy. It's time to get to dying." 

        "If you insist." 

        Wyatt's head whipped around at the sound of Gill's voice. Before Gus had time to react, Gill grabbed him up by the back of his vest, hauled him to his feet, slammed him against the counter and broke a jar of pickled beets across his head. 

        Gus slumped unconscious to the floor. The man pinning Wyatt was distracted by the scene and Wyatt used that to his advantage. He surged his body upward and tossed the man off before scrambling to his feet and kicking him hard in the ribs. 

        One of the men currently battling Zachariah, came flying backward after a particularly hard punch and slammed into Gill who went stumbling forward and slammed his face against a post. 

        "Son of a bitch!" Gill growled, his nose bleeding. 

        The fight continued for several long moments. Punches, kicks, tosses and curses. Finally Gus hauled himself to his feet and stumbled toward the door, holding his head. "Come on, boys... let's get the hell out of here." 

        "Good idea," Zachariah growled, a bruise forming beneath the scars on his cheekbone. 

        Gus paused at the door and Wyatt pulled his shot gun, keeping a steady aim on the staggering man's chest. If he made a move to attack again, Wyatt was done using fists and feet. 

        "Don't you worry, bounty hunter," Gus sneered. "We'll meet again and finish this when you don't have your little negro friends to save you." 

        Wyatt holstered his shot gun once the gang of men left the mercantile. Edgar came in from the back and began stuttering as he gazed around. Wyatt sheepishly grinned as he realized the mess they'd made. The broken jar of pickled beets had filled the mercantile with the overpowering scent of vinegar. The barrel of dried fruit had been knocked over and countless other pieces of merchandise had been strewn about. 

        "Sorry about the mess," Zachariah offered. 

        "Did that man call you a bounty hunter?" Gill's voice was tense as he spoke. 

        Wyatt realized that Zachariah was hardly paying Gill any mind as he walked toward Wyatt. "Yeah, that's right," he muttered. 

        Wyatt swallowed hard and his knees shook when Zachariah reached out a hand and ran his finger over his welted cheek. "You okay, Wyatt?" he asked. 

        Somehow Wyatt managed a nod. He stared at Zachariah's scarred and rugged face and wondered what the hell was going on. He'd never felt this kind of attraction toward anyone in his life..... he'd thought he never would. 

        Wyatt was staring into those storm gray eyes and trying hard to read them. Zachariah opened his mouth to speak but was silenced when Gill stepped behind him and brought his revolver down hard on the back of Zachariah's head. 

        The man fell to the ground in an unconscious heap and Wyatt's eyes widened. He shook his head. 

‘Why did you do that?!’ he yelled silently. Curses flew from his mouth in a flurry as he demanded answers from Gill who simply shook his head.

        "I can't understand a word you say when you get upset, Wyatt," he reminded him. Wyatt's mouth slammed shut. Damn his inability to speak! Damn everyone else's inability to understand him! 

        Wyatt pointed to Zachariah and then he looked at Gill and shrugged. 

‘Why?’

        Gill sighed as he holstered his gun. "He's a bounty hunter, Wyatt. And you 

did find him on our land. I think it would be in our best interest to find out for sure what he’s doing here…. I’m no longer satisfied with the answer he gave us earlier.“

        Wyatt just shook his head again. Zachariah had helped him..... 

        He looked at Gill as the man pulled a bandana from his pocket and cleaned blood from his face. "Let's get him to the house, Wyatt. I'd say he'll be angry when he wakes up."  

snG���f(

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Zachariah had a goddamn headache.

        His skull had taken more knocks in the last few days than it had in a long long time. Without opening his eyes, Zachariah took stock of his situation. He was sitting in a hard backed chair. His hands were tied behind the chair and his ankles were tied in front of him. He was indoors and he could tell there were quite a few people surrounding him. 

        Two of those people were currently having an argument. 

        "Dammit, Jebidiah, quit mother henning me to death! I'm fine!" 

        "I'm not mother henning you, dammit." 

        "Just let him love you, Gill. He loves you so good." 

        "Nobody asked you, Pete," the man, who must have been Jeb, replied. "What the hell happened to your face, Gilliam? Is that bastard the one that hit you?" 

        "No," Gill assured him.

        "Wyatt said he ran into a post," a female voice spoke up. 

        Laughter rang out and Zachariah cracked open his eye to see a gap-toothed man with red hair. "He never has been real graceful." 

        Zachariah noticed Gill standing to the side and another man, a man who was tall and lithe in build with short dark blond hair and green eyes, was tending to his face with concern and dedication. Gill appeared stuck somewhere between annoyance and reverence as he watched the man. 

        Zachariah squirmed a bit and attempted to avert his gaze. It wasn't often he met men who were like him and it happened even less often that those men were in relationships and were openly affectionate. 

        "I believe he's waking up," the female voice spoke again. 

        Suddenly, Wyatt's face was directly in front of him and Zachariah opened his eyes fully. He saw the welted cut on Wyatt's cheekbone and growled low. Damn that Gus and his friends for not only picking on someone weaker and smaller than they were, but also someone who hadn't done a damn thing to them to deserve the treatment. 

        

‘You okay?’ Wyatt mouthed.

        Zachariah grumbled. "I'd be a lot damn better if you crazy people would stop hitting me in the head and tying me up." 

        Wyatt moved when Jeb came to stand in front of the chair. "And I'd be a lot damn better if I didn't have a bounty hunter wandering around my land." 

        Zachariah rolled his eyes. "I'm not a threat to any of you. Did I, or did I not, just hop into a fight that wasn't mine to protect Wyatt?" 

        "Bounties are worth more alive," the red-head, Pete, spoke up. "Of course then you have to listen to 'em bitching and moaning the whole way back to town." 

        "Nothing worse than bitching and moaning," Gill agreed. 

        Zachariah pulled on the ropes but they were tied tight. He wasn't going anywhere until these jackasses let him go. "I'm no longer a bounty hunter," he admitted. He was speaking to Jeb but for some reason his gaze kept returning to Wyatt who stood off to the side and watched him closely. "I was one for a long time, took down a lot of men and made a fair living. I have a sister, a half-sister, she's seven years my junior. Some men were angry because I took down their boss and they have her. I'm trying to find her and every second counts. I 

really don’t have time for this bullshit.“

        "You say you 

were a bounty hunter. Does that mean you’re not now?“ Jeb asked.

        "That's exactly what that means," Zachariah agreed. "Now if y'all don't mind..." 

        "Who has your sister?" Gill asked, stepping forward. 

        Zachariah took note of the swollen lip and busted nose the man was sporting. "That's my business..." 

        "And I'm making it mine," Gill countered, that air of authority once again seeping out of the man's every pore. 

        Zachariah grumbled. "Clint Garfield. He and his band of merry idiots have her. I took down their boss, Russel Crote and instead of coming after me, they grabbed up my sister."  

        "That's the way with most cowards," Gill noted. 

        "Uh-oh.. call him off, Jeb," Pete warned. "That's Gill's lawman face." 

        "Gilliam... you're not a lawman anymore." 

        "That doesn't mean I'm okay with standing by while an innocent woman is held captive. Now if Zachariah needs help to rescue his sister...." 

        "I never said I needed help." 

        "You won't help do anything." 

        Zachariah and Jeb spoke at the same time. 

        "Can you let me go now?" Zachariah snapped. "I've been honest and I can't see any reason for y'all to keep me trussed up here." 

        Wyatt stepped forward and quickly undid Zachariah's bonds before anyone could speak. Zachariah brought his hands to the front and rubbed at his wrists. "Thanks." 

        Wyatt simply smiled and nodded. Zachariah quickly looked away from that smile. It was far too innocent and far too wide for the other man's good. 

        Zachariah stood slowly. "Am I free to go now or would someone else like to knock me unconscious before I leave town?" 

        Wyatt laughed, though no sound came from his mouth. Zachariah couldn't help but noticing, before he glanced away, that Wyatt's face lit up when he laughed.

        "I'm familiar with the men he's after," Gill informed Jeb, paying no attention to Zachariah as he let his eyes scan the tiny cabin they were in for his weapons. 

        "All the more reason for you to keep your ass home, Gilliam," Jeb grumbled. "We don't need the wrong people recognizing you."

        "I don't need help," Zachariah insisted yet again. It didn't appear as though anyone other than Wyatt heard a word he spoke—he wasn't sure why he kept trying. 

        "Gill, I have to agree with Jeb on this one," the woman, a pretty blond with a large belly, spoke up. "You don't know this man, or his sister, and you can't go running off to help them." 

        "I don't want him to," Zachariah mumbled. This family was clearly a full bubble off of plumb. 

        It seemed that his words finally fell on listening ears because Gill turned to face him. "You don't want help?"

        Zachariah shook his head, his long braid falling down his back since his hat, which he usually kept it hidden inside, had been lost somewhere along the way. "I made this mess and I'll tend to it myself." He shrugged. "Just as soon as you brain addled folks will let me leave." 

        Jeb stepped forward, his fists clenched at his side and his jaw popping with tension. "You'll change your tone toward us if you know what's good for you. You were found trespassing on 

my land and you failed to state your business. You refused to admit to being a bounty hunter before you ran away—“

        "Ex-bounty hunter," Pete chimed in. Jeb glared at him and Pete shrugged. "Just keeping everything straight." 

        "Pete?" Gill groaned, holding the bridge of his nose between his fingers. 

        "Yeah?" 

        "Don't."

        "Okay." 

        Jebidiah continued. "You helped Wyatt in town and that's the only reason I didn't kill you the minute you got here. My family has good reason to not trust bounty hunters."

        "Your family's criminal history is none of my business," Zachariah assured him. "And I was on your land by accident. I'd be happy to get off it if y'all would give me back my weapons and let me be on my way." 

        "I still feel like we should help him..." Gill stated. 

        "Gilliam, I need you more than Zachariah needs you," Jeb stated, his voice low and urgent. Then he turned to Zachariah. "I'll take you back into town since that's where we left your horse."

        Wyatt jumped forward and shook his head, his mouth moving a mile a minute. Jeb held up his hand. "What?"

        Wyatt's gaze went sky ward and he let out a long sigh before saying what he was trying to say more slowly. "You want to take him?" Jeb demanded. 

        Wyatt nodded and the woman frowned. "Are you sure?"

        Again Wyatt nodded. Jeb shook his head. "Okay, Pete can come too so you're not alone...."

        

‘No.’ Wyatt mouthed clearly.

        Zachariah grumbled. Did they not trust him to be alone with Wyatt? Hell, he wouldn't hurt the man. And they kept treating Wyatt as if he were a child.... The man might be a little off center but he seemed smart enough. 

        "Every second you spend arguing and debating is a second my sister won't get back.." he reminded everyone. 

        The group around him shared one last long look before Jeb nodded toward the door. "Don't come around here anymore," he warned. 

        Zachariah was quick to agree. Damn brain-addled bunch of lunatics. With Wyatt on his heels, Zachariah made his escape, surprised to find that his weapons were sitting just outside the door. 

        As he armed himself, Zachariah felt a tug on his shirt sleeve and he turned to look into Wyatt's wide brown eyes. 

‘Sorry.’ Wyatt mouthed. ‘Thank you,’ he added.

        Zachariah shrugged. "Gus and his posse deserved worse than they got. I won't stand by and watch someone be abused like that. Though, I have to admit, you and your pals here are the most paranoid bastards I've ever met."

        Wyatt chewed his lip a moment and headed quickly for the barn. Zachariah sighed, wondered if he'd ever understand these people, and followed after the man. As he followed the quiet man, his gaze was helplessly drawn to the way his gray trousers hugged his rather perfect ass. 

        At least the view back to town wouldn't be too bad.

---

Wyatt stood outside the livery and watched Zachariah ride out of town. The man had seemed eager to leave and itching to be away. Wyatt couldn’t blame him—hell, he and his family had to have come off as more than a little crazy to the giant, scarred up ex-bounty hunter.

        Nibbling at his lip, Wyatt wondered about his feelings. He was attracted to the other man and not at all happy with knowing that he'd never see him again. Zachariah had helped Wyatt. Wyatt may very well have died had the man not come along when he had. It just didn't settle well in Wyatt's gut to let Zachariah go off and face the danger of rescuing his sister alone—Wyatt 

owed him.

        Then again, Wyatt owed his family more. He couldn't simply abandon them—even if they were all busy with their lives and didn't seem to remember he was around very often any more. 

        Movement caught his eye and Wyatt smiled when he realized Craig was stepping out of the brothel beside the saloon. That was just what Wyatt was in bad need off—some time spent with his best friend. 

        Wyatt jogged up the road to catch up to the other man and he was smiling ear to ear as he tapped Craig on the shoulder. That smile vanished the instant Craig whirled around. 

        The man looked terrible. 

        His eyes were bloodshot, his skin pale and his clothes stained. He smelled like three day old sweat and a whiskey vat. Craig scratched at his stubble covered cheek and sneered. "What the hell do you want? Are you checking up on me? Dammit, Wyatt, I told you I'd be back in a few days! I don't need you acting like some goddamn mother hen to me all the time!" 

        Wyatt felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. He stumbled back a step or two. Craig simply spit in the dirt and turned again, stumbling toward the saloon. 

        Wyatt stood there in the street and desperately fought back the tears burning his eyes. He had 

always done everything he could for his family and now…. Now they all acted as if he were in the way—especially Craig.

        Swallowing hard, Wyatt squared his shoulders. If Craig didn't want him around then Wyatt would give the man what he wanted and make sure he 

wasn’t around!

        He grabbed up a few supplies from the mercantile, carefully watching the doorway to ensure no one was going to come after him, and then, after leaving a note with Maria so she could get it to Gill and Jeb, Wyatt hopped on his horse and headed out of town. 

        He owed Zachariah a debt and he might as well see to getting it paid. 

n

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Evening came much too fast in Zachariah’s opinion. Those lunatics had held him up and hindered his progress—but at least he’d found a nice clear wide spot in the river to camp beside and wash the trail dust off himself in the process.

        Silver linings were there if you looked hard enough for them—trouble was Zachariah was often a bit blind and a bit lazy rolled all together. 

        Zachariah lay his gun belt and hat on a rock near the river's edge before slipping out of his clothes. The fading sunset felt good against his bare skin and so Zachariah simply spent several long seconds soaking the sensation in before stepping into the water. 

        The deepest pool in the middle of the river barely came to his hips but it still felt good to his aching muscles. Using the lye soap he'd had tucked into his saddlebags, Zachariah began to scrub away the dirt, grime and blood that a day on horseback and the mercantile scuffle had covered him in. 

        Crickets began to sound and frogs croaked. The sound of night owls reached his ears. Zachariah loved this time—when the daytime creatures and noises said goodbye and the night awakened. 

        With a growl, Zachariah realized his peace was going to be short lived. He could feel eyes on him. Without turning completely, Zachariah edged to the side and realized a man was laying on the grassy knoll only a hundred yards from his bathing spot. 

        He wished folks would just leave him the hell alone. 

        Zachariah figured he must have some scent lunatics were drawn too. That was the only explanation for the last few days and for a random man to simply be laying on top of a hill and watching him take a bath. 

        Keeping only the corner of his eye on the voyeur, Zachariah waited for his chance to move and then took it. He wasn't sure who the jackass was, or what he wanted, but he damn sure intended to find out. 

---

        Wyatt hadn't meant to end up lying flat on his belly, spying on Zachariah as he took a bath. 

        He truly hadn't.

        He'd simply been wondering how best to approach the man and explain why he had been following him when he couldn't actually speak the words. 

        Then Zachariah had taken off all his clothes and Wyatt had been powerless against the urge to simply watch. Never in his life had Wyatt felt such an overwhelming longing and desire. 

        Zachariah had a thick, hard body, dotted with scars and lined with muscle. He moved with an unexpected grace given his size and power. The long black braid he seemed to keep hidden under his hat most of the time, hung down his broad back and grazed the top of his backside. 

        And damn, what a backside. 

        Wyatt was transfixed. Mesmerized. He gave no thought to whether it was right or wrong to spy on a person. He couldn't have looked away if he'd wanted to. 

        Except he did look away.

        He looked away when a spider chose that moment to scurry across his arm. Wyatt very nearly screamed, leapt to his feet and took off running but he somehow managed to reign in his terror and simply shook his hand until the eight-legged terror was tossed off and dashed away. 

        Wyatt turned his eyes back to the river, eager to see more of Zachariah. He blinked once. Twice. Zachariah was gone. 

        He'd been there only moments before. Where could he have gone? His black horse was still grazing calmly and his clothes and belongings were still in the same place he'd left them. 

        Wyatt felt that worry that lived inside of him begin to grow. Had something happened? Perhaps Zachariah had fallen, hit his head on the river bottom and was unconscious and drowning, being carried away by the current. 

        He sprang to his feet and then he heard a growl behind him. A very human growl. Wyatt turned and Zachariah stood behind him—bare in all his glory. 

        "You again?" Zachariah ground out between tense jaws. 

        Before Wyatt could explain himself, Zachariah swung out and the chunk of wood in his hand had Wyatt's world turning black. 

---

        Zachariah stared down at the unconscious man lying at his feet and fought off the guilt he felt rise up inside. He had 

nothing to feel guilty about.

        Wyatt and his people had been nothing but a thorn in his side for days and now, even after they'd agreed to let Zachariah go, he finds Wyatt spying on him from atop a hill! 

        The man deserved to be questioned and Zachariah was only showing him the same treatment that he himself had been shown. 

        Zachariah stooped down and lifted Wyatt's limp body into his arms, fighting hard to ignore the sensations that washed down his body when Wyatt's bare cheek pressed against his shoulder. 

        Setting the man down gently in his camp, Zachariah removed Wyatt's weapons and tied his wrists. He then slid into his clothes and fetched Wyatt's horse, hitching it up beside his own. 

        Wyatt was beginning to stir when Zachariah took a seat across from him. Soulful brown eyes opened and fell on Zachariah and he shook his head. "Don't look at me as if I were the bad one here, Wyatt. You were the one hiding on a hill watching me take a bath." 

        Wyatt's eyes widened and then he quickly looked down at the ground and kicked at the grass. The sheepish expression on the man's face had Zachariah wondering if maybe he'd liked what he'd seen. 

Zachariah cleared his throat. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking foolish thoughts. “Now, what exactly are you doing here?”

        Wyatt shrugged and met his gaze again. He winced and put his hand over the back of his head. 

‘Why?’ he mouthed.

        "Why did I knock you out?" 

        Wyatt nodded. 

        Zachariah smiled. "You people seem awful fond of thumping people on the head. I figured I'd repay the favor."  Wyatt's lips twitched as he averted his gaze. "Now answer my question, Wyatt. What are you doing here?" 

        Wyatt heaved out a breath and then his mouth began to move a mile a minute. Zachariah struggled to understand what the man was saying but couldn't. He shook his head. "I'm not understanding you." 

        Wyatt rolled his eyes skyward and then tilted his head toward his saddlebags. "If you're wanting your paper, it won't do much good. I can make out simple words but I'm not the best at reading." 

        Wyatt's shoulders drooped and he nibbled at his lip. Zachariah found his eyes drawn to the movement. "Why don't we try just one word at a time?" he offered. 

        Wyatt's brown eyes lit up with a childlike innocence that tugged at Zachariah's heartstrings. 

‘Help.’

It took several repeats of the movement but Zachariah finally understood he was saying help. “Help? You need help?”

        Wyatt shook his head. 

‘You.’

        Zachariah sat there dumbfounded. "You followed me because you want to help me?" 

        

‘Yes.’

        With a shake of his head, Zachariah slid the ropes from Wyatt's wrists. "I don't think so. I thought I made it clear that I didn't want help." 

        Wyatt met his gaze and it became quite clear to Zachariah that he was dealing with an overly stubborn man. "I'm telling you I don't want help and you still want to help me? You do realize the men I'm after are cold-blooded killers don't you?" 

        Wyatt nodded and Zachariah didn't see any fear. He had a feeling Wyatt had been in more than a few dangerous situations. He sighed. "What about your people, Wyatt? Won't they worry?" 

        

“No.”

“How can you be so sure?”

        Wyatt shook his head and then mouthed the word. 

‘Care’ .

        "They don't care?" Wyatt nodded. "I doubt that, Wyatt. I don't want to get a bullet in my back when they come gunning to find you." 

        Again Wyatt shook his head. Zachariah pointed in the direction they'd traveled from. "Go home." 

        Wyatt simply glared. Stubbornly. 

        Zachariah didn't need this. He didn't need one more innocent person to get hurt, taken, or worse yet, killed, because of his past. "Wyatt, you need to go home. This isn't your fight." 

        Wyatt pointed at Zachariah, then to himself and mouthed the word, 

help. “I helped you?” Zachariah asked. Wyatt nodded. “Yes, I helped you. But that was different. I wasn’t going to die doing it. You could very well die if you insist on coming with me. You don’t have a dog in this fight. Go home.”

        Again Wyatt shook his head. He pointed to himself, then to Zachariah and once again mouthed, '

help’.

Rubbing his face roughly, Zachariah spared a glance to the heavens and then returned his gaze to Wyatt. “If you die, don’t come crying to me.”

        A smile split Wyatt's face and lit up his features. Zachariah felt his heart stutter and he cursed under his breath. 

        He was in trouble. 

ernatUn^

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Jeb and Gill rode into town side by side. Darkness was falling and Wyatt hadn’t returned to the ranch. Fear was heavy in Jeb’s gut. Wyatt had always been fearful of towns and certainly wasn’t the type to stay in one any longer than he had to.

        Given the altercation that had already occurred that morning in the mercantile, Jeb feared for Wyatt's safety. 

        Sparing a glance at Gill, Jeb's mind went back to their earlier conversation. After they'd let Zachariah go, Jeb had taken Gill into the barn where they'd have privacy to speak. 

        Jeb understood Gilliam's point of view. He understood wanting to help an innocent woman who was in harm's way—hell, Jeb has spent his whole life helping people just like Gilliam had; simply in a different way. But Jeb hadn't wanted Gill rushing off to save the day. 

        All it would take was one wrong person to see him and tell another wrong person and if another 

wrong people found out that Gilliam Tomlinson or the Crane gang wasn’t really dead, they’d have the law coming down on their heads.

        Losing Billy had hurt. Losing Willie had hurt. Losing Gilliam? Losing Gilliam would destroy him. He needed that man like oxygen and Preston would be devastated if something happened to him as well. 

        Jeb's family—which included Wyatt, Pete, Jane, Preston, Gill, Maria and Craig were his entire world. He 

couldn’t lose any more of them. Family was everything to Jebidiah.

        "I'm sure he's fine," Gill spoke up as they rode onto the quiet main street of town. Most folks had already gone home for the evening and everything was still. "Maybe he met up with Craig and they decided to spend some time at the saloon." 

        Jeb grunted. Craig. Craig was another problem that Jebidiah simply didn't know what to do about. Losing Willie had done something to Craig. He'd been spiraling since with whiskey, whores and gambling. Jeb had tried to talk to him several times but his younger brother would simply get mad and storm off while insisting there was nothing wrong with him. 

        "If Zachariah's done something to him there won't be a place on earth or in heaven or hell for that bastard to hide," Jeb vowed. 

        "You got that damn right," Gill agreed. "Why don't we check with mama first? Maybe she ran into Wyatt and he's at her house." 

        Jeb hoped Gill was right. He hoped Wyatt was safe with either Craig or Maria—but his gut told him it wasn't going to be anything quite so simple. Jebidiah truly would kill Zachariah if he'd done something to Wyatt. He'd kill him slowly and painfully. 

        They rode to the outskirts on the other side of town to the home where Maria lived and practiced medicine for anyone who needed her services. She was sitting on the porch rocking in her chair. With a flurry of graying hair and thick skirts she flew to her feet and stormed their way when she saw them. 

        Her thin body was vibrating with rage and her eyes flashing as she held up a folded piece of paper. "The two of you better get to explaining real fast what this is about before I get to beating the ignorance out of you with my bare hands!" 

        Gill was the first off his horse and he rushed to his mother before taking the paper from her hand and scanning it. "What is she talking about?" Jeb asked. Gill simply stared down at the paper without a word. "Well? What does it say?" Jeb growled, growing impatient. 

        "It looks like Wyatt wrote it," Gill announced, glancing up. "It's sloppy as hell." 

        Maria clicked her tongue and crossed her arms across her chest. "I 

know he wrote it because he gave it to me—just before he hightailed it out of town.“

        Jeb's worry grew. "What does the note say, Gilliam?" 

        Gill's brown eyes went back to the paper in his hand. "He's letting us know that he's leaving to help Zachariah so he won't be in our way anymore. He knows that we're all busy with our own lives and him worrying over us just makes us annoyed. He said to tell Craig he won't bother him ever again. He said not to worry and that he'll come visit when he's done getting Zachariah's sister." 

        Jebidiah simply stood there in shock. Surely there had to be a mistake. "Are you sure that's what it says?" 

        Gill nodded and rubbed at the back of his neck. "It's messy but that's what it says." 

        "What is he thinking!?" Jeb demanded. "Wyatt has never been in the way! Hell, he's part of the family. Why does he suddenly think we're all annoyed by him? And where's Craig. He mentioned Craig. Craig had to have said something to him." 

        "Your brother is either in the brothel or the saloon. He lives in either one most days. I tried to talk to the boy but he doesn't want to listen. Stubborn as the day is long..... Jebidiah, you have to help Wyatt." 

        Jebidiah nodded. "I'll take care of things." 

        He hopped back on his horse and quickly rode back into town. Gilliam fell into step beside him. "Craig's in a bad place, Jebidiah. He might not even remember what he said to Wyatt—probably won't care." 

        "He's gonna care," Jeb growled. "This ends today. I'll knock some sense into the bastard if I have to. Dammit, we've all lost people we loved but not all of us have become mean, whore-hopping drunkards because of it." 

        "People handle pain differently." 

        "Stop being so damn understanding and peaceful when I'm in the mood to thump heads." 

        "I love you, Jebidiah." 

        "Yeah, I love you too," Jeb replied, feeling that familiar rise in his pulse and stutter in his chest. 

        "Just remember that he's your brother." 

        "So is Wyatt." 

        Gill sighed and nodded. "Fair enough." 

        It wasn't hard to find Craig. He was in the saloon, bellied up to the bar and surrounding by empty shot glasses. Jeb strode up to him, never having been as angry at his little brother as he was in that moment. 

        Craig raised his hand for another glass but Jebidiah stepped in and waved the bottle away when the bartender attempted to bring it over. "He's had enough."

        Craig whirled around on his stood and teetered precariously before steadying himself. He glared at Gill and then turned his attention to Jeb. "What are you doing here?" he slurred. 

        Jeb's fist tightened. "Taking you home so you can sober up and explain why Wyatt left town so upset." 

        Craig's brow puckered up as he blew out a whiskey-laden breath. "I don't know why that mother hen took off and I sure as hell ain't goin' home. Now I'm enjoying some whiskey and willing women and I'm gonna continue to enjoy them." 

        Jeb fought the urge to jerk Craig off the stool and drag him from the saloon kicking and screaming. Instead he adjusted his gun belt and took a steadying breath. "This has gone on long enough, Craig. Now there's folks at home who care about you and your best friend might be in trouble—it's time to come on back to the ranch and pull yourself together." 

        The saloon was relatively empty but the patrons that were there, craned their necks to hear the drama—no doubt so they could gossip about it over their drinks until something else happened in town to make them forget. 

        "My best friend is dead," Craig muttered. "He died to save that bastards best friend." An accusing finger was pointed in Gill's direction. "Our lives were ruined thanks to those two bastards." 

        Jeb glanced at Gill and saw that his cocoa skin had paled considerably. He appeared sick and his shoulders dropped as he swallowed hard. "Craig, I...." 

        Craig threw down a shot of whiskey and slammed the glass on the counter. "Don't talk to me." 

        Jeb was fully prepared to knock his younger brother's head off. The man was too damn drunk to know what he was saying but that didn't stop Jebidiah from wanting to see him pay for his callous words. He squared his shoulders and opened his mouth but Gill's hand falling on his arm and squeezing it tightly had him stopping. 

        "I'll leave, Jebidiah. Maybe he'll talk to you more if I'm not here." 

        Jebidiah growled. Without a word, he grabbed Craig by the collar and dragged the drunken man, slurring, kicking and cursing from the saloon. He took him outside and straight to a watering trough before picking his brother up and tossing him into the cool water. 

        Craig spit out a long stream of water, peppering Jebidiah's pants with droplets. "I'll kill you!" he shouted as he fumbled for his gun. 

        Jebidiah scoffed. "You won't do anything. Now I've had enough. You've changed, Craig. You've turned into a mean, hate-filled drunk who doesn't seem to give a damn about anyone. I have tried to reach you. Wyatt has tried. Maria has tried. Hell, everyone has tried. I'm sorry that Willy is dead! He was like a goddamn brother to me too. But it wasn't Gill's fault he died and it wasn't Pete's. It was that goddamn Major's fault and that man is currently worm shit and that is the one thing that helps me sleep at night." 

        "Go to hell, Jeb." 

        Jeb growled and kicked the trough, tipping it over and depositing the entire contents, both Craig and the water, into the muddy street. "I have to go help our brother first. Don't you step a single foot back on my land until you've gotten your head on straight, understood?" 

        "Jeb..." Gill began but Jeb glared and he stopped talking as he shook his head sadly. 

        Craig hauled himself up only to stumble sideways and fall into the dirt once again. "I don't wanna go back there anyhow," he muttered from the ground. 

        Jebidiah nodded, and though his heart was breaking, he turned his back on his brother and walked away. 

        "Let's go find Wyatt," he said. 

        "No." 

        Gill's words had Jeb stopping in his tracks. "What do you mean 'no'?" 

        "I mean, Wyatt left of his own free will, Jebidiah. This Zachariah doesn't mean Wyatt any harm or he wouldn't have helped him in the mercantile. Wyatt's feelings are hurt and he wants to go out and do something for himself by helping Zachariah. We can't stand in the way of that." 

        "The hell we can't!" Jeb countered. "What if the boy gets killed?" 

        "He's not a boy anymore," Gill reminded him. "He's twenty-one and plenty old enough to go out on his own." Gill's arm went around Jeb's waist and he rested his head on his tense shoulder. "Let's go home. When Wyatt and Craig are ready, they'll eventually come home too." 

        Jeb wanted to fight and argue and refuse to acknowledge the wisdom in Gilliam's words. But he couldn't. He was too tired. Feeling as if his heart weighed ten tons, Jebidiah wrapped Gill in a tight hug and buried his face in his neck, not caring what anyone in this town would think. 

        He clung to the man who had become his anchor in a world gone crazy as hell. 

        "We'll go home," he whispered. "But if something happens to Wyatt, you have to be the one to tell Maria. She's mean." 

        Laughter rumbled in Gill's chest. "We'll make Pete tell her. He likes it when she's mean to him."

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Zachariah sat atop his gelding and simply watched Wyatt in the sunlight as they rode side by side. In the last two days, he'd found himself simply watching the other man quite often. Spoken communication was impossible. Written communication was difficult given Zachariah's inability to read well and Wyatt's lack of penmanship. 

That meant Zachariah needed to study Wyatt closely and learn to read his body language and nonverbal cues if they were going to be riding and working together. He tried hard to convince himself that was the only reason he watched the other man so closely. 

It wasn't because he enjoyed every smooth motion of Wyatt's body as he went about daily tasks. It wasn't the sight of those smooth muscled forearms or calloused fingers that had his eyes transfixed. Full lips and soulful brown eyes that shone with every emotion and thought weren't what made it difficult for Zachariah to look away...

No. It was simply part of getting to know your partner and learning a way to communicate. Nothing else. 

Maybe if he lied to himself about it enough times, he might actually start to believe it. 

Zachariah called a stop to their traveling and Wyatt frowned at him. “We need to get some supplies from a town nearby.”

Wyatt shrugged. Zachariah sighed. “And by we, I mean you. I need you to go into town while I stay back.”

Wyatt’s eyes widened and fear overwhelmed his features. He shook his head vehemently. “Why the hell not?” Zachariah growled.

Wyatt just shook his head again as he shifted in the saddle and began to nibble his lip. “You’re scared,” Zachariah accused.

At first Wyatt appeared ready to defend himself but then he simply let out a long sigh and his head nodded slowly.

Zachariah hated seeing Wyatt frowning and sad. “Why are you scared?” he asked, moving in a bit closer and catching Wyatt’s gaze.

Wyatt made a fist and lightly tapped his own self in the jaw. Understanding dawned in Zachariah’s mind. “You’re scared of men like Gus and his crew, right? Men that want to hurt you just because you’re colored, can’t talk and are on the little side?”

Wyatt’s jaw hardened and he glared. Zachariah chuckled. “Don’t glare, your face will get stuck that way.” The glare merely deepened. Zachariah reached out and nudged the other man. “Don’t be that way. You might be wiry but you’re strong. I know, remember? You knocked me on my ass.”

Pride lit up Wyatt’s features. “And now I need you to go to town,” Zachariah added. “There are people in that town that work closely at times with the man I’m after. If they see me and get wind that I’m getting close, he’ll disappear before I get close.” ‘Or get rid of my sister,’ he added silently.

Zachariah swore that somehow Wyatt heard his unspoken message. His expression softened and he swallowed hard as he sat up straighter in his saddle. At the sight of his nod, Zachariah sat there dumbfounded.

“You’ll go?” Another nod. “Alright then. Get that paper of yours out and you can write down what I need you to pick up.”

Once the list had been written, Zachariah could see the tense set of Wyatt’s shoulders and the fear that the man was trying hard to hide.

“Here, why don’t you take this?” he offered as he slid a leather necklace adorned with mountain lion claws from his neck. “It was given to me as a boy and it’s kept me safe so far.”

Wyatt’s brown eyes were wide as he reached out and took the offered jewelry from Zachariah’s hand. “I figure it might help you feel a bit better in town. Not that you need help staying safe.” Zachariah winked. “You have that damn sawed-off gut buster on your side. If a man has something clever to say, I reckon you can blow his smile clear off his face.”

Wyatt’s smile was shaky and uncertain as he slid on the necklace and patted the list in his pocket. “I’ll stay here and make camp. It shouldn’t take you too long to get to town and back but if you’re not back by night, I’ll come looking.”

Wyatt nodded, clicked his tongue and rode away.

Zachariah watched him with mixed emotions. He hated knowing that Wyatt was afraid, but it had been Wyatt’s choice to come help him and just now, Zachariah needed to take advantage of that. He needed Clint to think he was still on a cold trail and Zachariah could only pray that he’d keep Eleanor alive until he arrived.

---

Wyatt hated going into town alone—any town. The fact that this was a town he'd never before been in, filled with people he had never before met, only served to make that fear intensify. 

He clutched the necklace Zachariah had given him tightly in his hand as it dangled upon his chest. Wyatt's first stop was the mercantile. Zachariah had warned that this was the last town between them and the men they were after so the list of supplies they were needing was fairly long. 

Without wasting any time, Wyatt shoved list into the store clerks hand, ignored the snickers and snide comments due to his poor penmanship and bolted for the door. 

Out on the street, Wyatt's heart raced. He held that necklace and thought of Zachariah. He saw the man's gray eyes in his mind and let the image calm him. Then he remembered that bad men had Zachariah's sister and Zachariah was counting on him to help save her. 

With resolve easing a bit of the anxiety in his mind, Wyatt headed down the road and around the corner to the livery. He avoided eye contact with those he passed and merely tipped his head when greeted. 

He was happy when he stepped into the darkness of the livery stable. He had come for a pack mule and feed but his eyes were immediately drawn to a sleek appaloosa mare in the first stall. 

Her ears instantly turned toward him when he entered. When he stepped toward her, her head snapped up and she scraped her hoof across the floor as her ears flattened to her head. 

He offered her a comforting smile and stepped closer, holding out a hand. She sniffed it cautiously and, after several quiet moments, she tossed her head over the door and allowed Wyatt to rub her cheek as she leaned into his touch. 

"What can I do for.... Well, I'll be damned!" 

Wyatt turned to see a broad shouldered, pot-bellied man with thick black sideburns and a broken front tooth scratching at his head as he stared at the horse in wonder. 

"That horse right there is normally scared of her own damn shadow and tries to kill anyone who gets close. I ain't never seen her let anyone touch her that way before." 

Wyatt simply smiled. He'd always had a way with animals. It was as if they could understand him when no one else could. Then Wyatt felt the horse growing nervous as the livery man drew closer. He stood protectively in front of her, wondering if perhaps she had a reason to be so standoffish with people. 

"I can see where your mind is going," the livery man stated with a chuckle. "I never laid a mean hand on her. She was like that when I got her and I've spent months attempting to earn her trust with nothing but a few bites and a whole lot of kicks to show for my effort." 

Wyatt studied him closely and the man shifted his feet before crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, you gonna say what you're here for or glare at me all day?" 

Wyatt sighed and pointed to his throat before shaking his head. He hated meeting new people and explaining to them that he could not speak. He hated the annoyance at the inconvenience he caused and he hated the surprise, the pity and the judgments. 

"You can't talk?" 

Wyatt shook his head. 

"You can hear though, can't you? You aren't deaf as well as dumb?" 

Wyatt bristled. His lack of a voice did not mean he lacked intelligence. 

Annoyed, Wyatt held out the list. The man looked it over and scratched at his bushy sideburn. "Sure, I can get these for you. The mule will be about ten and it'll be another dollar and a quarter for the feed." 

Wyatt nodded. "I'll go get that mule and bring him around front. We'll load the feed onto him once he's ready." Again Wyatt nodded. 

The man walked away and Wyatt returned his attention to the appaloosa. He stroked her silky neck and wondered what had happened in her life to make her so mistrustful of others. 

Wyatt chewed his lip as he stared at the mare. Zachariah had sent him with a good deal of money to get what they needed—and he had the brown mare he'd been using. 

The mare technically belonged to Jeb and Gill but Wyatt couldn't see them minding if he made a trade. 

His mind made up, Wyatt stepped outside and found the livery hand readying the pack mule. Wyatt tapped the man on the shoulder to get his attention and then pointed toward the barn. 

"What?" the man asked, scratching at his head. 

Wyatt's gaze went skyward a moment and then he motioned for the man to follow him into the barn. He pointed to the mare and then to himself. 

"You want her?" 

Wyatt nodded. 

"I don't know.. I paid a pretty penny for that worthless beast." 

Wyatt frowned before holding up his hand to signal for the man to wait. He ran to the mercantile, got the brown mare he'd hitched there and led her back to the livery stable. He pointed at the brown mare and then at the appaloosa. 

The man scratched at his sideburn. "You want to trade?"

Wyatt nodded enthusiastically. The man clicked his tongue. "Is this a good horse? Does she ride good? Is she tamed well?" Wyatt nodded and motioned for the man to get on her back. 

The man nodded, led the mare back out into the sunlight and hopped into the saddle. After several moments of putting her through her paces, he smiled down at Wyatt. "Now, boy, we might just be able to work something out." 

---

Darkness fell and Zachariah felt his slight concern morph into all out worry. Wyatt should have been back before nightfall. 

Had something happened? Damn, but Zachariah hadn't thought anything would happen to the man! He'd simply wanted Wyatt to go in order to avoid any of Clint's men recognizing him. 

Zachariah had to find him. If someone had done something to that man then Zachariah would bring hell down around them. He went to his gelding and lifted up the saddle. Just as he was preparing to lay it over the horse's back, something tapped his shoulder. 

Zachariah spun, pulling his knife as he did. Wyatt's wide brown eyes were full of amusement even with a ten inch blade against his throat. Quickly Zachariah lowered the knife and shook his head with disbelief. 

"That's the third damn time you've snuck up on me and the second time you got close enough to touch me without me even knowing you were around. How the hell do you manage that?" 

Wyatt shrugged, his smile spreading. He bounced up and down and pointed behind him. Zachariah followed the excited man's gaze and saw the loaded down pack mule as well as a healthy appaloosa.

"Where did you get that horse and what happened to your brown mare?" Zachariah demanded as Wyatt led the beasts into the firelight. 

'Trade' Wyatt mouthed.

Zachariah nodded. "Good trade," he acknowledged. 

He stepped toward the mare but she stomped and her ears flattened to her head. "Not real friendly," he grumbled as he stepped back. 

Wyatt grinned and patted her neck. "She likes you, huh?" Zachariah inquired.  

The other man nodded and draped his arm over the mare's neck proudly. Zachariah couldn't help but smile. Wyatt's excitement and happiness were infectious. "Well she has good taste at least." 

Wyatt's bottom lip was instantly sucked into his mouth and his teeth began to nibble at it. Zachariah felt his pants tighten and he quickly turned away. "Well, let's get them unloaded so they can rest and we can fill up on some beans. I'm hungry." 

Once the two men were sitting beside the fire, eating their beans and biscuits, Wyatt removed the necklace Zachariah had lent him and held it out. Zachariah stared hard at it a moment. He'd had that necklace for a long time—it truly was special to him. 

"Keep it, Wyatt." 

Wyatt's eyes widened. He pointed to the necklace and himself. "Yes, Wyatt. I'm giving it to you." 

'Really?' 

Zachariah grumbled, unhappy to have a big deal made out of the gift. "Yes, Wyatt. I want you to have the necklace. It's lucky and keeps folks safe and I reckon I want you to stay safe." 

Zachariah nearly ran for it when Wyatt's brown eyes began to glisten. He quickly reached out and snatched the necklace from Wyatt's hand before walking behind the man and slipping it around his neck. 

Zachariah let his fingertips linger on the smooth skin of Wyatt's neck and felt his blood begin to pound. Without another word, Zachariah walked away into the darkness to calm his desire with fresh air. 

Wyatt was temptation.... A temptation that Zachariah didn't have time to give into. He never should have let the man come along.

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

After three more days of hard riding, Zachariah called a stop two hours earlier than usual. He needed some good rest and he knew that Wyatt and the horses did as well. They wouldn't do Eleanor a bit of good if they were all on their last legs when they found her. 

He was happy they'd reached a pond, fed by a runoff stream and clear for drinking. That meant they could refill their water supply and wash a bit of the trail dirt off themselves. Zachariah had never been a man who minded hard work and getting dirty but he didn't like to stay that way. 

As he went about setting up camp, Zachariah noticed Wyatt gathering up a spare outfit and a bar of soap. He headed toward the other side of the pond and Zachariah chuckled. "Where are you going?" 

Wyatt turned to him and frowned, holding up the bar of soap. "You don't have to walk so far away." 

Wyatt nodded enthusiastically. He pointed to Zachariah, then to his eye and then to his chest. Zachariah chuckled. "You're worried I'll see you? Are you shy?" 

A sheepish nibble of the lip was Wyatt's only response. Damn, but that man lit a fire in Zachariah when he nibbled at that full bottom lip that way. "You don't have to be shy, Wyatt. You've seen me without my clothes. It's only fair that I get to see you." 

Wyatt's eyes widened so dramatically, Zachariah feared they may pop right out of his head before he turned and darted swiftly away to the other side of the pond and the cattails that offered him privacy there. 

Zachariah nearly smacked his own head. What had he been thinking saying that? Sure they'd been riding together nearly a week and Zachariah's want for the man was growing but that didn't mean he needed to help the temptation along! Hell, he didn't even know for sure if Wyatt wanted men or women. 

Though, he had his suspicions that he knew the answer to that given Wyatt's bashfulness in certain situations and the way he'd caught the man staring at him during their days together—Hellfire! Thinking about those things only made it worse!

Attempting to ignore the throbbing in his trousers, Zachariah began gathering tinder for a small fire. Jerked beef and hardtack was getting tiresome and he wanted to cook a pot of beans and fry up a few potatoes. 

He worked hard to ignore the sound of Wyatt splashing in the water as he brought the fire to a good roar. He was just melting a bit of lard in his cast iron skillet when a noise behind him had Zachariah whirling around. 

"Well, well, what do we have here?" 

Zachariah cursed under his breath and eyed the three men on horseback. They were dirty and unkempt but had the look and posture of men who knew well how to handle themselves. 

He was supposed to be a man who knew how to handle himself! How in the hell did people keep sneaking up on him?! 

"Can I help you gentlemen?" Zachariah asked calmly. He had his revolver on his hip and his knife on his leg. His rifle was resting against a rock ten feet away. All three men were armed but the man who had spoken hadn't pulled a weapon. His two riding companions had their guns resting in their hands. 

"My friends and I are feeling a bit wore out from traveling. We'd like a warm meal and a place to sleep," the leader announced. 

Zachariah didn't turn his head but was aware of one of the men dismounting his horse and beginning to rummage through the supplies on the pack mule. 

"I've got plenty of food if you'd like some," Zachariah assured them. 

The rummager frowned as he pointed toward the hitched horses. "He's got an awful lot of horses and supplies for someone out here alone." 

Alone? They hadn't seen Wyatt. Hopefully the man would have the good sense to stay hid. Zachariah didn't want anything to happen to him. 

"I wasn't always alone. Buried my friend a few days ago. I'll be looking to sell that horse there if you're interested." 

 "Well, ain't that interestin'. He's all alone, boys." 

Zachariah remained quiet and still as the other man who had yet to speak slid from his horse and began to go through his supplies as well. They were tearing everything from the saddlebags and tossing it without care. 

"You really shouldn't be out here all alone, injun," the lead man noted. "It's not safe. Even for a giant bastard such as yourself."

Zachariah grunted. He felt breath on his neck and realized one of the men had stopped searching and was behind him—looming. Zachariah assumed he was trying for intimidation but all Zachariah felt was annoyance. 

He didn't have time for all these good for nothing, no-account thieves to be bothering him! 

"We want your money, sir. Your money and your supplies. We'll take your horses too," the leader announced from atop his horse. 

"I don't think you will," Zachariah growled. 

The leader clicked his tongue and Zachariah had two guns pressed against him. One in his back and one his gut. "I don't see how you have much of a choice," the leader mused. 

Zachariah grinned. "There's always a choice."

He took a steadying breath before throwing back his head and cracking it hard against the temple of the man behind him. He grabbed the arm of the man holding the gun at his gut and twisted, snapping bone. The man howled in pain and dropped the gun, while Zachariah kicked him to the ground and whirled around.

He grabbed the gun from the hand of the man still reeling from the blow to the head and took aim at his chest before pulling the trigger. As Zachariah turned, he saw the man with the broken arm going for a knife and he put a bullet in him as well, killing him instantly. 

Zachariah turned his attention to the man on the horse and found himself staring down the barrel of a rifle, as that man stared down the barrel of the revolver in Zachariah's hand. 

"I believe we've hit an impasse friend," Zachariah warned. "You might as well just ride on now." 

"I don't think I will. Those were my friends, you scarred up, no-account injun."

"You either ride on or I'll be forced to kill you too." 

"I'm a real quick trigger, friend. You might kill me but I can promise that I'll kill you too. I'm gonna count to three and you better have that gun dropped before I get there." 

Zachariah rolled his eyes. The man licked his shaking upper lip. "One. Two...."

A gunshot blasted loud in the evening air and suddenly the man atop the horse no longer had a head. His body hovered there a moment in the saddle before toppling to the side. His horse reared and took off at a gallop. 

Zachariah saw Wyatt standing there in nothing but his trousers with a grin on his face and that shot gun in his hands. He winked at Zachariah and held up three fingers. 

Zachariah chuckled. "Yeah. Three." 

Wyatt glanced at the two men Zachariah had killed and he grinned. He pointed at Zachariah. 'Good,' he mouthed. 

Zachariah nodded in agreement. 

It was then that Zachariah took real notice of the fact that Wyatt was bare from the waist up. Hellfire and damnation! Zachariah had been working so hard to not give into temptation. Didn't Wyatt know how hard Zachariah had been working?

His eyes fell upon that smooth, dark skin pulled across a leanly muscled chest and arms. His stomach was flat and his hips tapered. The veins his forearms were well defined leading down to his calloused hands. Wyatt's dark skin shimmered in the sunset. Zachariah let his eyes drift to the muscles low on Wyatt's lean stomach and then he stopped when they fell upon the puckered scar. 

A bullet scar. 

"Who shot you?" Zachariah demanded, unsure why he was so angered by the sight of that mark. Zachariah was carrying quite a few bullet scars of his own so they weren't anything new to him, but seeing one upon Wyatt's smooth skin just didn't sit right with him. 

The moment Zachariah asked the question, Wyatt's demeanor changed. His eyes darted side to side and he edged backward a step. 

"Wyatt?" Zachariah asked, his anger and lust fading as suspicion and confusion took their places. 

Without a word, Wyatt scurried away, heading back around the pond and disappearing once again into the cattails. 

Zachariah realized something then. He knew nothing about Wyatt....Yes, he knew how to read the man thanks to studying him over the last week. He knew how his body moved, the nuances of his facial expressions. He knew that the man was overprotective—nearly insanely so. He was afraid of going into town, especially alone, and he nearly cried when you gave him a gift. 

But other than that, Zachariah didn't know anything. Who was Wyatt? Who were those people he'd lived with? Why had they been concerned about a bounty hunter on their property? What were those things they'd gone through to give them reason to be paranoid? Who the hell had shot the goddamn man?

Zachariah didn't know—but he intended to find out.

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Wyatt attempted to roll the tension from his rigid shoulders and he walked back into camp. What was he going to say? He felt as if his emotions were going haywire. First he'd been confused by Zachariah's statement about seeing him without close—then he'd been aroused by the memory. He'd been frightened for Zachariah's life when those men had arrived and amused at how easily the three would-be thieves had died. 

And then it had happened. Zachariah had asked a question that Wyatt couldn't answer. 

Why hadn't he thought of that? Why hadn't Wyatt thought about his, and his families, need for secrecy before he'd agreed to ride off with a stranger? 

He wanted to trust Zachariah—hell, for the most part he did. Which, honestly, said quite a bit since Wyatt wasn't the trusting kind. But could he trust Zachariah, a retired bounty hunter, with the truth of who he was? Of who his family was? 

Wyatt owed Zachariah. The man had rushed in to help him when he hadn't had to and Wyatt had volunteered to help him get his sister back—he couldn't go back on that now. 

But how could he tell Zachariah that he couldn't tell him anything about himself or his life? Zachariah was sure to want rid of him if Wyatt wasn't honest. Would Zachariah try to kill him? Wyatt didn't think so. But Wyatt also didn't want to be forced to leave and return home. 

Riding with Zachariah simply felt right. 

Wyatt had missed life being so open—so free. He had missed sleeping under the stars and riding in the sunlight. Wyatt had always—even with his family—felt as if he were somewhat on the outside looking in. It hadn't been their fault. Jeb, Craig and the others had always treated him as if he were their brother. No, it had been something within his own heart that had made him feel different. 

But he didn't feel that when he rode beside Zachariah. Zachariah didn't seem bothered by the quiet. Zachariah didn't get annoyed when Wyatt had trouble getting a point across. For some unknown reason, Zachariah made Wyatt feel the acceptance that his family had been trying to forever. 

Wyatt didn't want to lose that. 

The bodies were gone when Wyatt returned to the fire and Zachariah was cooking beans while peeling potatoes. He glanced up at Wyatt when he approached and his gray eyes narrowed. "You gonna tell me who shot you?" 

Wyatt shook his head as he sat down. Zachariah growled under his breath and returned his attention to the tomato in his large, gnarled hand. "Will you tell me why he shot you?" 

Again Wyatt shook his head. He watched as Zachariah's scarred and calloused hands, sliced up the potato and tossed the pieces into the heated grease in the cast iron skillet. 

Wyatt wondered what was going on in Zachariah's mind as the silenced stretched on. Finally Zachariah met his gaze and Wyatt felt his hands shake and his mouth suddenly dry up. The intensity in Zachariah's gray eyes was.......breathtaking. 

"Will you answer what question for me then since you won't tell me who or why?" 

Wyatt attempted to swallow, though he was so dry his tongue felt as if it were three times its normal size. He raised his shoulder slightly. 

Zachariah tongue slid across his bottom lip and Wyatt's eyes followed the movement from across the fire. "Is the son of a bitch dead?" 

Wyatt nodded slowly. Zachariah seemed satisfied by that answer at least as he stirred the potatoes and relaxed a bit. "That's good." He met Wyatt's gaze again and again Wyatt found it hard to breathe. "You know you can trust me, right?" 

Wyatt nodded. 

Silence fell then as Zachariah went about cooking their meal. He'd dragged the dead bodies away and stripped their horses of anything useful so there wasn't much for Wyatt to do to busy himself. Damn, he was confused. 

He wanted Zachariah. He wanted Zachariah the way Jeb had wanted Gill. Could he trust Zachariah? Could he tell them who he was—who his family was? Jeb would probably get upset but the man couldn't truly say anything. Hell, he'd trusted Gill and Gill had been a U.S. Ranger sent to bring them down. 

Zachariah was simply a retired bounty hunter attempting to save his sister and had made the mistake of wandering onto their land. 

As Zachariah placed a plate of beans and potatoes into Wyatt's hands, his mind was finally made up. He snapped his fingers to get Zachariah's attention. 'The Crane Gang.' 

Zachariah had been working hard on learning to lip read over the last five days and the man nodded slowly. "The Crane Gang? That sounds familiar...." He thought for a moment before taking a bite of potatoes. "Yeah, I remember. They stole cattle and belongings off rich ranchers and pissed off some wealthy folks. Did one of them shoot you?" 

Wyatt laughed silently and shook his head. Despite Jeb's annoyance with all of them from time to time he had yet to actually shoot any of his gang members. Wyatt pointed to himself. 'I am part of the Crane Gang.'

Zachariah stared at him a moment and then shook his head as if he were a dog shaking off water. "I don't think I understood that. It seemed like you were saying you were a member of the Crane Gang." 

Wyatt smiled, happy that he was being understood. 'Yes.'

"Wyatt, the Crane Gang is dead. How exactly are you a part of it?" 

'Two are dead,' Wyatt countered holding up his fingers to indicate the number. 

Zachariah's brow furrowed. "Those people, your family, they're the Crane Gang too...." 

Wyatt nodded and hoped he hadn't just made a mistake. Zachariah rubbed at his scarred chin and nodded as realization dawned in his gray eyes. "Gill... he's Gilliam Tomlinson. Rafe's boy. But everyone said you are all dead. That Major Winfield and Captain Morgan worked together to bring you down." 

Hearing the name of the man who had been responsible for the deaths of Willie and Billy had Wyatt bristling. Zachariah sat his plate aside and moved around the fire to sit beside Wyatt. "So, who exactly was it that shot you?" 

Wyatt sighed. It seemed Zachariah wasn't going to let the bullet scar go. 'Rangers.'

"Texas Rangers? Was that when you all were at the fort?" 

Wyatt shook his head. 'No. It was when they killed Billy.'

Wyatt's sadness must have been plain on his face because Zachariah reached out a scarred, calloused hand and laid it gently on Wyatt's arm. "You wanna tell me about it?" 

Wyatt looked into those eyes, felt the heat of Zachariah's touch, and suddenly he was launching into the whole tale—starting with Gill and Pete's arrival and ending when the family had settled down in New Mexico. 

He was certain that Zachariah had probably missed most of the conversation but when he finished, the other man was nodding thoughtfully. "Let me make sure I understood. Gill and Pete joined the gang as undercover Rangers to take it down. They had a change of heart but that damn Major Winfield, who I met one time and it was one time too many, sent rangers to bring them, and the gang, down. You lost a member and you were shot and nearly died, after which, Jeb decided enough was enough. The major attempted to have all of you killed after taking Jebidiah, Gill and Gill's mama prisoner and he thought  you were dead but you weren't and you posed as Indians—" Zachariah frowned. "Not quite sure I like that part. And then you freed your members and escaped with the help of Captain Morgan." 

Wyatt nodded as relief washed over him. It felt good to have all that out in the open and it felt even better to know that he and Zachariah could communicate with one another. 'But no one can know....my family would be in danger.'

Zachariah smiled, the scars on his face curving with the movement. "Thank you for trusting me, Wyatt. I won't tell a soul what you've told me today." 

Wyatt nodded. 'Thank you for listening.'

"I'm sorry you lost your friends. Life is hard." 

Wyatt swallowed hard and stared down at Zachariah's hand still resting against his arm. Zachariah's skin had a copper tone to it and it seemed to glow against the darkness of Wyatt's.

Their eyes met and the air itself seemed to catch fire around Wyatt. His mind went blank and breathing seemed unimportant. 

Wyatt had never felt such a strong ache. Everything inside of him, every inch of his body, wanted to be closer to Zachariah. Wanted to feel, touch, taste......

Zachariah leaned in and Wyatt felt his eyes slide closed. As his first kiss grew closer, Wyatt's stomach flittered and flopped. 

Then, suddenly there was a brush of wind and the warmth of Zachariah's body was gone. 

Wyatt's eyes flew open to find that Zachariah was standing on the other side of the fire and his expression was hard and unreadable. "We've only got three more days of riding and we'll reach Clint. You should get some rest, Wyatt. I'll make sure our visitors don't have friends near." 

Without any further explanation Zachariah disappeared into the darkness. 

Wyatt sat there unsure what to do or think. He now knew that Zachariah was a man like him—a man who wanted men. 

But why had he run away? 

Wyatt sighed. He needed to focus on helping Zachariah get his sister back and then there would be time enough to figure out what was going on between him and the giant, scarred-up Indian.

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

 "He's supposed to be holed up down there somewhere," Zachariah said as he and Wyatt lay belly down on a hilltop and studied the abandoned ghost town below. 

Wyatt pulled his looking glass from his belt and took a closer look at the dilapidated buildings. He saw several men standing and chit catting with rifles resting loosely in their arms. They seemed to be focused around one building in particular—what appeared to be an old saloon. 

Wyatt handed the looking glass to Zachariah and waited patiently as he scanned the scene as well. Zachariah's hand tightened dangerously and his knuckles whitened. 

Wyatt reached over and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. Zachariah glanced his way and Wyatt managed a smile. 

‘Ready to shoot some people?’

Some of the worry faded from Zachariah's face. "Yeah. Yeah, I reckon I am. It looks like they're probably holding her in that saloon—at least I hope so. We'll go with your plan. You sneak in the back and I'll go through the front door. I'm not real good at sneaking. You slip inside, unnoticed and silent f you can and find her if she's there. I'll take care of those guards." Zachariah clicked his tongue. "And Wyatt?" Zachariah added turning his head to face him. 

Wyatt raised his brow. Zachariah sighed. "Be careful." 

Wyatt nodded. The two men slipped back away from the hilltop and came up with a plan. Wyatt was to sneak in while Zachariah waited. Once Wyatt found Eleanor, he would start shooting and Zachariah would come charging from the front to take out the outside guards. 

Zachariah hadn't liked the idea of Wyatt sneaking in alone at first but Wyatt had reminded him of just how quiet he could move about and so the other man had finally agreed. They needed to find Eleanor and ensure she was safe before bullets began flying—Zachariah was far too big and far too angry to make stealth or subtlety a possibility.

"Wyatt, whatever you do, don't get yourself killed. If you get in trouble, just fire off a shot and I'll come to you. If I don't hear anything after ten minutes, I'm coming in after you." 

Wyatt patted the other man on the back as he adjusted his gun belt. 

‘We’ll have your sister back in no time.’

Zachariah nodded. "I'm trusting you." 

Wyatt saw something flicker in Zachariah's gray eyes....something that had him swallowing hard and nodding as he stepped back. He ensured that his shot gun and revolver were loaded, patted the knife on his leg and slipped away—hoping he could do his job without letting Zachariah down. 

---

Zachariah watched Wyatt go and wasn't at all happy. He didn't want the other man sneaking in alone but, once he'd seen the outlay of the town, Wyatt had made the suggestion and Zachariah had been forced to agree it was the best and most obvious choice. 

Hell, Zachariah knew how sneaky Wyatt could be. The man was like a shadow and had snuck up on Zachariah more than a few times. If anyone would be able to slip into the building without alerting the men outside it would be Wyatt. And, given Zachariah's knowledge of this particular gang, he knew that there would only be two to three men inside for Wyatt to deal with and the four out here were Zachariah's. 

All Zachariah could do was hope and trust that Wyatt would find Eleanor alive and safe inside that saloon. If she wasn't there.........

Zachariah shook his head. 

She would be there.

---

Wyatt took advantage of the darkening evening and stuck to the shadows and he slipped through the deserted town and made his way to the dilapidated saloon. 

Avoiding the back door, Wyatt slipped in through a broken window and found himself inside what must have once been the storage room. Broken cases of whiskey bottles and barrels of beer filled the dusty expanse of space inside. 

A faint smile born of amusement and sadness alike, curved Wyatt's lips as he remembered another time when he had found himself in a saloon storage room. He'd been locked up with Craig and Willie, the first time that Wyatt had decided to stand up for himself. He recalled how scared Craig had been of Jeb finding out they'd gotten in trouble and he also recalled how Gill had put that saloon owner in his place real fast. 

Those memories now seemed as if they were from an entirely different lifetime. 

Shaking his head to focus on the now instead of the past, Wyatt tiptoed to the door and pressed his ear against the rough wood. Two muffled male voices came from the next room. 

Pulling his knife, Wyatt cracked open the door and crouched low as he peeked inside the saloon. Two men sat at a back table with a deck of cards between them. Other than that, the big room was empty. 

Wyatt figured, if they were keeping Eleanor in the saloon, they'd be keeping her in one of the rooms upstairs. That meant he needed to get to the staircase and the poker players were in his way. If either of those men made a sound it would alert the four men with guns milling about outside. They weren't on high alert—seemed more like they were relaxing—but they were still outlaws with weapons and Wyatt wasn't about to assume they weren't dangerous. 

Studying the layout of the room, it didn't take Wyatt long to come up with a plan. He had always been good at things like this—it had been his main job with the gang. He'd almost always been the one to sneak inside the rich homesteads. 

The two men ended a hand and one laughed victoriously while the other tossed down his cards and cursed. "Damn you, you son of a bitch. If it weren't my deck we were playing with, I'd swear you were...." 

His words ended abruptly. The other man's laughter faded slowly as he studied his card playing partner. "You okay?" he asked cautiously. 

The losers only response was a muffled gurgle before blood spewed from his mouth. The other man had no time to comprehend what was happening before Wyatt pulled his knife from the dying man's back. He spun the weapon as he stood straight, revealing himself, and then tossed the knife through the air, sinking it deep into the second man's heart. 

With both men now out of the way, Wyatt wiped his knife clean and headed up the creaking staircase—moving as silently as he could and praying no one would hear the aged wood protesting his weight. 

He carefully checked each room, stopping when he heard a muffled whimper come from down the hall. Hastening his pace, Wyatt approached the door and listened close. 

The whimpering was certainly feminine and he could also hear what sounded like a man grunting. Wyatt's blood boiled. He knew damn well what was going on in that room. The thought of Zachariah's sister being forced—and knowing what that would do to Zachariah—made Wyatt see red. 

He slammed into the door, breaking the lock. As he stumbled into the room, a naked man leapt from the bed where a woman lay bound and bleeding. Wyatt knew the moment his eyes fell on her pale skin and red hair that she wasn't Eleanor—but she still needed his help. 

Figuring that this man might be able to help in finding Zachariah's sister, Wyatt chose not to kill him immediately. Instead he pulled his shot gun and blasted a shot through the man's thigh, shattering bone and mutilating flesh. 

The man screamed as he fell to the ground, no longer reaching for the gun belt beside the window. At the sound of the gun blast more shot and cries of alarm sounded from outside. Wyatt hoped Zachariah would be okay. 

He ripped the curtains down and used them to tie the injured man's arms. The man offered no fight. He was too busy crying, whimpering and begging for mercy. 

Wyatt didn't have any for a man who would beat and rape a helpless woman—those types of men didn't deserve a thing like mercy. 

With the man secure, Wyatt dashed from the room to check the few doors he'd skipped but, just as he'd begun to fear, Eleanor wasn't there. 

The gunfire ended outside and footsteps pounded up the staircase. Wyatt raised his gun, fully prepared to shoot, but instead let out a silent cry of relief when Zachariah appeared at the top of the staircase. The man was whole, safe and uninjured. 

Wyatt's entire body sagged with relief as the emotion washed over him. Zachariah came to Wyatt and touched his arm gently. "I'm damn glad you're okay, Wyatt. I didn't like this plan of yours one damn bit." 

Wyatt shrugged. 

‘It was a good plan.’

Zachariah rolled his eyes and let out a growl. "Did you find Eleanor?" he demanded, glancing over Wyatt's shoulder. 

Wyatt shook his head. 

‘She’s not here. There is a woman but not her. I left a man alive. You can talk to him.’

Zachariah's scarred face paled, the white lines and raised skin sticking out sharply as his eyes reddened. "She's not here?" 

Wyatt didn't know what to do so he did the first thing that came to mind and threw his arms around Zachariah in a hug. Zachariah stiffened at first and then he squeezed Wyatt gently before pulling away. "Where's the man? Take me to him." 

Wyatt nodded and turned quickly, leading Zachariah to their prisoner. While Zachariah went straight to the bleeding man and stared down at him, Wyatt went to the woman and undid the ropes holding her. He offered her a reassuring smile as she shied away from him. 

Wyatt grabbed a stiff wool blanket from the floor and covered her bare body before turning his attention back to Zachariah. "Where the hell is my sister?" Zachariah demanded of the man at his feet. 

"I don't know what you're talking about..." the man snapped as he attempted to sit up against the wall and licked at his sweat-slicked upper lip. "Tie my damn leg before I bleed to death."

"I ain't tying anything, you bastard," Zachariah growled, before kicking the man hard in the injured thigh. 

Screams of pain filled the room and Wyatt winced as he did his best to block the woman's view of the gore. He assumed she had already seen enough and it was clear she was terrified—and Zachariah appearance just now did not help that. 

The man was nearly seven feet of solid, vibrating, enraged muscle. His scarred cheeks were twitching as his jaw clenched and his gray eyes were a storm of rage. Even Wyatt felt a stirring of fear at the sight of him. Though Wyatt understood the anger. He understood the urge to kill that swam in a person's blood knowing they were facing a man who had harmed someone they loved. 

"I haven't seen Clint. Where is he? Where did he take my sister?" 

The man on the floor began to laugh. Wyatt knew the man was dying—his blood loss was too great. His laughter seemed to further anger Zachariah and Wyatt was certain he heard the man's knuckles pop as his hands clenched.

"I'm not telling you a damn thing, Zachariah. You shouldn't have killed Russel. You should have left well enough alone. Whatever happens to your sister is your fault—remember that. You only have yourself to blame." 

Wyatt leapt forward but was not fast enough to stop Zachariah from hoisting the dying man up by his hair "Where is Clint?" he hissed, pulling the whimpering man's head up even with his own. 

"Go to hell." 

Zachariah pulled his revolver with his free hand and pressed it to the man's temple. "Goddammit, tell me where he is! What have you done with my sister?" 

"Shoot me, you bastard. I'm dying either way." 

Zachariah growled, Wyatt winced and the woman on the bed began to scream when Zachariah pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed in the small room and blood splattered the wall. 

Wyatt had no idea what to say or do. Zachariah let the body fall to the floor before striding from the room without a single glance toward Wyatt or the woman.

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Zachariah paced camp that night as if he were a wild animal, caged and desperate. He'd torn that town upside down but Eleanor had been nowhere and neither had Clint. 

His sister was still out there somewhere with that bastard and it was all Zachariah's fault. Judging by the shape the woman they'd found had been in, Zachariah hated to think about what Eleanor would be going through out there...

A sudden idea came to Zachariah. He strode to the edge of camp and the make-shift tent that Wyatt had erected for the woman they'd found in that town. Wyatt had insisted they help her, and Zachariah hadn't argued. Now he hoped maybe the woman could be helpful. 

He threw back the tent flap and stuck his torso inside. The woman was sitting at the back with her knees into her chest and, at the sight of him, she began to scream. 

Zachariah's ears ached and began to ring. He hollered for her to stop, but if she heard him, she gave no indication. Her green eyes were wide and bright, her body trembling and her voice loud enough to peel paint from a wall. 

Suddenly Zachariah felt a hand grip the back of his shirt and his body was yanked from the tent. He stumbled before catching his balance and turned to see Wyatt frowning at him. 

‘What are you doing?’ Wyatt asked.

Zachariah ripped off his hat and tossed his long braid back. "I need to talk to that woman. She might know where Eleanor is." 

Wyatt shook his head as his gaze softened. 

‘She’s in no shape to talk just now. Give her time.’

Zachariah growled. "Eleanor doesn't have time!" 

He turned to go back into the tent but Wyatt slipped around him and stood in his way. "Move Wyatt," Zachariah warned. 

Wyatt's eyes rolled skyward before he crossed his arms over his chest and stared up at Zachariah stubbornly. 

‘Leave her alone.’

"She's going to talk to me, goddammit!" Zachariah bellowed. He reached out to shove Wyatt out of his way but the smaller man grabbed his arm, swooped in close and caught him with a hard punch in the gut before shoving him back. 

The air was knocked out of Zachariah and he bent down with his hands on his knees as he waited for his lungs to work properly again. He glanced up at Wyatt with disbelief. "What the hell was that for?" 

‘You needed to calm down.’

"They have my sister, Wyatt...." 

Wyatt nodded, his big brown eyes softening as he stepped forward and put his hand on Zachariah's shoulder.

‘Walk with me?’

"Walk?" Zachariah glanced back toward the tent and thought about the woman inside and how she was the only one who might be able to provide any answers. Then he looked at Wyatt and the hopeful expression on his boyish face and nodded. "Sure, let's take a walk." 

The two men walked side by side until they came to an outcropping of rocks. Wyatt gestured toward them and Zachariah sighed as he sat down. Surprise and shock alike filled him when Wyatt sat down beside him and laid his head on his shoulder. 

Zachariah had never been shown tenderness and he had no idea how to react. So he simply sat there stiffly and focused on breathing. Wyatt lifted his head and Zachariah let his gaze drop to his lips. 

‘Tell me about Eleanor.’

Zachariah's first instinct was to refuse—he had lived a rough life. The kind of life that taught a man to never open up and allow himself to be vulnerable. "Wyatt, I don't know how to act... I've never ... I've never had..." He growled as he struggled to put his thoughts into words. "That hug you gave me back at the saloon? That happened to be my first one." 

Wyatt sat up straight and his jaw dropped as he stared at Zachariah as if the words he'd just spoken were the strangest Wyatt had ever heard. 

He held up one long finger and frowned.

‘Only one?’

Zachariah nodded. "Yeah." He couldn't explain the why of it but he wanted Wyatt's head back on his shoulder. That had truly felt right. 

‘I have had lots of hugs. Didn’t you have family? Your sister?’

Zachariah didn't understand why Wyatt seemed so shocked and horrified. He sighed. "My mama died when I was born and my father—he was too busy drinking and either beating me or ignoring me to waste time with hugs. Eleanor.... Eleanor grew up in an orphanage and hugs weren't taught to her either." 

Wyatt stared hard at him a moment before grinning broadly and throwing his arms around Zachariah's neck. Zachariah sat there stiffly before finally slipping his arms around Wyatt in return. 

When Wyatt pulled away, several long peaceful moments later, he was smiling from ear to ear. He held up two fingers. Zachariah chuckled, surprised by the emotion in his throat. "Yeah...Yeah, now I've had two." 	 

That lump in Zachariah's throat grew larger when Wyatt relaxed against him once again and laid his head on his shoulder. Zachariah tentatively raised his hand and brushed his fingertips against Wyatt's knuckles. Wyatt opened his hand and entwined his fingers with Zachariah's. 

Zachariah felt something swell within his chest. Want and desire were two things he had grown accustomed to feeling around Wyatt but the feeling currently growing inside of him was different. It was softer, gentler and more subdued—but still just as strong. 

Wyatt nudged him a bit and Zachariah knew the man was waiting for him to speak. Zachariah gave his hand a squeeze and cleared his throat. "My mama died bringing me into the world. She was a white woman and my father was an Indian. I don't know what tribe he came from; he never spoke about it. I would have died as an infant if it hadn't been for my mama's sister. She raised me until I was two and a sickness took her. My father beat me some days, ignored me on others and was always drunk. When I was six, he remarried and they had my sister, Eleanor. He died when I was eight and Eleanor's mother disappeared. I've always believed she got tired of the beatings and killed him but why she would abandon her baby daughter, I don't know. 

"I wasn't old enough to care for a baby but I refused to go to the orphanage and so our first night there, I escaped. I learned how to survive and I checked on my sister from time to time. When she turned seventeen, they said she was too old to remain at the orphanage. I was twenty-four and had plenty of money set aside from hunting bounties. I bought her a place to live and set her up with enough livestock and money to support her.

"When I turned thirty, I decided I was tired of chasing after men with guns. I had enough money to live comfortably and keep my sister up for the rest of our lives. I didn't have a house of my own so I went to stay with her awhile. That's how they found her." 

Zachariah cursed under his breath and stared up at the darkening sky. "They found Eleanor because they were tracking me. They waited until I left and they swooped in and took her. I was gone three days—three goddam days—and when I got back, she was gone. That man in there was right—" The arm Zachariah had placed around Wyatt tightened. "—It's my fault they have her. I led them straight to her.  I should have stayed away...." 

Wyatt sat up and shook his head. 

‘It’s not your fault. They are bad people.’

"But they're bad people who wouldn't have even known my sister existed had it not been for me leading them to her." 

Wyatt sighed and, without attempting to say anything further, he curled his body into Zachariah's. Zachariah wrapped the smaller man's frame in his thick, strong arm and held him tight. Wyatt fit perfectly cocooned against Zachariah's chest. 

The two men stayed that way a long while. Zachariah was deep in thought but the peace and comfort of the contact was not lost on him. Darkness enveloped them and Zachariah was beginning to believe he could stay exactly like that with Wyatt forever. Then a scream pierced the night. 

Wyatt flew from his lap and Zachariah could barely keep up with the other man as they raced back to camp. The screaming came from inside the red-heads tent. Wyatt opened the flap but Zacharah couldn't see around him. The screaming quieted and only a quiet whimper could be heard. 

Wyatt stood straight and turned to face Zachariah.

‘She wants me to stay near her. She is afraid of the dark.’

"I was hoping you'd stay near me tonight," Zachariah admitted. 

Wyatt's eyes widened but he shook his head. 

‘She needs me. Maybe I can calm her enough so she can tell us about Eleanor. Isn’t that what you want?’

Truth was, yes, that was what Zachariah wanted more than anything—to have his sister back and safe. But, running a very close second to that was his want to have Wyatt held close to him on his bedroll as they gazed up at the stars. 

He let out an aggravated growl that died on his lips when Wyatt suddenly stepped forward, rose onto his toes and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth before disappearing back into the tent. 

Zachariah stared dumbfounded at that flap of cloth. Damnation. Hells bells. Shit fire and save on matches. 

Zachariah was in a hell of a lot of trouble.

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Wyatt sat in the darkness with the woman sleeping fitfully beside him. His pounding heart thumped in the quiet and his swirling mind had the tiny tent spinning. He couldn't believe what he'd done outside!

Wyatt's lips still tingled and burned from their contact with Zachariah. What had he been thinking? All he'd been able to focus on was the pain in Zachariah's voice as he'd talked about his sister and the stubborn jealousy he'd heard when Zachariah had learned Wyatt would be sleeping with the woman. 

Had Zachariah truly wanted Wyatt to sleep with him? As in share a bedroll? As in hold each other all night and do what lovers did when the rest of the world was sleeping?

Suddenly the little tent was feeling one hundred times smaller and a thousand degrees hotter. To cool down his blood, Wyatt tried to focus on the woman. She hadn't said a word other than to ask Wyatt not to leave her alone in the dark. Her name, where she'd come from and what she might know about Eleanor were still a mystery. 

Wyatt wanted to help Zachariah. He wanted the woman to tell them anything and everything she might know to find the man's sister. But Wyatt knew that rushing her or pressuring her for answers would only scare her and possibly cause her to lock herself deeper away. 

Due to his racing thoughts, it took a long while, but Wyatt slowly felt sleeping coming to claim him. Just as his eyes began to slip closed, an echoing scream filled the tent. 

Wyatt had his gun in his hands before he could stop himself. When he realized there was no threat, at least not one he could see, Wyatt tossed his shotgun aside and went to the woman. Her wide green eyes shone bright just before she threw her arms and legs around him and they toppled to the ground. 

"Don't let them get me. Don't let them get me. Don't let them get me." She chanted those words over and over and over again. 

Wyatt wished he could speak to comfort her but instead he simply held the trembling woman against him and rubbed her back. Pity and sadness filled him. He could only imagine what the poor woman had been through and no one deserved that fate. 

As Wyatt lay there on the thin blanket with the woman shaking and sobbing against him, the tent flap was pulled back and Wyatt could barely make out Zachariah's large frame. 

A low growl filled the darkness. "Having a good time?" 

Wyatt couldn't reply because it was far too dark for Zachariah to read his lips. So he simply shrugged and waved his hand. Zachariah merely grumbled and shook his head. "I heard her scream so I wanted to check on you. I'll let you get back to keeping her 

company .“

Wyatt rolled his eyes as Zachariah let the flap fall and disappeared. The man was being unreasonable. What was Wyatt supposed to do? Peel the terrified woman off of him, tell her to toughen up and leave her alone after what she'd been through? 

Wyatt sighed. Zachariah was struggling because he felt guilty and worried about his sister. But Wyatt was only one person. He'd have to make sure that tomorrow, he made time for the ex-bounty hunter to cry on his shoulder—if tough bounty hunters did things like crying.

---

Wyatt could barely move the next morning as he stepped out of the tent. He'd spent the night flat on his back with a rock in his spine and a stick in his shoulder.  

Before he could glance around for a sign of Zachariah, the man's large hands were suddenly on his shoulders and the heat from his muscular frame was radiating against Wyatt's back. 

"You look like you're in a bit of pain." 

Pain? Had he been in pain? All Wyatt could think of now was the pleasure currently coursing through his veins. It was as if a bolt of lightning had shot down from the blue sky above and lit his entire body on fire. With every stroke of his calloused fingers, Zachariah was causing Wyatt's insides to feel more and more—unsteady. 

He quickly pulled away and spun to look up at the much taller man. 

‘Good morning.’

Zachariah grunted and dropped his hands to the side. "Someone somewhere is probably having one."

Wyatt winced as he remembered Zachariah's fruitless mission to find his sister.  Zachariah glanced toward the tent. "How is she?" 

‘Still not ready to be much help,’ Wyatt admitted when Zachariah’s eyes found him again. ’ I’m sorry.’

Zachariah shrugged one large shoulder. "You don't have anything to apologize for. We'll get the woman to a town where she'll be safe to recover and I'll think of some way to find Eleanor—there's always a chance he's somewhere on the trail." 

Wyatt shivered. He knew what trail Zachariah was talking about. The Sante Fe Trail. Frequented by soldiers, lawmen and outlaws alike—a place where a 'dead' man could get in a lot of trouble if anyone recognized him. But, then again, Wyatt's face wasn't one most people knew and his name wasn't a familiar one like Gilliam Tomlinson or Jebidiah Crane. 

Zachariah must have noticed his trepidation. He stepped forward and bent his head lower to Wyatt's level. "I'll keep you safe, Wyatt...." Then a mask of indifference slid over his face, masking his emotions. "Or you can head back home and I'll be thankful for all your help so far." 

Wyatt shook his head and stepped forward, laying his hand on Zachariah's arm. 

‘I want to help you. We’ll find your sister.’

A smile creased Zachariah's scarred cheeks. "Good to know."

His name was fearfully called from inside the tent and Wyatt sighed. He attempted to go around Zachariah but the other man caught his arm, stopping him in his tracks. "And Wyatt?" 

Wyatt glanced up at him, feeling his legs trembling a bit as he did. Instead of speaking, Zachariah bent low and pressed the lightest of kisses to the corner of Wyatt's mouth. 

Then the man released his hold and headed to the fire to start breakfast. Wyatt was left to stand on wobbling legs until he somehow found his balance and rushed back into the tent. 

---

Zachariah cast a glance toward the woman currently riding behind Wyatt and holding tight to him and scowled before facing forward once more. He didn't like having that woman along for more reasons than one. 

Zachariah was a loner. He didn't have a problem with people, necessarily, he'd just always gotten along better without them—until Wyatt. 

Then there was the constant reminder, worry and guilt that would take hold of his heart and mind; seizing him and leaving Zachariah struggling to think clearly or even breathe when he looked at her. All he saw in that broken, pale mess of red hair and tears was his younger sister, so sweet, so innocent and in the hands of a monster. 

And third? Zachariah felt a jolt of jealousy shoot through him each and every time he had to watch Wyatt hold the woman close  or watch her cling to him. Two days. Two days they'd been traveling and she'd been attached to Wyatt's side, crying out for the man at all hours of the night. 

Zachariah knew, logically, that it was unfair and pointless to be jealous. Wyatt was a man who preferred men—Zachariah was hoping Wyatt would decide he preferred him—and this woman had suffered a terrible tragedy and, for some reason, Wyatt helped her cope. But that didn't stop that deep down animal response inside Zachariah that had him wanting to grab hold of Wyatt and say 'mine!'

He glanced at the sun sinking lower in the sky and sighed. By tomorrow night they should reach the tiny town of Norfolk. They could leave the woman there, stock up on supplies and head for the trail to, hopefully, catch wind of where Clint had taken Eleanor. 

And Zachariah could have a bit of time alone with Wyatt to explore exactly what it was that was building between them.

For what seemed liked the thousandth time that day, Zachariah was aware of Wyatt glancing over his shoulder. "What's wrong?" Zachariah asked, bringing his horse closer to the other man. 

Wyatt frowned before meeting his gaze. 

‘I have felt like someone has been dogging us all day.’

Zachariah nodded. He'd felt that too. That tingling up the back of your spine, into your scalp, that tells you you're being watched. But as of yet he'd been unable to see their shadow. 

"Just keep riding straight with her and I'll circle back and see if I can't find our friend." 

Wyatt's soulful brown eyes met his. 

‘Be careful.’

Zachariah simply held his gaze a moment before clicking his tongue and riding off to the east. 

It was easier than he'd anticipated to find the man who'd been following them since morning. He'd stopped to take a drink of water from a stream and allow his horse a rest. 

Zachariah took a page out of Wyatt's book and slipped silently behind the stranger. He pulled his revolver and held it like a club. 

When Zachariah was within hitting distance, he whistled quietly and the man whirled around just as Zachariah brought his gun down. 

The butt of the revolver cracked loudly against the stranger's skull and without so much as a whimper, the man fell with a thud to the dirt. 

Zachariah stared down at him frowning. He had no idea who in the hell the man was. He had blond hair that was messy and dirty and hung nearly to his shoulders. His features seemed a bit soft—maybe even a bit boyish. His skin was tanned from time in the sun and his physique made it clear he'd lived a life of hard work and horseback riding. 

He certainly didn't look like the type of man who would run with Clint—hell the man only seemed to be carrying one gun. 

Zachariah removed the weapon, did a fruitless check for more and then tied the man's wrists before tossing him over the back of the gray mare who'd been sipping from the stream. 

Zachariah would let Wyatt take a look at the man, see if he recognized him, and they'd have a talk with him together about what the hell he was doing following them. 

If the stranger posed a threat, Zachariah had no problem killing him. 

When Wyatt and the woman came into view, Zachariah was unhappy to see that they'd stopped and Wyatt was already getting a fire going. 

Hadn't Zachariah told him to keep traveling? 

He hopped off his horse as Wyatt started his way, his hand resting on his shot gun and his gaze on the man currently lying on his belly across the saddle with his hair nearly dragging the ground. 

"He's taking a nap," Zachariah stated. "Take a look. Do you know him?" 

Wyatt walked to the man, grabbed a handful of his dirty blond hair in his fist and raised his head. His brown eyes widened as he let the man go and took a step back. 

"Who is he?" Zachariah demanded. 

Wyatt met his gaze and it was clear the man was more than a little confused. His mouth worked up and down several times but nothing was readable. Finally he let out a breath and his shoulders sagged. 

‘Yeah I know him. That’s Jeb’s brother Craig. Craig Crane.’

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Zachariah sat beside the fire and watched Craig closely. The man was beginning to stir and Zachariah didn’t like the way Wyatt seemed confused and angry—and he was fairly certain he could see hurt in those brown eyes as well as he studied Craig.

        Why was Craig here? Did he want to convince Wyatt to go home? Did he mean Wyatt harm?  Were he and Wyatt truly just friends or had there been something more and now Craig had come to rekindle it? That would explain that storm of conflicting emotions in Wyatt's eyes. 

        And what would Zachariah do if that were the case? Calmly turn around and walk away? Yell, scream and fight to keep Wyatt with him? Perhaps skin the blond-haired bastard alive—the possibilities were quite endless.

        "Holy mother of pearl....I've got a lump the size of a boulder and a headache to match. I'm gonna shoot the bastard that hit me as soon as I can move with crying." 

        Zachariah's attention snapped back to Craig as the man slowly sat up and his eyes blinked open. The first person his blurry gaze landed on was Zachariah and, at the sight of him, they widened substantially. 

        "Damn. You are one big, ugly bastard. I guess I should be happy I ain't dead and quit grumbling about a lump." 

        Wyatt surprised them both when he leaned forward and shoved Craig. Hard. Nearly toppling the wobbly man over. 

        "Wyatt!" Craig smiled but the smile quickly vanished at the hard glare Wyatt sent back. 

        

‘What are you doing here?’ Wyatt demanded.

        Craig frowned. "What do you mean? I'm your best friend, Wyatt. Why wouldn't I be here?" 

        Zachariah saw Wyatt's brow rise as his jaw popped and his eyes redden. 

‘You weren’t my friend last time we talked.’

Craig paled and swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.” He glanced over at Zachariah as if hoping he’d go away.

        That wasn't going to happen. 

        "I was in a bad place. I was drinking too much. I took my hurt out on you and I shouldn't have done that." 

        

‘You’re in a better place now?’ Wyatt asked, his expression skeptical.

        Craig shrugged. "I miss Willie and I always will. And I miss that life. But I'm done drinking myself into a stupor." 

        

‘Why the change?’

Craig sighed and kicked at the dirt. “Jeb had a few not nice things to say to me after he tossed me in a watering trough. I took a few days to sober up, cool off and realized he was right.”

        Zachariah simply watched Wyatt closely. He had learned every nuance of the man's expressions and posture. He could read him like a book. It was clear that Wyatt was still a bit hurt and confused but a wide smile was soon splitting his face and he slid over to wrap Craig in a warm hug. 

        Great. One more person stealing Wyatt's affection while Zachariah was left with none. He'd spent his whole life affectionless—it shouldn't bother him. But those few hugs and gentle touches from Wyatt had meant more to Zachariah than he could put into words and he wanted more. 

        Just to remind the two distracted men that he was still around, Zachariah cleared his throat. Craig turned to look at him as Wyatt pulled away. The look on Craig's face was anything but friendly. 

        "Who the hell do you think you are?" he snapped. "You yank Wyatt away from home and try to get him killed for what?" 

        Zachariah bristled. "I didn't yank Wyatt anywhere. Hell, I didn't even want him around at first but he insisted."

        Craig snorted. "And why would he do that? Wyatt wouldn't abandon all of us and ride off with a stranger. What did you do to him?"

        Zachariah snorted. Why did so many seem to think that Wyatt was incapable of making his own choices? These people, his family and friends, seemed to doubt him and believe Wyatt needed protection. 

        Wyatt was tough as hell. Wyatt didn't need their smothering. 

        "I didn't do anything to him. He came of his own free will and seemed pretty damn sure that none of you would care whether he was around or not." 

        Craig's face paled and Zachariah was sure that was guilt in the man's green eyes as he turned his attention back to Wyatt. "I do care, Wyatt."     

        Wyatt nodded. 

‘I know. Zachariah is too protective.’

Zachariah huffed with indignation. Why that little….. Too protective?!

        Zachariah shoved himself to his feet and adjusted his gun belt. "I'll just let you two catch up," he growled, before stomping away toward the tent they'd set up for the woman nearly one hundred yards away. She'd been terrified to see a new man in camp and so Wyatt had been sure to place her at a distance she felt relatively safe. 

        He stepped up to the tent and stood there feeling more than a little awkward. He couldn't exactly knock seeing as how tents had no doors but each time he had ever simply 'popped' his head into the woman's tent she'd begun to shriek and blubber as if he were death himself. 

        It wasn't that Zachariah was hard-hearted. He knew the woman had suffered at the hands of her captors—but he truly wished she'd be a bit stronger and do 

something other than cry, stare into space, scream and cling to Wyatt.

        Zachariah needed to find his sister. He needed to know where Clint had gone. He had a feeling this woman held at least some kind of answer but she wouldn't speak to them about any of it—hell she hadn't even told them her name. 

        Unwilling to poke his head in there and cause that screaming racket to start, yet unwilling to return to the reunion at the fire, Zachariah settled down on the ground cross-legged in front of the tent. He had a feeling the woman had heard his approach—with any luck she'd poke her own head out and he'd be able to get her to speak to him. 

---

        Wyatt chewed his bottom lip as he watched Zachariah settle down near the tent. He'd obviously hurt the other man's feelings. What exactly had he gotten himself into?

        Wyatt's heart was falling into the hands of an overprotective, oversensitive, scarred up, ex-bounty hunter who didn't know much at all of love and affection. 

        Wyatt froze. 

        His heart was falling. 

        Shit. 

        He hadn't meant to think that! 

        Was it really?

        Was he falling in love with Zachariah?

        "What the hell is the story with that bastard?" Craig's voice cut through Wyatt's shocking thoughts. 

        He tore his eyes away from Zachariah and turned his attention back to his best friend. 

‘What do you mean?’

“I mean…” Craig grumbled as he sat forward and poked at the small fire with a stick. “Why are you out here with him? Why aren’t you home with everyone else?”

        Wyatt sighed. The answer came automatically. He didn't even have to think about it and he knew it was the truth—even though Zachariah probably didn't even realize it yet. 

        

‘He needs me.’

“He needs you? Needs you for what? Protection?” Craig chuckled. “No offense best friend but I don’t believe that big bastard will need much in the way of protection. I reckon he looks like he can handle himself.”

        Wyatt shook his head, flushed and let his gaze drop to the dirt beside his feet. Craig was silent for a long moment. The stick he'd been using to poke at the fire was tossed into the flames. 

        "Wait one cotton-picking minute...." 

        Wyatt glared at his friend's use of slave terminology but still didn't look up. "Are you telling me that you came with Zachariah—that you're with him now—because you actually 

want to be with him?“

        Wyatt gave the tiniest of nods. He had never opened up to anyone about his desires before. He'd never let any of his family know that he dreamed of falling in love and spending his life with a man instead of a woman. He hated knowing that now Craig had one more thing he'd have to 'put up' with when it came to his best friend's oddities. 

        "Well shit, Wyatt! Why didn't you ever say anything? I just thought you were shy or something when you kept turning down spending time with women. I wouldn't have teased you so hard or pushed you to do it!"

        Wyatt finally met Craig's gaze. 

‘Sorry.’

“Now dammit, don’t do that. Don’t apologize that way. Do you honestly think I care that you want men? Hell, I grew up with Jeb! It don’t matter to me who you want to fall in love with—but I’m not too sure I like the thought of you with him.”

        Wyatt frowned. He hadn't been sure what reaction he'd been expecting. He should have known Craig wouldn't care about his preferences given that Jebidiah had the same ones but Wyatt had thought that Craig might be annoyed or grumble about there being yet one more odd thing about Wyatt. 

        Instead, Craig only seemed annoyed that it was Zachariah he was riding with. Craig cleared his throat. "Are you in love with him? Is that why you're so hell bent on helping the man?"

        Wyatt gave a quick denial—probably too quick. But he wasn't in love with Zachariah.... At least not yet. 

        "But you're interested in him," Craig stated. "That's a big part of the reason that you're still here." 

        Wyatt saw a teasing light in Craig's eyes and he sighed. There was no point denying the truth. Craig grinned. "I guess that means riding along then." 

        

‘I don’t think Zachariah will like that,’ Wyatt warned.

        "I don't care if big, dark, scarred, heavy-fisted man likes it or not," Craig quickly assured him. "Now I might have gone a bit crazy for a while but I'm back now and I'm your best friend. If you're going to be riding around killing people, I can't let you have all the fun." 

        Wyatt's gaze went to the sky as he gave up arguing. All he could do was hope that Zachariah wouldn't be too angry about having yet another person tagging along in the search for Eleanor.

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Zachariah was completely lost in thought and nearly cried out with shock when the tent flap suddenly flew to the side and a mess of red hair entered his line of vision.

        "I'm over here," he announced quietly, hoping she wouldn't do what seemed to come natural to her and scream as she hid herself away.             

        

Instead she turned to face him and Zachariah found himself staring at a pair of wide green eyes in a pale face. “You want to know about her, don’t you?” the woman inquired, her voice barely more than a whisper.

        "You know about her?" Zachariah demanded. He barely managed to suppress the urge to reach out, take her by the shoulders and shake her violently when she didn't answer immediately. Instead he balled his hands into fists and clenched them tightly. "Do you know Eleanor?" 

        The woman stepped out of the tent, keeping the wool blanket she was wrapped in, tight around her body despite the heat of the evening. She sat down on the ground and pulled her knees into her chest as she stared hard at Zachariah's legs. 

        "They took her away about two days before you arrived." 

        Shit. He'd missed her by that much?

        "Was she alive?" 

        The woman met his gaze as her face paled and her eyes darkened. "She was breathing. I wouldn't call any woman Clint has held captive alive." 

        Zachariah squeezed his eyes shut tight as he swallowed down a hard ball of twisted guilt, sadness and bile. He didn't open his eyes when he asked. "Do you know where they took her?" 

        "No."

        That one word sent a rock crashing through Zachariah's gut. No. She didn't know. He had been so sure that she would know. He'd been so sure that she would be his ticket to finding his missing sister. 

        But she wasn't going to be 

        She didn't know. 

        A hand fell upon Zachariah's shoulder and he didn't even have to open his eyes to know that he'd see Wyatt's dark skin. The hand squeezed gently and Zachariah let himself lean back against the man whose presence gave him comfort. 

        A quick glance to the campfire revealed Craig sitting beside the flames alone and looking none too happy about it. 

        "I'm sorry I'm no help," the woman whispered. "I can only say she was breathing when they took her away. She left with Clint and two other men."

        Zachariah simply nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak just yet. The woman quickly ducked back into her tent and let the flap fall. Wyatt came to the front of Zachariah and crouched down to his level. 

        His soulful brown eyes let his with a certainty that was breathtaking. 

‘We’ll find her, Zachariah. They still have her alive and she’s waiting for us. We won’t let her down.’

Zachariah nodded but didn’t speak. If he spoke, it would be around the lump currently lodged in his throat and Zachariah didn’t want Wyatt realizing just how close to tears he was.

        Finally, Zachariah glanced at Craig. "What about him?"

        

‘He’s helping.’

Great. One more person standing between Zachariah and Wyatt and any time alone the two might have. Zachariah sighed. It was probably a blessing that Craig was coming along. He needed to be focused on finding Eleanor, not getting Wyatt alone.

‘She talked to you.’

Zachariah frowned and it took a moment for him to realize that Wyatt meant the woman in the tent. “Yeah.” He nodded. “She did.”

‘What’s her name?’

Zachariah shrugged. “Hell I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask.”

---

Wyatt frowned as he searched through his saddlebags and realized his notebook was missing.

        "What are you looking for?" Zachariah asked, glancing up from the knife he was sharpening just inside the orange glow of the campfire. 

        

‘My notebook is missing.’

“I don’t reckon you need it,” Craig assured him as he lost yet another hand of solitaire. “Me and the injun both know what you’re saying just fine.”

        Zachariah growled. "He enjoys writing in it every night. I reckon that's something else 

I know.“

        Craig snorted and focused his attention on an exasperated Wyatt. "Maybe the crazy woman has it," he stated, tilting his head toward the tent. 

        Wyatt glared at his friend. 

‘Why would you call her crazy?’

Craig backpedaled quickly and pointed an accusatory finger at Zachariah. “He said she was!”

        Wyatt turned his glare in Zachariah's direction while the man looked at Craig with an expression that made it clear he wished the other man harm. Zachariah shook his head. "I might have said she was a bit odd.... But I don't remember saying crazy." 

        Wyatt's gaze went skyward and he wondered how he'd manage to deal with both men from here on out. He decided to go check the tent for his notebook and headed that way. 

        As he pushed the flap aside and stepped in, it took Wyatt's eyes a moment to adjust to the change of light. When his vision cleared, Wyatt's eyes widened and his stomach turned. 

        He stumbled backward, scrambling for the flap. Wyatt took a deep breath once back in the open but his eyes remained lost in the horror he'd just left behind. 

        Without offering an explanation to either of the men frowning at him from the fireside, Wyatt ran off into the darkness. 

---

        "Wyatt?!" Zachariah called out as the man disappeared into the night. 

        "Where's he going?" Craig wondered aloud. 

        Instead of replying to the question that he didn't know the answer to, Zachariah focused his attention on the tent. What could have caused that horrified expression that had been on Wyatt's face as he'd run away? A hollowness settled into Zachariah's gut. 

        There was only one explanation, one answer, that his mind could come up with. 

        "I'm going after him," Craig spoke up. 

        Zachariah shook his head and stood slowly. "First, let's see what had him running off." 

        Zachariah's footsteps were slow and hesitant. His hand shook as he reached out and took hold of that flap of cloth. 

        The moment Zachariah stepped foot into the tent, the acidic scent of copper slammed into his senses. 

        Blood. 

        His sharp eyes went to the bedroll and he quickly looked away. 

        Dead. 

        The woman was lying dead in a pool of her own blood. The knife she had used upon herself was lying beside her lifeless hand.

        Zachariah cursed under his breath. Suicide. It was something he had never understood. 

        He could only imagine the pain Wyatt would be in. He had saved the woman and he had gone above and beyond in trying to help her recover and feel safe. And it had all been for nothing. 

        "Oh damn." 

        Zachariah merely grunted in response to Craig. The man didn't seem like the brightest of men but if he was Wyatt's friend, then Zachariah had to tolerate him. 

        Zachariah's eyes fell on Wyatt's notebook and, even in the darkness, he could see writing scrawled across the page. And it was clear the writing was far too neat to be Wyatt's penmanship. 

        Zachariah snatched up the notebook and turned to face Craig whose face was looking a bit green. "Do you read?" 

        Craig blinked several times as he tore his gaze from the woman. "Yeah... I'll need light though."

        Zachariah nodded and led Craig back out to the fire, happy to breathe fresh air into his lungs. When they reached the campfire, Zachariah shoved the notebook into Craig's chest. "Read it." 

        Craig winced and it was clear the man didn't want to do what Zachariah was telling him to do. "I can't read well, dammit, and I need to know what it says." 

        Craig sighed and his eyes dropped to the paper. "I'm sorry. Please know that I am grateful that the two of you took me away from that place and those men....but the truth is, you were far too late to save me. Wyatt, thank you for your patience and kindness. Zachariah, I am sorry I couldn't help more in your search for your sister. She's lucky to have a brother looking for her. I have heard Clint mention a cousin who lives north on the trail—he may have gone there. I hope you find her in time to not only get her away but save her as well. Please forgive me."

        Zachariah felt somehow numb inside. An image of Eleanor lying in a pool of blood, dead by her own hand, seemed to burn itself into his mind. 

        He felt a presence behind him and knew it was Wyatt. Zachariah turned and pulled the other man into his chest He knew Wyatt would be hurting and he wanted to offer what comfort her could. And holding Wyatt that way was all that gave Zachariah the smallest bit of comfort in that moment.  

        "I'm sorry, Wyatt," Zachariah offered, feeling the words were fall too weak. 

        Wyatt pulled away slightly, his brown eyes shining and sad. 

‘We will save Eleanor.’

        Zachariah swallowed hard and nodded. "I know we will." 

        Zachariah kept a strong arm around Wyatt as Wyatt turned his gaze toward the tent. 

‘We never even learned her name.’

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Wyatt’s worry for Zachariah grew after they laid the woman to rest in her shallow grave. The man had been on his horse and ready leave within moments.

        He had become a man possessed. Possessed with getting to the Sante Fe Trail and finding Clint. 

        He avoided any conversation and even seemed to be avoiding Wyatt. He had stopped speaking of saving Eleanor when he did choose to say anything and instead only talked about how he would make Clint pay. 

        Wyatt knew that the woman's suicide and the words in her note had convinced Zachariah that they would be too late to save Eleanor from a similar fate.      

        "Do you think you could talk your man into letting us have a day to rest?" Craig whimpered as he slid out of his saddle one evening. They'd been riding hard for just over a week and everyone was wearing down. "I need rest and our horses are damn near spent." 

        Wyatt sighed as he patted his Appaloosa. She had put on a bit of weight and wasn't quite as skittish as she'd been before. But Wyatt knew she was tired and her attitude was showing it. She'd been cranky all day. 

        From the corner of his eye Wyatt watched Zachariah head toward an outcropping of rocks in the distance. Zachariah had taken to staying away from him and Craig when they camped at night. So far Wyatt had respected his privacy and given him space but that was ending tonight. 

        Zachariah was too closed off and too full of anger. If they encountered danger just now, Zachariah wouldn't meet it with a clear or level head and Wyatt didn't want to watch him get himself killed. 

        

‘I’ll talk to him,’ Wyatt promised. ‘Unsaddle her and feed her while I’m busy.’

Craig shook his head. “Hell no! That horse is off in her head. She hates me.”

        Wyatt shrugged and a smile spread across his face. 

‘You’re the ladies man You’ll figure out how to talk to her.’

Leaving Craig muttering oaths and curses under his breath, Wyatt followed after Zachariah. Darkness was already falling fast when Wyatt found him sitting upon the rocks. His shoulders were slumped and his face was a solemn mask. He looked much like a lost man.

        A defeated man. 

        Wyatt ran to him. He scrambled onto Zachariah's lap, put his arms around his neck and buried his face in his shoulder; desperate to give the man all the comfort he could. 

        Instantly, Zachariah's arms ensnared him, pulling him closer still. Wyatt felt a tender kiss be placed on his head and his heart began to flip and flop in his chest. 

        "I'm sorry," Zachariah whispered. 

        Wyatt lifted his head. 

‘For what?’

“For not helping you. You’ve been hurting and I haven’t been there.”

‘You’re hurting too. I let you have space because I thought that’s what you needed.’

“I did,” Zachariah agreed. “But you needed affection and I denied you that.”

        Wyatt smiled and shook his head. 

‘I’m strong. You needed space and I gave you that. But now I’m taking it back.’

Zachariah chuckled and tightened his hold. “You are something else, Wyatt. I can’t for the life of me, figure out why everyone worries about you so much. You’re more than capable of taking care of things.”

‘We always worry about the people we care about,’ Wyatt replied simply. ‘That’s why I’m worried about you.’

Zachariah sighed and his gray eyes looked out over the rolling hills surrounding them. “Don’t worry about me, Wyatt. I’m strong too.”

        Wyatt clicked his tongue, drawing Zachariah's gaze back to him. 

‘You’re not as tough as you want everyone to think.’

Wyatt saw the color drain from the ex-bounty hunters scarred cheeks. His storm gray eyes became haunted and he rubbed his hand over his face roughly. “All I see when I close my eyes or stop moving long enough to think is that woman lying there in all that blood—then I stop seeing her and see Eleanor instead. I see Eleanor lying dead with a knife beside her hand and realize I wasn’t good enough to save her.”

        Wyatt simply laid his head upon Zachariah's chest and listened to his heart and Zachariah simply held him. They sat there for a long while, doing nothing but holding one another. 

            Wyatt knew there was nothing he could say that could possibly offer Zachariah any real comfort. 

        He could say that Eleanor would be fine. He could tell Zachariah that they would find her, save her and that her story would have a much happier ending than the woman before her.... But somehow Wyatt knew that Zachariah wasn't a man who would be comforted by sugar coated lies. 

        Truth was, Eleanor might already be dead. She might be too far gone to save. She may very well end up taking her own life just to escape the nightmares of what she'd endured. 

        So Wyatt did all he could do and that was simply be there. 

        Night fell and crickets sang their songs.  A coyote yipped in the distance and stars dotted the sky around a full moon. 

        Wyatt shifted slightly and Zachariah sighed. "We should head back. You're hungry and you need rest." 

        Wyatt rolled his eyes. 

‘I’m fine. You need food and rest too.’

“I’d rather have time with you,” Zachariah admitted, seeming a bit embarrassed by the admission.

        Wyatt smiled as a tremble washed over him. 

‘You’re the one who mentioned leaving.’

Zachariah’s deep chuckle filled the air. “Forget I mentioned it.”

‘Forgotten.’

“Is Craig going to come looking for us?”

        Wyatt shook his head. 

‘He’s busy with camp and the horses. I left them for him to tend.’

A thick black brow quirked up on a scarred face. “Even yours?”

        Wyatt flashed a mischievous grin in the moonlight. 

‘Even mine.’

“Good.”

        Before Wyatt could ask why it was good, Zachariah put a finger under his chin, raised his jaw and crushed their lips together. 

---

        Zachariah hadn't planned on kissing Wyatt. Hell, he hadn't even planned on being 

near Wyatt! He’d thought he distance to stay focused on his mission and keep from losing his mind—he’d been wrong.

        Zachariah 

needed Wyatt.

        He wasn't sure how it had happened, or when, but somehow Wyatt's presence had become essential to his survival. 

        Zachariah couldn't seem to breathe as he tasted Wyatt's lips and drank him in. He'd never been much for romance or flowery thoughts and words but, damn if Wyatt didn't inspire him. 

        It felt as if Wyatt's presence in his lap were the only thing keeping him from floating straight off that rock and rising into the night sky. His self-control was slipping fast as he finally partook in the temptation he'd been trying hard to avoid. 

        Wyatt's hands grabbed fists full of Zachariah's shirt and held tight. 

        Zachariah growled and nipped at Wyatt's mouth, demanding entrance. 

        He couldn't get enough. He yanked at Wyatt's shirt, pulling it from his trousers so he could slip his hands beneath the fabric and feel the smooth, hard planes of Watt's chest and stomach. 

        He felt the other man tremble beneath his touch and he smiled against Wyatt's mouth. 

        "You okay?" Zachariah whispered, pulling away slightly. 

        Wyatt's brown eyes shone in the light of the full moon. Without replying, he all but leapt at Zachariah and continued the kiss. 

        Hands roamed as mouths devoured and bodies ached. Zachariah had known that his hunger for Wyatt was strong but he hadn't realized just how all-consuming it would be once he gave in to it. 

        Zachariah felt Wyatt's hands moving lower across his stomach and to his waist. His cock yearned to have those hands just a bit further south. 

        Wyatt's name left his mouth as a curse and he shoved himself to his feet, placing Wyatt on his feet as well. Wyatt's soulful brown eyes were wide and questioning as he gazed up at Zachariah. 

        Deep in his chest, Zachariah's heart did a slow roll. Never had anyone looked at him quite the way Wyatt did 

        With slow but deliberate movements, Zachariah took hold of Wyatt's gun belt and undid the buckle, tossing the strip of leather aside as he slid it from Wyatt's hips. 

        He slipped his fingers into the waistband of Wyatt's trousers and pulled him closer before cradling his face in his hands and kissing him tenderly. 

        The soulful kiss was quickly torn apart by the sound of pounding hooves. 

        Zachariah threw Wyatt behind him to shield his body as he turned toward the sound. "Damnation," he growled. 

        Wyatt's Appaloosa came galloping toward them like a ghost in the moonlight. And Craig was behind her, chasing after her for all he was worth. "Damn horse!" he gasped as she came to a stop beside Wyatt. 

        Craig put his hands on his knees and leaned forward, struggling to catch his breath. "Soap Wyatt," he panted. "All she's good for is soap. And if the ugly nag bites me again, I'll be biting her back." 

        When neither Zachariah nor Wyatt replied, Craig finally looked at them both. Zachariah saw his eyes widen when he saw Wyatt's discarded gun belt and untucked shirt as well as the two buttons now missing from Zachariah's shirt due to Wyatt's roaming hands. 

        A sheepish grin spread across Craig's boyish face. "Did you have fun?" 

        Before Zachariah could tell the man to get lost, Wyatt stepped forward. Judging by the animated hand gestures and rapid mouth movement, Zachariah hazard to guess that Craig was getting one hell of a lecture. 

        Unfortunately, Zachariah was at the wrong angle to know exactly what his man was saying. 

        Craig shook his head, reached out and placed his hand over Wyatt's mouth. "Slow down, jabber mouth. You know I don't understand you when you get fired up." 

        Wyatt threw up his hands and sent his gaze in the same direction. He took his mare by the reins and scooped up his gun belt. 

‘I’m going back to camp.’

“Wait!” Craig called. “Did you talk to him about taking a day to rest?”

        Wyatt glared. 

‘No. We didn’t do much talking.’

Zachariah nearly choked on his tongue at Wyatt’s honesty and Craig flushed in the moonlight. “Well.. uh…. Zachariah, do you think we could take a day tomorrow to rest?”

        Zachariah sighed. He knew they were all tired and so were the horses. Stopping would mean time with Wyatt but it would also mean more time that Eleanor was a prisoner. 

        "No." He saw disappointment on Wyatt's face. "But we're only a couple days ride from a town. We can stop there, take a day to rest, restock our supplies and see if we can't learn a thing or two about where Clint might be." Zachariah met Wyatt's gaze. "I think a nice soft bed sounds nice." 

        It was Wyatt's turn to be embarrassed as the man quickly looked to the ground and nibble his lip. Without a response, he quickly dashed away back toward camp. 

        "It sure will be nice to have a rest," Craig stated. 

        Zachariah gave him a sideways glance and wondered why in the hell the man was attempting to make conversation with him. "Yeah," he grunted. 

        Craig patted him on the shoulder. "Sorry about letting that horse interrupt your time with Wyatt. She's a feisty one." 

        Zachariah merely growled. "Interrupt us again and you'll be the one being made into soap." 

        With those parting words, Zachariah headed back toward camp with every inch of him aching to finish what he and Wyatt had started.

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Just as Zachariah had said they would, the trio reached a town at the end of the second day just as the sky was turning orange.

        After dropping their horses off at the livery, the men stood shoulder to shoulder on the bustling road. This town was a common stop along the trail for anyone traveling upon it. Therefore, the people around them ranged from outlaws, to lawmen, to cattle herders and businessmen. 

        "Wyatt, go get us a room at that hotel down here. See about paying for all of us one of those showers their sign boasts about," Zachariah said. 

        Wyatt nodded as he adjusted the saddlebags over his shoulder. 

‘What are you gonna do?’

Zachariah glanced toward a pair of saloons down the street “I’m gonna go see if I can’t learn something about Clive.”

        "There are two saloons," Craig stated. "Why don't I help by taking one while you take the other?" 

        Zachariah turned a questioning glance toward Wyatt. Wyatt scratched at his neck and bit his lip. 

‘You sure that’s a good idea?’

Craig shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it be?” When Wyatt’s brow raised, Craig scoffed and patted his friend on the back. “I’ll be just fine, Wyatt. Don’t worry about me.”

        Wyatt was still skeptical. 

‘No drinking, Craig.’ Memories of losing his best friend to the bottle plucked at old hurts and wounds.

        Anger darkened Craig's expression before he masked it with a smile. "I'm a grown man, Wyatt. I'll be just fine. Stop mother henning me. You're starting to sound like Jeb." 

        Wyatt sighed. He didn't think sounding like Jeb was a bad thing at all. 

‘I’ll get some rooms,’ he said and with that Wyatt walked away. He wasn’t comfortable at all with Craig being near whiskey but he also knew there wasn’t a single thing he could about it.

        Wyatt stepped into the hotel lobby and found the front desk empty. He frowned and took a seat on a roughly hewn bench to wait for someone to check him in. A set of swinging doors to his right opened momentarily to reveal a crowded diner attached to the hotel and brimming with people. 

        A tremendous growling sounded from the pit of Wyatt's stomach, reminding him that he was hungry. His mouth watered. A real hot meal sounded damn good right about now....But he wouldn't eat without Craig and Zachariah. They were just as hungry as he was.

        Wyatt leaned against the wall. The hotel clerk was probably at the diner eating supper and Wyatt would just have to wait patiently. While waiting, Wyatt let his mind wander back to the night when Zachariah had kissed him in the moonlight. 

        He felt his heart speed up at the memory and his blood seemed to grow hotter. Zachariah's kisses had been intoxicating. Wyatt wanted more—and tonight he'd get it. That thought both terrified and excited him. 

        Wyatt had never been with another man before... would he disappoint Zachariah with his lack of experience?

        After what seemed an eternity, the hotel clerk finally emerged from within the diner. He adjusted his glasses and patted his bulging belly. "Sorry to keep you waiting, sir," he acknowledged with a tilt of his head as he stepped behind the desk. "Can I help you?"

        Wyatt stood and nodded as he approached the desk with a friendly smile. He held up two fingers and pointed toward the staircase that led to the rooms. 

        The clerk frowned. "Is there a reason you won't speak, sir?" 

        Wyatt sighed and forced that smile to remain on his face. He hated towns. He hated meeting new people and having to explain himself. He pointed to his mouth and shook his head. 

        "Just what I need in my hotel," the clerk grumbled with a sniff. "A colored man who's dumb to boot." 

        Wyatt felt as if he'd been hit—though it wasn't anything he hadn't heard before. He felt his smile falter a bit but again held up two fingers and pointed toward the stairs. 

        "There are other hotels down the road," the clerk noted. "

Cheaper , and more friendly to your kind of folks.“

        Wyatt's fists clenched. He wanted to put the damn bastard in his place but didn't have time before a shadow filled the door behind him. "And what kind of folks are those?" 

        Wyatt turned to see Zachariah and Craig standing side by side. Both men looked angry—but only Zachariah looked ready to kill as those scars twitched on his tense cheeks and his gray eyes flashed. 

        "The man asked you a question," Craig spoke up, crossing his arms over his chest. "What kind of folks fare better at those cheaper hotels." 

        The clerk stammered and pulled off his glasses, wiping them on his chest. "Uh... well.. that is to say, men of a darker skin tone.." 

        Zachariah stepped forward, dwarfing the desk and laying his gnarled hand upon it. "There ain't a goddamn thing wrong with Wyatt's skin tone. You got a problem with mine?" 

        The man all but cried out when Zachariah reached across that counter and took him by the shirt collar. "You got a problem with injuns?" 

        Craig was chuckling in the corner, clearly over his temper. Wyatt's best friend had never been very good at being very angry—at least not when he was sober. 

        The clerk merely sniveled as tears gathered in his eyes and stared up at the giant man who seemed hell bent on killing him. 

        Wyatt's gaze went to the ceiling before he finally decided he should save the terrified man. He put his hand on Zachariah's arm and those gray eyes slowly turned to look down at him. 

‘Let him go. You’re scaring him.’

Zachariah huffed. “That’s not all I’ll do to the bastard. What right does he have to treat you that way?”

‘Let him go Zachariah,’ Wyatt insisted.

        Zachariah did and the man stumbled backward, fretfully tending to the mess that had been made of his shirt collar. "Come on," Zachariah growled. "We'll find another hotel." 

        

‘No,’ Wyatt shook his head stubbornly. ‘We’ll stay here.’

        Zachariah and Craig shared a glance and Zachariah shook his head. "We'll go somewhere else, Wyatt. I don't want to give this man my damn money." 

        Wyatt stood his ground. Gill had taught him to fight back. He wasn't going to hurt the clerk but he sure as hell wasn't going to give him his way and tuck tail either.

        He turned back to the clerk and held up two fingers once more. The clerk frowned at Zachariah. Craig tapped the desk. "Well, you heard the man. We want two rooms." 

        The clerk swallowed hard and nodded, sweat trickling down his brow as he picked up a pen and held the quivering writing utensil out to Wyatt. "Just sign here," he said with a slight cough. 

        Wyatt took the pen and quickly wrote down his and Craig's first names only. He left Zachariah's blank and didn't include last names—there was no need to tell anyone they were here. If the wrong person saw it could cause trouble they didn't have time for. 

        After signing the names, Wyatt tapped Zachariah's arm to turn the man's angry glare meant for the clerk, in his direction. 

‘Tell him we need showers too.’

Zachariah grumbled something under his breath before turning back to the clerk and Craig’s chuckling became laughter. “We’ll be needing some showers too. Maybe a good cleaning will make our skin tones something more suited for your hotel.”

        Wyatt smacked Zachariah's arm and the man's lip twitched with a suppressed smile. 

        "Of course..." The clerk grabbed two room keys from the wall behind him and they jingled together as he held them out. "You can take your belongings up to your rooms and when you're ready for your showers, simply go through those doors there." 

        "How much do we owe you?" Craig asked, taking the offered keys. 

        The clerk shook his head and his throat quivered as he looked up at Zachariah. "This say will be free." 

        Wyatt shrugged. Free sounded good to him. Craig seemed to be thinking the same thing but Zachariah squared his shoulders. "We don't want, or need, your charity," he growled. "How much?" 

        Stuttering and shuffling papers with one hand, the clerk shoved up his glasses with the other. "Two rooms, three showers and meals will be two dollars." 

        Zachariah laid the money on the counter and adjusted the saddlebags on his shoulder before slipping his free arm around Wyatt's shoulders. The trio went up the stairs and stopped in front of the doors with numbers matching the keys. 

        Craig tossed one to Zachariah. "Y'all be good. Don't do anything I wouldn't do with... with a woman of course...." Craig frowned and rubbed his neck. "Only you'll be doing it with a man because you.. uh.. you want to...." 

        Wyatt rolled his eyes at his best friends rambling. 

‘Go to bed, Craig.’

“Yeah Craig,” Zachariah agreed, opening the door to a room. “Go to bed.” Before Craig could respond, Zachariah pulled Wyatt into the room and kicked the door closed behind him.

        "Alone at last," Zachariah noted, his gray eyes predatory as they gazed down at Wyatt. 

        Wyatt trembled but shook his head. 

‘Shower first. I need a shower and you smell like the rear end of a mule.’

Zachariah’s brow quirked up. “You make a habit of sniffing mule’s backsides?”

        Wyatt let out a silent laugh and moved away, setting his saddlebags on a chair and pulling out his extra outfit. He turned back to Zachariah who was still eyeing him hungrily. 

        Wyatt forced himself to breathe. Now was not the time. He wanted to be clean and wanted Zachariah to be clean...... then they could enjoy each other fully in the small hotel bed. He wasn't stalling......it wasn't as if he was terrified. Except he was. Completely terrified. 

        To change the subject, he decided to ask Zachariah about the saloon. 

‘You didn’t find any signs of Clint at the saloon?’

Immediately Zachariah’s shoulders slumped a bit. “No. But I didn’t come out and ask anyone either. I was just looking around for what I could find with my own two eyes.”

        Wyatt smiled and patted Zachariah's arm. 

‘We’ll find him. I’m going to shower now. Get us something to eat and you can shower when I come back.’

Zachariah licked his bottom lip and Wyatt’s knees quivered. “You don’t want to shower together?”

        Wyatt all but ran for the door. 

‘I don’t think that would be the best idea,’ he countered.

        Zachariah caught Wyatt just outside the door and took his arm. "You hurry back, Wyatt. Don't keep me waiting long," he warned and then he stooped down and pulled, Wyatt close, nipping at his ear and grazing his neck before standing straight and stepping inside, closing the door behind him. 

        Wyatt stood there, unable to move. His entire body felt as if it had been dipped in fire. Holy hell. Yep, he certainly needed that shower now. 

        Breaking through the want currently overwhelming his senses, Wyatt felt a prickle of unease wash up his back. 

        He was being watched. 

        He turned to glance down the hall and saw a man watching him from another doorway. The man was tall, fair haired, pale skinned and mustached. Wyatt was fairly certain he'd never seen the man before in his life. 

        However, the anger in that face had Wyatt swallowing hard. The man had probably seen Zachariah's affection toward him. Damn. Why did every trip into a town have to end with Wyatt being hurt in one form of another? Weren't there nice, safe little towns full of kind people somewhere?

        In no hurry to have a confrontation,Wyatt scurried down the stairs, hoping the man wouldn't be offended enough byhis existence to follow. 1/RZ^/

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Zachariah was balancing a tray from the diner in his hands as he entered the room he’d be sharing with Wyatt a short while later. With disappointment he realized that Wyatt hadn’t made it back. He’d been hoping the man would hurry with his shower so they could enjoy their time together.

        Zachariah knew that Wyatt was innocent, nervous and afraid. He knew that he'd have to do his best to show at least the smallest fraction of self-control when he finally took the man. 

        Zachariah had a feeling that was going to be damn hard. 

        He placed the tray on the small table in the corner. Zachariah was starving but he didn't want to eat without Wyatt. He knew that Wyatt had to be just as hungry. Zachariah sat in the empty wooden chair beside the window and watched the dark road below. He'd lit the lamps in the room before going for dinner and the glow was warm. 

        Zachariah hoped they'd learn something about Clint while in town. But even if they didn't, the stop wasn't a waste. He 

needed to have time with Wyatt. If he didn’t ease the frustration and want in his blood, he’d self-combust for sure.

        Seconds ticked by and became minutes which soon became half an hour. Zachariah felt worry settle into his gut. He was a man who typically trusted his instincts and, just now, his instincts were telling him he needed to check on Wyatt. 

        Leaving his room, Zachariah went to Craig's door and knocked but there was no answer and the door was locked. He assumed the man might have gone down the road to the saloon—though he hoped that wasn't the case for Wyatt's sake. He didn't need to see his friend drunk on whiskey again. 

        Zachariah bounded down the steps and went through the door to the showers. It was a small room with drains in the wooden floor and crude walls constructed for privacy between the bathers. Gravity fed the shower spigots from the water in a barrel being kept full by a tired looking Chinaman and warmed by a fire lit beneath them. 

        Instantly, Zachariah knew Wyatt wasn't there. The doors to the two stalls left the bathers heads visible and both of these men were a bit too pale and a bit too homely to be his man. 

        That worry in his gut grew. 

        "Sir?" Zachariah got the Chinaman's attention. "Have you seen a colored man in here this evening? He stands about this tall—" Zachariah indicated his shoulder. "And he can't speak..."

        The Chinaman nodded. "Yes. Yes," he replied in heavily accented English. "He in here a while ago. He take shower and say he gonna go back upstairs." 

        The worry in Zachariah's gut gnawed a hole. 

        "How long ago did he leave?" 

        The Chinaman shrugged before dumping another bucket of water into the heated barrel. "I not have watch and I'm too busy to keep track of time. I say about thirty minutes or so." 

        Zachariah turned and left quickly. Thirty minutes? Wyatt had been done showering for thirty minutes? Where the hell was he?

        The hotel clerk was sitting behind his desk reading a newspaper when Zachariah approached. When the man saw him, he let out a squeak and hopped to his feet. "Yes sir? What can I do for you?" he asked with exaggerated graciousness. 

        Zachariah rapped his fingers on the wooden counter. "Have you seen the quiet man I came in with?" 

        "You mean the darker skinned gentleman?" 

        Zachariah growled. "Yeah. That one." 

        "Yes sir. I uh... I suppose I should have told you. He seemed to be having an altercation with another man and they stepped outside. Your friend never came back." 

        Zachariah's contempt for the pot-bellied, bow-legged, weak-eyed little weasel behind the desk boiled over and once he again he found himself reaching across the desk and hoisting the worthless bastard up by the shirt collar.         

        "What kind of altercation?" he all but snarled. 

        The clerk stammered several times before he was able to form words. "The other man.. he hit the colored man and they scuffled a bit before the lighter skinned man dragged him outside." 

        Zachariah clenched his free hand and wondered if the damn clerk was worth a punch. "And you didn't tell me? Or go get the law?!" 

        "No." The answer came so quickly and so simply that Zachariah dropped his hold and stood in shock. Why some people could be so cruel and judgmental of others always shocked him. 

        "What did the man look like?" 

        "He is a guest here," the clerk replied, straightening his shirt and backing up to ensure he was out of Zachariah's reach. "I do not like to betray the trust of my guests." 

        Zachariah's hand was on the handle of his revolver before he could stop himself. "Goddammit, who was he?" he demanded. 

        "His name is written on that ledger but I won't reveal it and if you pull that gun, I'll yell for the law. We have a town constable eating in the diner and he'll be happy to jail you." 

        Zachariah laughed humorlessly. A constable? "You'd do well to tell me what he looked like or that constable will be cleaning up your bloody corpse." 

        The clerk cleared his trembling throat and wiped off his glasses. "Tall. Blond hair. A mustache..." Zachariah was reading the names on the guest list the best he could and just as the definition the man was giving him began to sink in, his eyes landed on a familiar name. 

        Zachariah turned and bolted from the hotel. "Goddamn son of a bitch!" 

        

He ran down the road, not stopping until he reached a saloon and barreled in, causing a string of curses as he knocked into several men. His eyes landed on Craig at a back table playing poker.

        "Come on," Zachariah snapped as he approached the table. "We're leaving." 

        Craig nodded as he quickly stood. "What's wrong?" he asked, following Zachariah to the door. "Is Wyatt sick?" 

        Zachariah's heart pounded hard in his chest as his gut twisted. His eyes followed a man walking down the road, twirling a silver tipped cane but his mind was on his poor man and the hell Zachariah was fixing to bring down on the bastard who had him. 

        "Wyatt's gone." 

        Craig grabbed Zachariah's arm and yanked him around. "What the hell do you mean, 'gone'?" he exclaimed. "Where'd he go?!"

        Zachariah rubbed at his neck and gripped his gun. "Clint. Clint was here and now Clint has him."

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Wyatt moaned as consciousness began to return to him. With that consciousness came pain. Pain in his head, his ribs, his stomach—his entire body.

        Rocking and jostling indicated that he was in the back of a wagon and the lack of sunshine or breeze told him that the wagon as covered. Wyatt had no idea who the man had been to beat him unconscious and he also had no idea how he'd ended up in the back of a wagon. 

        His body protested each move the wagon made and Wyatt was tempted to simply give back in to the sleep that was struggling to reclaim him. Then he heard a whimper beside him that had his eyes flying open. 

        A woman was sitting in the corner wearing a dirty and tattered dress. Her dark hair was a mess upon her head and her knees were pulled into her chest. Wide brown eyes watched him fearfully from a bruised face. 

        Wyatt sat up slowly, glad for once that he did not have a voice as it prevented him from crying out in pain. It was obvious to Wyatt that the woman was part Indian and she was young—somewhere around his age if he had to guess. 

        Could it be....?

        

‘Eleanor?’

The woman simply frowned and sank deeper into the corner. Wyatt knew she probably couldn’t understand him and, of course, the bastards who had kidnapped him hadn’t allowed him to bring his paper along.

        Then Wyatt remembered the necklace that Zachariah had given him. Surely if Zachariah had treasured it the way he claimed, his sister must know about it. Maybe she'd even recognize it. 

        Reaching in his ripped and tattered shirt, Wyatt pulled the leather strap from within. He held up the mountain lion claws and the woman swallowed hard as she leaned forward. 

        

‘Zachariah.’

“My…my brother has a necklace like that one.” Her brown eyes met his and instead of simply fear, Wyatt now saw confusion in them as well. “Do you know Zachariah?”

        Wyatt nodded. He pointed to the necklace and them himself. 

       Eleanor's voice was quiet and soft. "My brother gave it to you?" 

        Again Wyatt nodded and he tucked the necklace back beneath his shirt. "How do you know my brother?" she asked. 

        Wyatt bit his lip and then winced when he realized it was swollen and split. Eleanor's brown eyes filled with tears. "You're 

with him, aren’t you?“ She looked up to the canvas top above them and a tear rolled down her cheek. “My poor brother. They took me to hurt him and now they have you…..His heart will be broken.”

        Wyatt shifted on the hard wagon floor as his heart ached for Zachariah. The man already carried so much guilt and blame on his broad shoulders—this was bound to only make that load heavier. 

        There were a hundred things that Wyatt would like to say to Eleanor. He had questions he wanted to ask. But she had no talent for reading lips, especially in the dim lantern light inside the wagon and Wyatt had no paper to write on. Once again his inability to speak was standing in his way. 

        Eleanor's eyes closed as she leaned her head back against the cloth behind her. "I'm sorry Clint has you now. I would say we'll both be dead very soon." 

        Wyatt refused to believe that. He wouldn't let Zachariah lose his sister. Wyatt couldn't let the man he loved—yes loved—go through that pain. Somehow Wyatt would save her and get her back with her brother where she belonged. 

        But beat all to hell with no weapons; he hadn't figured the 

how of it all just yet.

---

        "Zachariah, stop. Let's be smart about this," Craig scolded, grabbing Zachariah by the arm and jerking him around to face him. 

        It was safe to say that the man had lost his damned mind. He'd been beating and questioning, (in that order), anyone in town he thought 

might have information about Clint. That included the so-called town Constable who would be whistling a nice little tune through his nose for a while.

        So far they had learned that Clint was traveling with six well-armed men. He 

did have an young Indian woman with him who was kept out of sight. And he was on his way north to his brother’s house.

        Upon learning all of that, Zachariah's first instinct had been to pack up, ride hard and go after seven men with only Craig for help. But Craig figured that would be a good way to wind up dead. 

        "What would be the smart way to handle this?" Zachariah snarled. His gray eyes flashed and his scarred cheek twitched. Craig's best friend had fallen in love with a dangerous man. 

        Craig wasn't used to being the voice of reason but he held up his hand. "Let's send a wire to the gang. They can be here in a few days if they ride hard and then we'll have a few more bodies to go after Clint." 

        Zachariah shook his head. "That will take too long. Do you honestly want Wyatt with him for that long?"

        Craig's chest ached as he shoved his hand through his blond hair. "Of course not. But I also don't want the two of us going up against seven men and being slaughtered. We have to be alive to save him." 

        "And what if Clint kills him?" Zachariah demanded, glaring at the rising sun. "What if, by the time your people get here, it's too late to save him?"

        Craig sighed. "Wyatt can take care of himself pretty well. I know you know that by now." Zachariah's head dipped slightly. "And we have to believe that Clint took Wyatt to hurt you—just like he did your sister. We found out today that he's kept her alive so that means he'll do the same with Wyatt. 

        Zachariah let out a frustrated roar and slammed his already battered fist into the unforgiving wood of the livery stable. 

        Craig took that as a sign that he'd won. He patted the big man on the back. "I'll send that wire, Zachariah. We'll save them. I don't intend to lose my best friend." 

A/N; hey y’all! I know the last two chapter have been a little short but I can update more often that way! Hopefully you won’t mind chapters that are a little shorter since it means more frequent updates!

Chapter twenty

Chapter Twenty

Jeb was just pouring the last bucket of water into the barn trough when a strong pair of arms slipped around his waist.

        He moaned as he leaned back into Gilliam's chest and smiled. "You're gonna start something, Gilliam," he warned as warm lips caressed his neck. 

        Jeb felt Gill smile against his skin. "That would be my goal." 

        "Aren't you the one always telling me that I've had enough," Jeb questioned, spinning around and nipping at Gill's neck. 

        The other man chuckled. "Never enough." 

        Jeb let out a hungry growl and attacked Gill's lips. His hands roamed over the strong body that he knew like the back of his hand. The heat in the barn was overwhelming and Jebidiah was losing himself in it—until a squeak sounded from the barn door. 

        "Oh great golly gee! Oh my. Oh fiddlesticks...." 

        Without releasing their hold on each other, the two men turned toward the barn door. "Elmer?" Jeb demanded. "What are you doing here?" 

        The telegraph and postal clerk from town wrung his hands and shifted his feet as he flushed bright red beneath his hat. "I uh... well I..." 

        "Does this make you uncomfortable?" Gill asked, moving a slight distance away from Jebidiah. 


       "Well..uh.. I mean. That is to say..." 

        Jebidiah sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Stop stuttering, Elmer." 

        Elmer's mouth slammed closed. Jeb and Gill shared an uncomfortable glance. While they never denied a relationship between them, they also never flaunted either. And they always did their best to avoid public displays of affection that could be witnessed by anyone outside their family. 

        "I'd heard that you.. that is to say that two of you uh..." Elmer continued.

        Jeb put a hand on Gill's arm to silence the man when his mouth opened. He recognized the look on Gilliam's face that said he was going to cause mischief and poor Elmer didn't appear as if he could handle it. 

        "What brings you way out here so early, Elmer?" Jeb asked while Gill huffed about having his fun interrupted. 

        Elmer looked very relieved to have the subject changed. "Yes. I was just waking up this morning and about to head out for breakfast when this came." Elmer held up an envelope. "I knew you'd want to have this message real quick." 

        Jebidiah took the letter and scanned over it quickly. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. "Thanks, Elmer," he mumbled before striding to his horse to ready it. 

        "What's it say?" Gill demanded. 

        "It's from Craig. He caught up with Wyatt and Zachariah and was riding with them. Apparently Wyatt's been taken by the men Zachariah was after."

        "Taken?" Gill growled as he too began readying a horse. "That damn Zachariah better hope we get Wyatt back alive or I'll be after him for not keeping him safe." 

        "Remember who we're talking about," Jebidiah gently warned. "Wyatt has a tendency to do what he wants." 

        "I'll go get Preston. He can stay with Maria while we're gone," Gill said as the two men led their horses from the barn. Elmer had already made a mad dash back toward town. 

        Gill adjusted his gun belt. "We'll stop by Pete and Janes on the way to town. They'll want to know what's going on." 

---

        "Taken?!" Jane exclaimed, her blond hair blowing wildly in the wind as her head whipped around. "What do you mean, 'taken'? Taken for what?" 

        Jeb shrugged. "I don't know. Craig didn't explain why they took him." 

        Jane opened her mouth but Pete gently placed his freckled hand over her full lips He received a nip for his troubles. "Calm down, sweetheart," he warned, before laying a hand over her swelled midsection which appeared ready to burst at any time. "You don't want to get worked up." 

        "Worked up?" Jane's eyes flashed and Jeb, Gill and Preston took a step closer to the door. Jane had always had a snappy temper but the babe in her belly had caused her to be unusually short fused. 

        Pete held up his hands and flashed her a crooked-toothed grin. "I know you're a strong and capable woman who doesn't need to be told what to do, Jane, but I'm thinking of the nugget in your belly."

        Jane rolled her eyes and dismissed him, turning her attention to Gill and Jeb instead. "Are you going after him?" 

        "Hell yeah, we're going," Gill assured her. 

        Pete frowned. "I can't go. Jane could have the baby anytime." 

        Jane shook her head. "You can't stay here. Wyatt needs you." 

        But what if 

you need me?“ Pete asked, taking her hands in his and pulling her as close as her bulging midsection would allow.

        Jane's expression softened as she gazed up at her husband. "Me and this babe'll be just fine." 

        When Pete still didn't seem convinced, Jane signed. "How about I go stay with Preston at Maria's? Will that make you feel better?"

        Pete glanced over at Preston. "Can you promise to take real good care of my woman?" 

        Preston pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Yessir." 

        Pete winked. "But not too good. I want her to come back to me when I get home." 

        Preston stifled a laugh. 

        "We'll give you two some privacy and ready your horse and wagon," Gill offered before leading Preston and Jeb out the door. 

        "Gill?" Preston's quiet voice asked once they were in the sunshine. 

        Gill glanced down at the boy. "Yeah?" 

        "You and Jeb and Uncle Pete are coming home, aren't you?" 

        Gill smiled and squeezed Preston's scrawny shoulder. "Of course we are," he promised. "And we're bringing Uncle Craig and Uncle Wyatt back with us too." 

        Preston smiled with relief. "I'll make sure I take good care of Granny, Jane and my new cousin if it comes. You just make it back safe and keep a close eye on Uncle Pete. I'm too young to take care of a woman and baby forever." 

        Despite the tension they were feeling, both Gilliam and Jebidiah chuckled at the pale waif of a boy. 

        Jeb ruffled his hair. "We'll do our best, son." 

---

        Gill, Jeb and Pete headed down the road out of town after dropping Jane and Preston off at Maria's. Jeb had checked and double-checked Preston's supply of medication before deciding to order more just in case he was gone longer than he anticipated. 

        "I know the three of us riding together could get a bit awkward," Pete announced with a knowing nod. "But Jebidiah, you just have to understand that Gill was mine before he was yours so showing your jealousy would only cause you to embarrass yourself." 

        Jeb shook his head. "Trust me, Pete. I have no reason to be jealous of you." 

        Pete scoffed. "What that an insult? What's so bad about me. My hair? The freckles? Maybe my teeth?" 

        Gill reached out and kicked his best friend in the leg. "Don't insult yourself, Pete. You're beautiful." 

        Jeb nearly choked on the laugh he did his best to suppress. "I'm not jealous of you because I know you aren't dumb enough to try anything. That cousin of mine would string you up by your innards." 

        Pete stroked at his chin thoughtfully a moment before sighing. "I suppose he's right." He sent Gill a sympathetic gaze. "You should have grabbed me up while you could, Gill. I'm in high demand and you took your time." 

        Gill's lips twitched. "I'll have to make do with Jebidiah." 

        "I'm afraid you will," Pete replied with a nod. 

        "Alright you two, that's enough," Jeb scolded. The men were out of town and the time had come to see just how fast their horses would fly. "Time to go find Wyatt."

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

Zachariah stepped out of the livery with his horse saddled and ready. Craig was still sleeping but Zachariah was done waiting for help that was taking too long to arrive.

        Wyatt had been gone for five full days and they had been the longest and most miserable five days of Zachariah's life. He had begun to accept the fact that his sister was probably going to die, or at the very least, be a broken woman and never the same as she had once been. But to think they'd do the same to Wyatt....

        It was unbearable. 

        And it was all Zachariah's fault. 

        He ever should have let Wyatt go alone to the shower. 

        Hell he never should have let Wyatt come along at all. He had known from the beginning that it would be dangerous. He had known there would be a chance that Wyatt would die. What Zachariah hadn't planned on, what he hadn't seen coming, was that along the way he'd fall in love with the silent outlaw. Zachariah had never imagined that Wyatt would come to matter so completely. 

        He was going to go get his man back. 

        Zachariah had started the mission alone and he would finish it alone. Zachariah had always worked better on his own. From the corral a horse whinnied loudly. A glance in that direction revealed Wyatt's antisocial Appaloosa staring hard at him and stomping her hoof. 

        Pain twisted in Zachariah's gut as he remembered the night Wyatt had returned with the horse and the pride he had beamed with. 

        Zachariah walked to the corral and reached out his hand. He patted the agitated mare on the neck. Surprise filled him when she leaned into his touch instead of snapping at him. 

        "I'm gonna go get him and bring him back," Zachariah assured her. "I promise you that." 

        

He turned away and hopped onto the saddle of his black gelding. He started down the road but stopped suddenly when three figures on horseback turned the corner and started his way.

        Instantly Zachariah recognized the Crane Gang. 

---

Wyatt’s pain grew by the day. He’d been hoping that he’d manage to gather a bit of strength to aid him in freeing Eleanor and himself but the opposite was holding true.

        He'd been tied up in a dark, dirt-floored cellar for what had to have been days and days after traveling several days to reach their destination. He hadn't seen Eleanor since arriving but he had seen Clint. The man showed up quite often with other men in tow and they would beat him, kick him and hurl insults at him. 

         Wyatt had no idea if help was coming and, in a way, he hoped it wasn't. He didn't want Zachariah or Craig to die just to save his life... or Eleanor's. Wyatt wanted to get himself and the lady out of this mess without endangering anyone else... he just wasn't quite sure how. 

        A rat poked its nose out of a hole in the dirt wall and squeaked quietly before scurrying out into the open and dragging a piece of moldy bread to the corner. Wyatt watched the rat gnaw at the rotten food with its yellowed teeth and felt his own stomach growl. 

        Food wasn't something these bastards seemed to think Wyatt needed much of. The scraps they'd tossed his way hadn't done much to ease his hunger during his time here and, just now, Wyatt would settle for stealing that hunk of moldy bread from that hungry rat. 

        But the shackle connecting him to the pipe on the wall made even that impossible. 

        Wyatt's attention was quickly diverted from the rat's fine meal and redirected toward the heavy wooden door on the far wall as it swung open with a creak. 

        "How are you today, quiet man?" 

        Wyatt rolled his eyes as two of Clint's right hand men entered the room. Wyatt had no idea what their names were but neither was real bright—that didn't stop them from having diarrhea of the mouth however. 

        Wyatt missed Zachariah—he missed the quiet campfires at night. He missed sitting with the other man and enjoying the calm quiet of his company.  Wyatt wondered if he would ever again get to enjoy that. 

        When he received a sharp kick to the leg that sent shockwaves of agony through his body, Wyatt decided that yes. Yes, he would get to enjoy Zachariah's quiet company again. 

        "Come on, quiet man, talk to us. Or do you think you're too damn good to talk to the likes of us?" 

        Wyatt glared up at the skinny, rotten-toothed bastard sneering down at him. What he wouldn't give to have a voice for only a few moments so he could tell the other man 

exactly what he thought of him.

        "Well come on then, negro," the man said, taking Wyatt's arm roughly and yanking him to his unsteady legs. Pain ricocheted through his head as Wyatt struggled to hang onto consciousness and blood rushed into his lower body. 

        The second man undid the chain holding Wyatt to the pipe and removed the shackle from his wrist. Wyatt was in no shape to offer much resistance or put up any kind of fight in hopes of escape—and these men knew that. 

        "Clint says he wants you to join him upstairs for a while," the first man added as they began dragging Wyatt to the door. Wyatt barely had the strength to hold his head up as he was pulled up a flight of narrow stairs and led down a short hall to a wide sitting room complete with sofa, fireplace, arm chair, chess board and large barred cage in the corner. 

        Wyatt's eyes widened when he caught sight of Eleanor within the cage. She'd been given a new green dress and her dark hair was pulled up neatly—but her eyes were full of pain and fear and her cheek was split and bruised. 

        When she caught sight of Wyatt, she let out a cry and attempted to walk toward the door to the cage, only to be stopped by the chain around her ankle. 

        "Negro, you're looking a little rundown. You really should take better care of yourself," Clint's snide voice came from behind Wyatt and the men turned him around to face him.

        "Do you want us to put him in the cage, sir?" one of the men holding Wyatt asked. 

        "Yes, that will be fine." 

        Wyatt found himself shoved into the cage roughly. His legs were too weak to hold him and he tumbled to the ground, hitting his head sharply against the stone floor. 

        Instead of attempting to sit up, Wyatt chose to lay there as the door was locked behind him. 

        "I'm sure you're wondering why I brought you up here," Clint mused, running his fingers over his thick mustache. "The answer is simple. I want revenge on Zachariah and I saw with my own eyes that you are something special to him. But you are dead weight for me. At least with pretty little Eleanor, I am able to enjoy myself. But you.... I don't quite feel the same attraction for you that that savage does. So... I know he's on his way here. I know he's coming. He's a smart man—smarter than most give him credit for. So, instead of dragging both of you with me, I'm going to leave you shot up in this cage and let Zachariah find your dead body while the rest of leave with his dear sister." 

        Shot up... Great. Wyatt had that to look forward to. 

        

‘Zachariah will kill you. All of you. You’ll wish you’d never crossed paths with him once he’s through.’ Wyatt warned.

        Clint laughed. "You're wasting your time. I don't speak dumb negro." 

        He pulled his gun and walked to the cage. Eleanor shook her head and tried to put herself between the revolver and Wyatt. The chain on her leg made protecting him impossible. 

        "Don't kill him," she whispered weakly. "Please. Just take me. You've hurt Zachariah enough by having me. Please, don't kill him." 

        Wyatt shook his head and forced his battered body to his knees. He met Clint's gaze full force. 

‘You’ll leave her alone.’

        "Now I might not speak dumb negro," Clint chuckled. "But even I know a threat when I hear one. You shouldn't be threatening me, mute. I hold all the cards just now." 

        "Clint!" Another man ran in, one that Wyatt hadn't seen before. He looked like Clint but a few years older. Wyatt knew it must be his brother. 

        "What is it, Reg? I'm busy right now," Clint replied, barely sparing a glance over his shoulder. 

        "A fella just rode in. He says he's looking for a job. I had an ad put out a while back wanting some hired guns. You want to come take a look at him?" 

        Clint grumbled and sighed as he holstered his gun. "Fine. I could use a few new guns. That goddamn injun has put a hurting on me lately." 

        He grinned down at Wyatt's defiant expression. "Just wait right there, negro. I'll be back shortly to finish up our conversation." 

1

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-two

Zachariah was not happy with the plan.

        He hated the plan. 

        He wanted to shoot the goddamn plan square in its brain addled face. 

        But the plan was already in motion and therefore Zachariah had no choice but to sit tight while the fate of his sister and the man he loved rested in someone else's hands. 

        Zachariah never had been good at waiting—or allowing someone else to have control of the reins. 

        "You couldn't have gone, Zachariah. They'd have blown your head off the minute Clint laid eyes on you," Gill reminded him. 

        Zachariah sat down hard on a boulder and grumbled. "Not if I'd have blown his head off first."

        "You're worse than Jebidiah when it comes to getting grumpy when you're worried." 

        Zachariah glared at the texas ranger turned outlaw turned rancher. His mind went back to the day they'd rode into town and caught him attempting to ride out. Jebidiah had punched him in the mouth for putting Wyatt in danger and then Gill had helped him up and they'd all rode out of town together. 

        "Can he handle going in there?" Zachariah asked. 

        He didn't miss the way Gill's eyes darted to the side before he answered. "Yeah. He knows what he's doing." 

        Zachariah's jaw tightened and he stared off into the distance knowing there wasn't a thing he could do except wait. 

---

Wyatt found himself alone with Eleanor. He shuffled on his knees until he was close enough to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘Are you okay?’

She shook her head. “No. I’m not okay. You’re not okay. None of this is okay and it never will be again.”

        Hearing her say that, knowing that she was giving up, tore at Wyatt. He couldn't let her give up. He couldn't let her be a repeat of what had happened to that poor woman they'd rescued before. 

        

‘I’m going to get us out of here,’ Wyatt assured her. He frowned. ‘Somehow.’

Eleanor shook her head. “I can’t tell what you’re saying. I’m sorry.”

        Wyatt just sighed and forced himself to his feet. His weak body swayed and he fell sideways into the bars, his lack of voice keeping his cries of pain from being audible. 

        He had his hands free and his captors had left the room. No matter how weak and battered he was, Wyatt had to find a way to take advantage of that. He looked at Eleanor. 

‘How many men are here?’

Frustration and despair tugged at her features. “I’m sorry…. I don’t know what you’re asking.”

        Wyatt grumbled and held up his hand spreading his fingers. He pointed at them and shrugged.  

‘How many with Clint?’

Eleanor’s brows drew together. “Are you asking how many men are holding us here?”

        Wyatt nodded, thankful to finally be communicating. Eleanor glanced out the far window. "Eight. It will be nine if they hire whoever is outside." 

        Defeat attempted to settle into Wyatt's gut. Eight armed, well-rested, able-bodied men against him—half dead from beatings and hunger—and Eleanor—who was currently chained to a bar. 

        But Wyatt had never been the giving up kind. He had a mission and just because he was here alone instead of with Zachariah, that didn't change what he'd set out to do. 

        Save Eleanor.

He just had to figure out a way to get that done.

        Wyatt heard shuffling through a door to the right and he raised his brow at Eleanor. "That's the kitchen," she whispered. "One of them must be in there. It's probably the fat one. He does the cooking and he usually has the key to the cell. He always smells of sausage and onions." 

        Wyatt saw her shiver with disgust and he knew the man had probably touched her inappropriately and that is what brought about her displeasure—but Wyatt's mind could only focus on the word sausage—damnation but he was hungry. 

        Wyatt knew this was the only opportunity he would have. If he could somehow get the fat man to the bars and figure out a way to get the key from him, he might be able to get Eleanor out of this mess—that is if the key to the cell fit the lock in her shackles. 

        His head was spinning and it was hard to focus. Wyatt felt something wet trickling down his cheek and knew it was blood. He'd hit his head harder than he'd realized against those stones when they had thrown him. 

        Wyatt examined the cell, looking around with a careful eye. In the corner he saw something that gave him hope. Limping to the corner while keeping a careful hold on the bars for support, Wyatt bent slowly and shifted the loose stone on the floor. 

        Eleanor quickly came to him, stretching as far as she could with her leg chained. She saw what his shaking hands were trying to accomplish and she reached down and helped Wyatt to pry the loose stone from the floor. 

        He held the rock in his hands. It wasn't overly heavy but it would do if he could manage the strength to swing it hard enough. Wyatt looked at Eleanor. 

‘Call for him.’

Wyatt wasn’t sure if she understood his words but it was clear she got the message. Her brown eyes widened and she shook her head roughly. “No….No, I can’t. You don’t understand what he’ll do to me….”

        Wyatt reached out and took her hand. 

‘Safe. I will keep you safe.’

A tear formed in the corner of her eye. “Please… please don’t make me.. just don’t do this.. if we try to escape and fail.. they’ll kill you.”

        Wyatt sighed. He was dead if he didn't try to escape and he was dead if he failed in his attempt to escape. His only choice for survival was not failing. 

        

‘Call for him,’ he insisted while gripping the stone in his hand. ‘I’ll do the rest.’

Eleanor was trembling and Wyatt would have felt sorry for her if he wasn’t so busy working on not falling down.

        "My brother made a good choice with you," she whispered. Then, without another word, she went to the far side of the cage, nearer to her shackle. "Hello? Is someone in the kitchen? I'm so hungry... and my friend is starving. Please... can we have food?"

        The following moments were tense. Wyatt stood with his side to the bars, holding the rock against his body and out of sight. He kept his head lowered and used the bars to help support himself. He wanted to appear as tired and weak as possible—which wasn't hard. 

        Finally, the kitchen door opened and Wyatt saw Eleanor shrink against the cage as a man stepped out. She hadn't been lying. He was quite large, with a belly to rival the biggest of them. 

        He was sneering as he stepped toward the cage and wiped food from his lip on his sleeve. "Hey there, pretty thing." 

        Eleanor pressed herself even tighter against the back of the cage. "Please...." Her lip trembled. "Please, let him have something to eat." 

        "You like the little negro?" the fat man questioned with unmasked amusement. His massive stomach jiggled with each step he took toward Wyatt. "You hear that, negro? You got you a little admirer." 

        Wyatt's shoulders drooped further. 

‘Come closer.’ He mouthed.

        The fat man frowned. "That's right. I forgot. You're dumb. Can't speak a lick can you? Poor little negro." 

        Wyatt bristled at the insults but forced himself to remain stooped and not look up. The man can to the bars. His belly pushed against them as he leaned forward. 

        "You want to watch a good show, negro? While the boss is busy I'm thinking I might help myself to that injun girl again. She's a fun one..." 

        The man waggled his brows and Wyatt heard Eleanor let out a whimper. The man stooped a little lower and reached through the bars to poke Wyatt in the arm. "Don't you have something you want to say, negro?" 

        Out of the corner of his eye Wyatt saw the keys he hoped were the ones he needed hooked to the fat man's gun belt. 

        The man laughed and began to turn away, clearly having had enough of taunting Wyatt. 

        Wyatt took advantage of his distraction. He raised his arm, slipped it through the bars and, using every ounce of strength he could muster, brought the stone down hard against the fat man's skull. 

        The terrible cracking thud that followed told Wyatt he'd done a good job. The man fell like a rock to the ground and Wyatt wasted no time in reaching through the bars and pulling the keys from his belt. 

        He knew the man wasn't going to wake up anytime soon—or ever, judging by the blood coming from his ears. 

        "You did it..... you got the keys..." Eleanor whispered. 

        Wyatt flashed her a smile, wincing at the pain in his welted cheek and swollen lips. He limped to Eleanor and handed her the key. He was shaking too badly to be any use at unlocking the shackle. 

        As Eleanor freed herself from her chain, Wyatt went back to the dead man and slipped his gun from his gun belt. He had no way of taking out all those men without risking getting Eleanor killed. There only choice was going to be attempting to sneak away unnoticed. 

        Eleanor came to the door and reached through the bars, slipping the trembling key into the lock and opening the cage. Wyatt attempted to step through the door but his weak legs gave out and Eleanor quickly reached out and grabbed him. 

        "You're too weak......" 

        Wyatt shook his head and pulled away from her. He squared his shoulders. 

‘I am fine.’

Wyatt had a mission. He’d made a promise to Zachariah that he’d get Eleanor back to him alive and that’s exactly what Wyatt intended to do.

        He pointed to the kitchen door and Eleanor nodded. The two of them started in that direction and were nearly there when Clint's angry voice filled the air. 

        "What the hell is going on?" 

        Wyatt spun, placing his gun sights on Clint's chest even as he realized there were four other men who had entered the room with him. 

        And one of them was smiling a gap-toothed grin that crinkled his freckled cheeks. "Looks like your little birdies flew the coop." 

        Wyatt kept his gun trained on Clint, knowing it would be foolish to move it, but the only thought that kept running through his mind was, 'what the hell was Pete Bardlow doing there?'

~_���(e#��ʂ�

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

Wyatt swallowed hard, hating the weakness he felt. Now was certainly not the time for his legs to give out.

“Where’s Tobin?” Clint demanded.

        "Would that rather large lump in the corner happen to be Tobin?" Pete asked with a chuckle. 

        Clint's eyes momentarily darted to Tobin and then narrowed as they once again focused on Wyatt. "Is he dead?" Clint asked with a quiet, dangerous kind of calm. 

        

‘Yes,’ Wyatt replied, nodding as well just in case the man had trouble reading his lips.

        "No so sure I want the job now, Clint," Pete mused, rocking back on his heels. "Then again, it seems like you probably need a man of my skill. Your men don't seem up to the task. Hell, even half-dead men and scared women are a threat to them." 

        Clint snorted. "These two are not threat." 

        Pete whispered quietly. "Tell that to Tobin." 

        Clint jaw tightened. "Tobin paid for his foolishness. And this negro is gonna pay for his now. It's time for you to die, quiet man." 

        Wyatt's finger tightened on his trigger. If he was going to die, he was damn sure gonna take Clint with him—he just hoped Pete would make it out alive. The man had a child—or would soon.

        And if Pete was here... then where was everyone else? Wyatt knew that his presence had to mean the gang was close. 

        "You're just gonna kill him quick like that? A gunshot to the heart or the head and done?" Pete questioned with a frown. 

        "You don't think the bastard deserves to die?" Clint asked. 

        Pete shrugged and scratched at his freckled jaw. "Of course I do—of course I've been told a time or two that I just like killing people." Pete grinned. "But if it were me, and this were my gang with my people, I'd be a little embarrassed." 

        "What the hell you talkin' about?" one of the other men scoffed. 

        Pete held up a calming hand. "Down boy. No need to bite my head off." Pete winked. "I'm just saying that Clint should be worried about his image. Here I am, a man who has made a living killing folks, I've come here to get a job with Clint and Reg and what do I find when I show up? A half-dead, scrawny negro killing Clint's biggest man and nearly escaping with a woman in tow!" 

        "What the hell is your point?" Clint demanded. 

        Wyatt wondered the same thing. Pete was stalling for some reason and so Wyatt was going to follow his lead and go along with him. Pete seemed to know what he was doing. 

        Pete crossed his arms over his chest with a smile. "I always have a point. My point is that I know you're holding them for a reason and you also need to show that you are still tough and deserving of respect. If you just kill him in here with a quick bullet to the head, what point will you have made?" 

        Clint's eyes narrowed. "And just what do you know about why I'm keeping them?" 

        "People talk. Word gets around. You can't keep a secret in this jabber jaw society we live in." A broad grin split Pete's face. "And the word is, that you're looking to piss off a certain giant injun that makes his living hunting bounties." 

        "Is that so?" Clint's jaw popped. "You think you know a better way I can piss him off?" 

        Pete pointed to the door. "Do it outside. Make it slow, leave him to bleed out and let the buzzards finish him off. Because the word also is that that injun you hate so much is close—real close." 

        "How close?" Clint demanded. 

        Pete shrugged. "Close enough to ride in and realize he was only a little too late—but still too late." 

        Wyatt could see the gears turning in Clint's mind. If Pete was trying to get the outside, that meant help would be there. For the first time, Wyatt felt a bit of hope. 

        Then Clint smiled and Wyatt felt the coldness of that expression deep down in his bones. "Put the gun down, negro. We're going outside." 

        Wyatt spared a glance at Pete and the man winked. Slowly, loath fully, Wyatt lowered the gun and dropped it to the floor. He nearly fell with it as his strength proved it was tapped. Eleanor grabbed his arm to steady him. 

        "Bring them outside," Clint growled, before turning and striding out the door. 

        Two of the men grabbed Eleanor and Wyatt's fists clenched as they dragged her after Clint. 

        Pete grinned at Clint's remaining man and took hold of Wyatt. "I got the dangerous, starved one," he vowed. "I wouldn't want him to kill another of Clint's well-trained men." 

        The man glared, muttered a string of curses under his breath and stomped outside. "Some men can't take a joke," Pete quipped as he stooped low to pick up the fallen revolver. He tucked it into the waistband at the back of Wyatt's pants and hid it with Wyatt's loose shirt. 

        "Well Wyatt, you killed the plan." 

        Wyatt frowned. 

‘Plan?’

Pete sighed as he slowly led a limping Wyatt toward the door. “The other are waiting not too far out. I was supposed to come in, use my incredible charms, learn what I needed to learn and then get out again and report back to the gang—and that strapping man of yours.” Wyatt bit his lip and felt his face heat. Pete grinned. “But thanks to you and your muscles of steel, and the rock you had in your hand, I don’t believe that’s an option anymore because they’re ready to kill you now. That means that you killed the plan.”

        Wyatt felt that hope that had just begun to blossom, wither and die quickly. 

‘So what do we do?’

Pete shrugged. “Hell if I know. As of now the new plan is, ‘don’t die’.”

        Wyatt rolled his eyes. 

‘Not much of a plan.’

“It’s all we have.” Pete smiled but it seemed weak. “Don’t worry, Wyatt. I was always the brains in the operation. I’ll think of something.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

Zachariah had never been a man who believed in pacing. He hadn’t ever found it to solve a damn thing and had believed it to simply be wasted energy and movement.

        He'd had a recent change in his way of thinking. 

        Pacing was now the only thing keeping him sane. 

        It was either he pace a damn hole straight through the ground to hell or he'd lose his damned mind. 

        Where was Pete? Had he run into trouble? The man hadn't been gone too terribly wrong but Zachariah felt his mind coming up with all different sorts of terrible scenarios. 

        His gut said something was wrong. 

        Zachariah trusted his gut. 

        He stopped his pacing and his gaze met Gilliam's. The other man nodded. "You feel it too?" Gill asked. 

        "I think we all feel it," Craig acknowledged. 

        Jeb stood up and holstered the gun he'd been absent-mindedly spinning. "Something's off." 

        Without another word, the three men mounted up. The house wasn't too far off and they could only hope they would get there in time to help with whatever was wrong.  

        Zachariah's blood froze in his veins when a gunshot echoed from the distance. 

        It was followed by another—and then more yet. Soon it became quite obvious that a gunfight had broken out. 

        Zachariah threw caution to the wind as he urged his horse forward, desperate to reach the only two people in the world he loved—and save them. 

---

Wyatt winced as the harsh sunlight assaulted his vision. If not for Pete holding tight to him and helping him along, Wyatt would not have been able to continue walking.

        "Put him over here," Clint called, pointing to a line of sturdy fence beside the house. 

        Pete led Wyatt to the designated spot and Wyatt leaned against it heavily to remain on his feet as Pete let go. A frown creased his brow when he noticed a tall, skinny man studying Pete—the man seemed to be trying to figure something out. 

        Wyatt hadn't had much dealing with the curious man. He'd been one of Reg's hands and hadn't shown much interest in torturing Wyatt. 

        "Okay.. now how should we begin the torture this quiet negro deserves?" Clint asked 

        Wyatt would have laughed, had his ribs not been hurting so badly. 

Deserved? What the hell had he done to deserve anything that had happened to him lately?

        Pete shrugged as he moved to the side, standing at an angle about fifteen feet from Wyatt. "Everyone likes different things when it comes to torture. What tickles your fancy?" 

        As Clint and Pete began to discuss various forms of causing Wyatt pain, Wyatt continued to study the tall, malnourished man. The man's brows knitted together and then suddenly, his face paled, his mouthed opened and his eyes widened. 

        He pulled his revolver and aimed it straight at Pete. "Get away from him, Clint!" 

        Pete threw up his hands and laughed, though Wyatt could hear the tension in the sound. "Control your friend with the itchy trigger finger." 

        Clint frowned and glanced toward Reg before looking at the gun happy man. "What are you doing, Frank?" 

        "I know him, Clint. I know that man." 

        Wyatt groaned inwardly. He inched his hand toward the back of his trousers and touched the handle of the gun resting there. He had no idea if he had the strength to draw it and shoot it with any accuracy, but he was at least going to try if it came to that.

        "Well, I reckon I introduced myself," Pete replied with a chuckle. "You can put the gun away...." 

        "Shut your mouth," Reg snapped, holding up a hand. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Frank. "Who is he?" 

        "Pete... uh... Pete Bardo...or something along those lines," Frank replied. "He's a goddamn Texas Ranger, Reg."

        Suddenly seven guns were aimed directly at Pete. Pete shook his head. "I'm not..." 

        "He is!" Frank insisted. "He and that damn colored fella.... Uh.. Rafe Tomlinson's boy, they were regular old bounty hunters for them damn Rangers. Took down my uncle Ralph McGee." 

        Pete gagged. "Your uncle was ol' Bigfoot McGee? Loudest, smelliest damn man I ever did meet." 

        Frank growled but Clint appeared thoughtful. "I never met Rafe's boy but I can tell you that there was no love lost between Rafe and I. He was always a bit too much of the helping the helpless type for my taste. I've always preferred helping myself." 

        "That's a good way to be," Pete agreed. 

        Wyatt's heart was pounding. He couldn't let anything happen to Pete..... Jane and the baby would need him! 

        "So 

are you who he says you are?“ Clint cocked his gun and his expression was hard. “Are you a damn Texas Ranger?”

        Pete shook his head. "If your malnourished friend here knows so much about me, then he also oughta know that, according to the Rangers records, I died a while back. I was shot dead after I turned on them and went to the other side. I haven't been on their payroll in a long time." 

        Clint glanced at Reg who simply shrugged. "You must think I'm stupid, don't you?" Clint demanded of Pete. 

        Pete scoffed. "Of course not!" He frowned. "You can't read minds, can you?" 

        Clint seemed unaffected by Pete's taunt. "I didn't know who you were until Frank said your name but I heard about those damn rangers who turned on the state of Texas. Yeah, I heard they began running with a gang—the Crane Gang. Bunch of bed-wetting mama's boys is all those folks were. They were like old Rafe and believed in doing bad to serve for good or some such nonsense like that." 

        Wyatt bristled with annoyance but forced himself to keep his feelings about Clint's insults to himself. Pete simply stood there appearing more serious than Wyatt had ever seen him appear. Gone was the easy-going, almost daft smile. Gone was that boyish glint in his eyes. Pete looked every inch a grown and dangerous man who knew he was being cornered. 

        "Do you have a point or do you just like listening to the sound of your own voice?" Pete grumbled. 

        Clint sneered. "The point is I believe you are a member of the Crane gang and I believe that this quiet man here must be too and that's why you're here. You think I didn't notice that he seemed almost happy to see you?" 

        "You're a full bubble off of plumb," Pete countered. "I came for a job....." 

        "I've had enough. If you're here, that means the rest can't be far off. It's time to end this," Clint snarled. 

        Wyatt drew his gun and fired off a shot just as Clint's gun went off. Wyatt's shaky aim had the bullet slamming into Clint's arm. Wyatt didn't see where Pete was hit but he saw Pete go down. 

        Wyatt made a mad dive for the watering trough beside him and a barrage of bullets thudded loudly against the wood. Wyatt fired off another few shots blindly and heard the unmistakable sound of bullets striking flesh as men cried out. 

        He glanced toward an outbuilding to see Clint, bloody arm wrapped around Eleanor leading her away. Pete had managed to crawl to the cover of a barrel and four of Clint's men, including his brother Reg and the skinny man Frank, lay bleeding and dead or dying on the ground. 

        Wyatt forced himself to his knees, looked over the top of the trough and fired a shot at Clint, praying his shaky aim wouldn't cause him to hit Eleanor. Clint cursed loudly when the bullet whistled past his head. He threw Eleanor down and fired a shot at Wyatt. 

        The roaring of gunfire began to fade from Wyatt's ears as the burning pain of the bullet tearing through his flesh, ripped through his veins. He was barely aware of Clint and two men disappearing from view as they made a run for it. 

        His vision began to blur and then fade entirely. Wyatt felt cold...and tired. His weak and battered body has suffered too greatly and couldn't afford to lose the blood now pouring from it. 

        "Wyatt!" Pete's voice was faint.. it was as if Wyatt was fading from the world completely and everything was simply an echo—a shadow of what it had once been. 

        "He's dying!" Eleanor called out. "Pete! You're hurt badly too!" 

        Wyatt tried to pull himself back. Pete was hurt. They needed his help. 

        He had to. Open...His.......Eyes...

        Blackness engulfed him then and the world disappeared. 

m

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

Zachariah leapt from his horse, gun drawn and surveyed the homestead. “Goddammit!” Jebidiah’s voice rang out as he too leapt from his horse and ran toward the two prone bodies lying bloody in the dirt with Eleanor crouched beside them, desperately pleading for help.

        All around him, the family of the two injured-or worse-men rushed forward to offer help. 

        Zachariah stood frozen to the spot. 

        Please, God, no. 

        He couldn't..... He couldn't handle the pain and the guilt tearing through him. Zachariah had always been a loner for a reason. He had avoided attachments to protect himself after growing up with the abusive father he'd been raised by. 

        But now...

        Now Pete, a man with a wife and quite possibly a child by now, was lying still and motionless in a pool of blood and Wyatt. 

        Dear God Wyatt. 

        From where he was, Zachariah could see the damage that being in Clint's hands had done to him. His face was battered and bruised. His clothes were ripped, torn and covered in dirt and blood. 

        Was he dead?

        Zachariah's entire body shook. 

        If Wyatt was dead, if Pete was dead, it was his fault. They wouldn't have been involved in any of this if Zachariah could have taken care of his own problems from the start. He'd put Eleanor in danger which had led to Wyatt's capture and the horror laying in front of him right now. 

        "Zachariah, help them," Eleanor whispered, laying a gentle hand on his tense forearm. 

        His sister's soft voice broke through Zachariah's tormented thoughts. He rushed to Wyatt's side and crouched beside him. "He's alive," Craig stated. "But not by much." 

        It was obvious from the state of Wyatt that someone had had a hell of a time beating the man over and over again during his time in Clint's hands. Zachariah saw the bullet hole in his shoulder steadily oozing blood. He ripped the sleeve from his own black shirt and held the fabric tight against the bleeding wound. 

        Letting his gaze go to Pete, Zachariah somehow managed to find his voice. "How is he?" 

        "He won't be alive much longer if we don't get him tended to," Gill replied, his voice strained. 

        "I'm fine..." Pete whispered weakly, offering his best friend a ghost of his normally crooked and beaming smile. 

        "Yeah.. you're probably too damn dumb to die," Gill agreed, holding his hands over Pete's bleeding abdomen. 

        "There were three other men here but they got away," Eleanor said, standing awkwardly to the side and holding her arms tight around herself. "Clint was one of them." 

Zachariah stood slowly, allowing Craig to take over holding the shirt over Wyatt’s wound. Everything in him wanted to go after the bastards who were still breathing air after doing this to Pete and Wyatt. He wanted them to die…..

Then he took in the sight of Gill’s red-rimmed eyes and trembling jaw as he urged his best friend to stay with him despite Pete’s fading consciousness. He saw the torn and tortured look on Jebidiah’s face as he tried to offer what strength and support he could to the man he loved while ignoring his own pain. Zachariah watched Craig who had tears shamelessly flowing down his cheeks as he worked hard to stop Wyatt’s bleeding and tried to urge the man to wake up.

These people needed him. “We better get them to a doctor,” Zachariah spoke up.

Jeb nodded. “There’s a cart beside the barn there.”

Gill stood. “I’ll go get it ready.”

Zachariah was stopped on his path to aid Gilliam when Jeb grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip. “I need to tell you something.”

Zachariah could see from the fire in Jeb’s eyes that the man was looking for a fight. He sighed. “We don’t have time for this.”

        Jeb's grip tightened painfully. "You have time enough to hear what I have to say," he growled. "If either of my brother's die because you didn't handle your own shit and you pulled them into this.... I'll kill you myself and it'll be slow and it'll be painful and you'll wish you'd never stepped foot onto my ranch. Understood?"

        Zachariah's first instinct was to knock Jebidiah's head clean off his shoulders, but he forced himself to look closer at the man. Beneath the anger shining in his green eyes there was a storm of pain, fear and worry. 

        And so Zachariah merely nodded and let his shoulders fall. Jeb's grip on his arm dropped and Zachariah quickly went to Gill beside the cart.

        "Did he threaten your life?" Gill asked without looking at him.   

        "Let's just get the damn cart ready," Zachariah snapped. He was in no mood for conversation. 

        Gill locked the cart brake in place. "Those men don't deserve to die," he noted. 

        "No." Guilt shredded Zachariah's heart. "They don't." 

        Gill didn't look up from the rigging he was readying. "Glad we can agree on that." 

        Zachariah barely managed a nod before walking away to choose two horses to pull the men to town. 

---

        They rode without stopping and nearly killed their horses before they reached a town. Both injured men remained in a fitful state of unconsciousness but they at least kept breathing thanks to the skills Gill had learned from his mother. 

        Zachariah had never said any more earnest prayers than those he prayed during their travel. Please God, keep Wyatt alive, had become the only thought his mind seemed able to create. 

        Dust flew beneath hooves and wheels as they roared into town. Zachariah leapt from his spent horse in front of a small white house with a doctor's sign hanging from the picket fence. He raced to the door and didn't bother knocking before throwing it open. 

        "We have men in need of a doctor!" he bellowed to the empty sitting room. 

        A younger man, tall and thin with wire rimmed glasses, stepped into the room and nodded. "That is why most folks come here," he acknowledged with a raise of his chin. 

        His posture changed a bit as he let his gaze truly take in Zachariah. Zachariah knew he was seeing his heritage, his size, his scars and the blood covering his clothes, his arms and splattered across his face. 

        At that moment Craig and Jeb entered the house with Wyatt held in their arms. The doctor lost his bored, haughty expression and pointed toward the he'd just stepped out of. "Put him in there." 

        "There's another man," Jeb stated. "Zachariah, go help Gilliam bring Pete in." 

        Zachariah longed to stay with Wyatt. He knew that Jeb was staying between them intentionally but he was simply too tired to go to war with the man over it just now. 

        The war would come soon enough when Zachariah informed them he was going after Clint and that he was going alone. Revenge was going to be his-and only his-to exact.

A/N: Woohoo! Two chapters in one day :) I feel quite accomplished!

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

Zachariah sat on the porch, fighting sleep and sheer exhaustion as the stars danced on a nearby pond.

        The doctor had locked himself in the room with his patients and had banned all others from it. The gang was out back but Zachariah had chosen not to join them. 

        Tensions and emotions were running far too high and the blame and accusations in their eyes when they looked at him were more than Zachariah had the strength to deal with just now. 

        "Why are you out here alone?" Eleanor's voice asked from behind him. 

        Zachariah stood quickly and turned to face her. "You're supposed to be in bed." 

        Eleanor wrapped the blanket she carried a little tighter around her shoulders. "I couldn't sleep." 

        The lantern light emphasized the dark circles around her wide eyes and the bruises on her arms. "I'm sorry they got you," Zachariah whispered. 

        Eleanor's brown eyes met his. "Don't do that."

        "What?"

        "Blame yourself." 

        "How can't I blame myself?" Zachariah snapped, whirling around and slamming his hand against the banister. "It is my fault that those two men are lying in there trying not to die and it is my fault that you were taken and they....." 

        "Don't talk about that," Eleanor quickly snapped. 

        Zachariah's stomach flopped when he saw what little color had been left in her cheeks drain. He should be angry—and it would come later when he had Clint in his sights—but for now all he could feel was bone deep sorrow and overwhelming guilt. 

        "I've lived a hard life, Eleanor. I made a career out of killing people because violence was the only thing I knew a damn bit about. I was damn good at my job too. I gave you a better life than you'd have had otherwise and we never had to worry about anything. 

        "But that killing... eventually it eats away at a man's soul and I had to quit. I thought I could give it up and walk away just like that." Zachariah huffed at his own ignorance. "But it followed me. And where did I lead it? Straight to your doorstep." 

        Eleanor shook her head as she sat down in the rocking chair looking thoroughly exhausted. "None of this is your fault. And I don't blame you. And I can promise you that when Wyatt wakes up, he won't blame you either." 

        "

They blame me…. I blame me.“

        "Some of them might blame you, Zachariah, but you have to forgive them for that and not let it get to you. It is human nature to look for someone to blame when we're afraid. Once Wyatt and Pete recover and things settle down, they'll see reason." 

        "And if they don't recover?" Zachariah whispered, the words too terrible to speak with much volume. 

        Eleanor picked at peeling white paint on the arm of the chair. "They will. Wyatt loves you, Zachariah. And he's strong and brave. He tried so hard to protect me and to free us. He wanted to come back to you so badly." 

        Zachariah couldn't remember a single time when he and his sister had had a discussion like this one. They'd both always been private and closed off; even with each other. 

        Or maybe Zachariah had been the closed-off one. Knowing Wyatt, being around his warmth and his understanding, had made a bigger difference and change in Zachariah than he had realized. 

        He couldn't lose him. 

        It was then that Gill stepped onto the porch. "The doctor is ready to tell us about them. I figured you'd want to know." 

        Zachariah nodded and cleared his throat. Eleanor walked inside and Zachariah moved to follow her but was stopped by Gill's hand on his chest. "I don't blame you, Zachariah. I know how it is to try to leave your life behind and have it follow you and put those you love at risk—even kill them." Gilliam's gaze wavered and he swallowed hard before looking back at Zachariah. "And when Wyatt gets it in his mind to help someone—to protect them—there is no stopping him. And as far as Jeb goes...." Gill sighed. "He's lost a lot and he's desperate to hold on to what he has left. Don't be too angry with him for that...please."          

        With that Gilliam turned and walked into the house. Zachariah stood for a moment in the lonely silence before following after the man. 

        "Alright, doc, we're all here now," Craig said when Gill and Zachariah arrived in the sitting room. "You can tell us." 

        "I have to admit I don't see many gunshot wounds," the doctor began. "This might be considered wild country but it's a quiet little town. I cleaned and disinfected the wound as best I could and I gave each man something for pain." 

        "Are they going to make it?" Jeb questioned impatiently. 

        The doctor pulled off his glasses and began to wipe the lenses on his shirtsleeve. "Hard to say. They both lost a lot of blood but neither of them were fatally hit. Our biggest worry for Pete is infection and I'm fairly confident the wound was cleansed in time." 

        "And Wyatt?" Zachariah rasped, feeling Jeb's eyes turn to stare at him "Is Wyatt going to be okay?" he somehow managed to ask. 

        The doctor slid his glasses back onto his face and sighed. Fatigue weighed down his thin shoulders. "He's in bad shape. Malnourished, dehydrated and filthy. The blood loss alone could be enough to kill him thanks to those factors. Add to that the beating it appeared as if his body took..." The doctor shrugged. "He has bruised ribs—probably a couple of cracked ones as well. And he's covered from head to toe in bruises and contusions. I'm not sure his body as strength enough left in it to heal itself." 

        "I'm gonna get some air," Craig mumbled before disappearing out the back door. 

        "Can we sit with them?" Gilliam questioned as he kept a strong, supportive arm around Jeb's broad shoulders. 

        The doctor offered a tired nod. "I guess it won't hurt anything. Talking to folks seems to help them even if it seems like they can't hear you." 

        Jebidiah and Gilliam went through the door to the patient room. Zachariah, Eleanor and the doctor stood together in awkward silence. 

        "Well, I'll be going to bed now," the doctor quietly announced before taking his leave. 

        Zachariah didn't respond as he stood there silently staring at the doorway Wyatt lay beyond. 

        "Go," Eleanor encouraged him. "He would want you near him." 

        Zachariah wasn't sure he could. Damn but caring made a man weak—love made a man weak. 

        Eleanor simply sighed and walked away, heading back up the staircase and toward the bedroom the doctor had given her to use. 

        Zachariah's knees shook and his heart pounded as he slowly reached out and opened the door in front of him. Instantly his sharp gaze found Wyatt. 

        The other man was bare from the waist up save for the white bandage wrapped tightly around his shoulder. He'd been cleaned up but Zachariah could still see the proof of Clint's abuse covering his body. 

        That damn man would pay with his life—and he would pay soon. 

        Without a glance toward Jeb who was standing beside Wyatt, Zachariah walked to the bed and sat down in the chair beside it, sliding it close so he could take Wyatt's hand. 

        He was aware of Jebidiah's tension and heard him take a breath as if to speak. Suddenly, Gilliam appeared, having abandoned his post at Pete's beside. He put his hand on Jeb's shoulder. "Why don't we give them some privacy? I could use some rest." 

        "Gilliam... I don't want him here. This is his fault." 

        Zachariah winced and glanced up at the men. Gill shook his head as he put both hands on Jeb's chest and urged him backward a few steps. "You don't mean that, Jebidiah. Remember when Wyatt insisted on saving me and nearly died from the gunshot? Remember the way I blamed myself for my own past catching up and almost killing someone we both cared about? Dammit, Jeb, I knew it was my fault but you're the one who insisted it wasn't. This is the same damn thing. You can see it just as much as I can when you look at Zachariah. He cares about Wyatt. He's hurting, he's guilt-ridden and he's torturing himself. He doesn't need you making things worse." 

        Zachariah simply sat there holding Wyatt's cool hand and saying nothing. Jebidiah closed his eyes and let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan of despair.

        "I need air," Jeb whispered, his green eyes finding Gill's and locking on them. "Help me, Gilliam..." 

        Zachariah sat in silence as Gill took Jeb's hand and led him from the room. Finding himself alone with Pete and Wyatt, Zachariah focused every bit of his attention on the man he loved. 

        "Did I ever tell you that one of my favorite things was to simply sit in silence with you and watch the firelight? Sometimes I would watch it dance off your dark skin and in your dark eyes while you lost yourself in that notebook you liked to write in and it would captivate me..." Zachariah chuckled humorlessly. "Listen to me being all poetic. You know I never said a poetic word in my life 'til just now. I know that the silence wasn't necessarily by choice seeing as how you can't speak, but I kinda always thought that maybe it meant something to you too." 

        Zachariah scooted closer and laid his free hand over Wyatt's chest, taking small comfort in the steady rise and fall of his breaths. "And so that's why I'm just gonna sit here real silent until you wake up. You've gotta come back to me, Wyatt. There's a lot of things I still need to say to you in the silence."

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

        Zachariah had long ago lost track of time. He'd been sitting at Wyatt's beside for countless hours, leaving only when nature demanded it. 

        Craig and Eleanor had delivered food to him but he'd done little more than pick at meals. When he was tired, he merely sat in the chair and rested his head beside Wyatt's on the pillow. 

        He desperately wished for nothing more than to see Wyatt's dark eyes looking back at him. 

        "You look like hell," Pete's voice drew Zachariah's attention and his head whipped round toward the sound. 

        Pete was pale and clearly weak but he offered a smile. "How long have I been out?"             

        Zachariah simply shrugged because he had no idea how long it had been. "Hells bells!" Gilliam exclaimed, stepping into the room. "You're awake!" 

        Zachariah swore that ten years disappeared from the man's face as he smiled happily at the sight of his best friend.  Pete nodded. "I reckon you were right. I'm too dumb to die." 

        Gilled filled a glass with water from a beside pitcher and helped Pete take a long swallow. "This is one time I'm glad you're brain addled," he admitted. 

        Pete chuckled and winced as he lay his hand over his bandaged side. "Me too." 

        Pete's gaze returned to Zachariah before falling on Wyatt. "How is he?" 

        "He's gonna be fine," Zachariah answered before Gill, who seemed a bit less hopeful, could speak. 

        "Of course he is," Pete agreed. "Wyatt's tougher than all of us. And he wouldn't leave us alone to fend for ourselves. He's too protective for that." 

        Gilliam smiled. "I still remember the day I met Wyatt. Woke up in Craig's tent with that shotgun of his pressed against my cheek. I believe I pissed my pants fifteen times that morning." 

        Pete sighed. "I thought for sure he'd take that pretty smile of yours away from us forever." 

        Zachariah's heart twisted They were talking about Wyatt as if he were gone—reminiscing as if the man was never coming back. 

        With a heavy sigh, Zachariah slowly stood, cursing the aches and pains in his neglected joints. 

        "How long have I been out?" Pete asked Gill. 

“Two days,” Gill replied.

“Has anyone sent word to Jane?” Pete demanded.

        "No," Gill replied, shaking his head with enthusiasm. "We knew she was under enough stress and worry being so far along with the baby and we didn't want her knowing you were shot up and unconscious. Knowing Jane, she would have loaded up and headed straight here." 

        Pete's eyes widened, brimming with terror. "Hell! You better send her word now. She'll be fired-up and mad as a wet settin' hen when she finds out y'all kept her in the dark. You better make sure she knows it wasn't my doing." 

        "You sound scared," Zachariah noted. 

        "Of Jane?" Pete snorted. "You're damn right I'm scared." 

        Zachariah sighed. "I'll tell Jeb to send her word," he promised. "And I'll let everyone know you're awake." 

        "Get a bath while you're out and a change of clothes wouldn't hurt either. You look worse than me and I'm the one who ate lead." 

        Zachariah ignored Pete's goading. He stooped low and pressed a tender kiss to Wyatt's cool brow before leaving the room. 

        Jebidiah was easy enough to find as he stood on the front porch staring out at the pond. "Pete's awake," Zachariah stated. "And he wants you to send word to Jane." 

        Jeb nodded and Zachariah could see the relief in his expression Then Jeb's eyes clouded once again. "Wyatt?" 

        Zachariah looked away. "I'm heading down the road to get a bath and a change of clothes. Do you want me to send the message to Jane?" 

        Jeb rubbed at his neck. "Yeah, I'd appreciate it. And Zachariah..?"

        Zachariah raised a brow and glanced at the other man. "Yeah?"

        "Sorry I was so hard on you before. I don't always use good sense when I'm worried." 

        Zachariah squinted into the sun as he stepped off the porch and kept his back to Jebidiah. "I don't need apologies or explanations." He swallowed hard. "I just need that man in there to wake up." 

        Without giving Jebidiah time to respond, Zachariah pulled his hat down low and strode away.

---

Wyatt felt as if he were trapped in quicksand. No matter how desperately he fought to break free from its iron grip and open his eyes, the muck kept pulling him right back in.

        Was Pete okay?

        Had Eleanor survived unharmed?

        Zachariah......

        That one word served as a lightning rod through Wyatt's senses. Suddenly the world began to come into focus. The first thing Wyatt noticed was the hardness of the bed he lay upon. He was cold and the sheets were rough and scratchy against his bare torso. 

        Then came pain. His shoulder burned and his chest ached with every breath he drew in. 

        Voices filled his ears as his hearing returned. "The doctor said he hasn't woken up by now then he probably won't." Wyatt recognized Jebidiah's tired voice. But who was Jeb talking about? Pete?

        "Damn...." Gill muttered, his voice thick with emotion. "It just ain't right. Wyatt is too good a man to die like this." 

        "Who's gonna talk to Zachariah about what the doctor said?" Pete spoke up. "That man is gonna blow up like a lit stick of dynamite in a mineshaft." 

        Wyatt's eyes fluttered open. He saw his family standing at Pete's bedside. No one was looking his way and Wyatt lacked the energy it would take to alert them of his consciousness. 

        "Where's Craig?" Gill asked. 

        "Probably out drinking. He's not taking things well." Jeb's voice was filled with so much sorrow it stole Wyatt's breath. "None of us are." 

        "I thought I could save him," Pete muttered. "I should have saved him." 

        Gill shook his head and rubbed roughly at his face. "Wyatt always wanted to save everyone. Every thought he had was for someone else. He was the best damn soul and the kindest spirit I ever met." 

        Wyatt felt his eyes redden at the sincerity in Gill's words. Then an angry growl filled the room. "Why the hell are you talking about Wyatt like he's dead?" Zachariah demanded. 

        Wyatt turned his head and let his eyes drink in the sight of his tall, broad, scarred up, long-haired man towering in the doorway with his shoulders thrown back, his fists clenched and his gray eyes flashing with temper. 

        Gill held up his hands. "Zachariah, none of us want it to be true but the doctor said...." 

        "I don't give a two-headed rat's ass what that doctor said," Zachariah countered. "Wyatt is going to be just fine." 

        "What makes you so sure of that?" Jeb whispered sadly. "It's been three days and he hasn't shown any signs of waking up." 

        Zachariah's gray eyes landed on Wyatt and Wyatt felt his lips curve in a bright smile. Zachariah appeared unsteady a moment and one hand reached out to grip the door facing tightly. 

        "Because, he's awake and smiling at me right now."

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The room exploded with activity. Jebidiah, Gilliam and Pete all began to exclaim their happiness over the fact that Wyatt was still alive and finally awake. The doctor, alerted by the sudden noise, came into the room and gave him a good once over, checking Wyatt’s vitals and ensuring he was indeed awake, aware, alive and probably going to stay that way.

        Through all of that, Zachariah simply stood beside that doorway and watched. His sharp gaze never once left Wyatt and Wyatt found himself unable to focus on anything other than maintaining that contact with the other man. 

        As the room began to settle down and Zachariah continued to simply stare at Wyatt, Wyatt saw Gill nudge Jeb. "We should go find Craig..." He shot a pointed look toward both Wyatt and Zachariah and Jeb nodded. 

        "Yeah we should." 

        Pete smiled. "I'll take me a good long nap," he said with a wink before turning his head toward the wall. 

        With the room cleared out, save for Pete who was now faking snores, Zachariah slowly made his way toward Wyatt's bed. 

‘You okay?’ Wyatt asked, concerned by the paleness of his skin and the trepidation in his eyes.

        "Just a bit shocked is all," Zachariah admitted. "I thought you were gonna die." 

        Wyatt smiled and reached for Zachariah who quickly sat down beside him and took his hand. "I'm sorry," Zachariah whispered, clinging to Wyatt's hand. "I'm sorry they got you." 

        Wyatt shook his head. 

‘It’s not your fault,’ he assured the other man. ‘Is Eleanor okay? Did she make it out?’

Zachariah nodded. “She’s here. She spends most of her time in her room but she’s made it clear you’re her hero.”

        Zachariah laid his free hand on Wyatt's cheek. "Thank you for protecting her, Wyatt." 

        Zachariah's gray eyes beamed as Wyatt smiled up at him. 

‘Kiss me, Zachariah. I dreamed about kissing you again.’

Zachariah’s lips curved in a smile as he slowly leaned in and brushed his mouth against Wyatt’s. The kiss was gentle and full of quiet tenderness.

        Zachariah was the one to break the contact of their mouths as he rested their brows together. Wyatt closed his eyes and simply breathed his man in. Wyatt had come close to dying. He'd been closer to death than he'd been to living. Only thoughts of Zachariah had been powerful enough to bring him back from the brink. 

        Peace filled Wyatt's soul as he and Zachariah remained locked together, breathing the same air. Zachariah's thumb caressed Wyatt's hand and Wyatt knew he was loved. 

        They stayed that way for countless minutes, both completely content in the silent presence of the other. Slowly, loath fully, Zachariah pulled away "I'll be back as soon as I can, Wyatt. You focus on getting better and getting home and I'll come back to you when everything is taken care of." 

        Wyatt's eyes narrowed and his grip on Zachariah's hand tightened. 

‘Where are you going?’ he demanded, though he had a feeling he knew the answer.

        Averting his gaze, Zachariah cleared his throat. "Clint got away. I intend to find him and kill him. He'll not come after those I care about again." 

        Wyatt felt panic well up within him. 

‘You can’t go after him alone! Wait for me. Give me a few days and I’ll be able to get up and help you. It’s not safe to go alone….’

Wyatt snapped his mouth shut when he realized he was rambling. He was ranting far too quickly and whenever he began to do that, he ended up being told to slow down.

        But Zachariah seemed to have understood every word. "Wyatt, I have to end this with Clint and I need to do it alone. It's my mess, my problem, and I don't want anyone else hurt because of it. I'll be just fine. I'm used to handling things alone. I'll come back to you." 

        

‘You don’t know that.’

A nod tilted Zachariah’s head. “Yeah, I do. Now, dammit, I never thought I’d find hope for a happy future but you’ve given that to me.” His gaze softened. “Let me take care of this and then I’ll never leave your side again.”

‘This isn’t fair,’ Wyatt grumbled, determined to hold onto his temper. ‘You know I can’t get out of bed so I can’t follow you and you’re using that to sneak off.’

Zachariah chuckled. “I’m not sneaking, Wyatt. I’m telling you what I’m doing so I’m not hiding anything.”

‘Go to hell, Zachariah,’ Wyatt replied, pushing a stray lock of black hair from the man’s face. ‘You know I’ll go crazy knowing you’re out there alone. What if something happens to you?’

Zachariah shook his head. “I need you to take care of Eleanor. She’s locked herself away, Wyatt, and doesn’t know anyone else here. She likes you, she trusts you and I trust you. Take care of my sister.”

        Wyatt felt defeat settle into his gut. He wanted to argue and insist on Zachariah not going out alone but he knew it was pointless, and, honestly, he was feeling far too weak and tired to argue any further. 

        Zachariah was a stubborn man who had his mind made up—and he needed Wyatt to tend to Eleanor so his mind wouldn't be troubled about her while he was out doing what he felt had to be done. 

        "I'll come back to you, Wyatt. I swear it."

        Wyatt nodded slowly. 

‘You better.’

A smile curved the scars on Zachariah’s cheeks. “I will.”

        "Jeb and Gill ain't gonna like you heading off alone," Pete's voice came from the other bed, though his head was still turned away from them. 

        "I think Jeb will be glad to have me gone," Zachariah countered. 

        "Not now that he's accepted you into the coop. He'll be a big mama hen to you just like he is the rest of us." 

        Zachariah gazed down at Wyatt who could feel sleep attempting to claim him. "I have to go," he insisted. "And I have to do it alone." 

        Wyatt nodded, though it killed his soul to do so. 

‘I’ll tell them all where you went—and why.’

        Zachariah stood slowly, keeping his fingers entwined with Wyatt's. "I'll come home to you," he vowed. 

        Wyatt forced a smile he didn't feel inside. 

‘I’ll be waiting.’

---

         Zachariah tossed his loaded saddlebags over his horse and gritted his teeth. Sheer determination to save those he loved from any other threat from Clint was all that made it possible for Zachariah to think about climbing into the saddle. 

        Always in the past, the knowledge of having a job to do, a bounty to hunt, had filled Zachariah with a strange thrill. 

        Not any longer. 

        Zachariah wanted nothing more than to stay at Wyatt's side. He wanted to help the man return to full strength and then settle down together. He wanted a tiny cabin with those tender touches from Wyatt every single day. 

        But that couldn't happen until Clint was dead.

        "What the hell do you think you're doing?" 

        Jebidiah's angry voice drew Zachariah's head around just as he settled himself into the saddle. "I'm going after Clint, Jeb. Wyatt and I done talked about it." 

        "And you didn't think you needed to talk to me?"

        Zachariah shook his head. "No," he replied honestly. 

        Jeb stared hard up at him, squinting in the sunset. "Do you want help? Gill and I could ride along. It was our people that son of a bitch attacked."

        "But it's me Clint has a problem with and it's me who needs to take care of things. You and Gill have your hands full. You have to take care of Pete and get him back to his wife. You need to see to Wyatt and make sure he recovers. And, I have a favor to ask...." 

        "Your sister will come home with us and have a place there for as long as she needs," Jeb quickly interjected. "Don't you even worry about that." 

        Zachariah tipped his head gratefully. He and Jebidiah had gotten off on the wrong foot, that was for sure, but the man seemed to be a good man. He was protected and a bit hard on the surface—but some men simply had to be that way in order to survive in the world. 

        "Take care of yourself, Zachariah," Jeb urged. "Wyatt is gonna want you home safe and sound." 

        Zachariah nodded. "And I'm eager to give him what he wants." 

        Without another word spoken, Zachariah pulled his hat down low, turned his horse toward the horizon and rode off, leaving his heart behind him.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Jeb had a sack full of jelly beans in his hand and he hoped that they would do the trick in putting a smile on Wyatt’s face. Zachariah had been gone for two days now and Wyatt had been more than a little melancholy. It didn’t help matters that Craig still hadn’t shown his face.

        Jeb knew his little brother was alive and in town because Gill had poked his head into the saloon twice in the five days since they'd been in town and seen the man.... Dangling drunkenly from stair rails while drowning in whiskey and whores. 

        With each day of Craig's selfish, childishness, Jeb felt himself grow more and more frustrated, disappointed and annoyed in his brother. 

        Jebidiah spared a quick glance at the saloon as he walked past it in the low light of the evening. The ruckus coming from inside told him a good time could be found through those swinging doors but Jeb wasn't interested in taking a look. Saloons had never been his cup of tea. He preferred quiet nights beside the river with nothing but the moonlight and his man. 

        Thoughts of just what he'd do on those quiet moonlit nights were interrupted when the swinging doors of the saloon flew open and a body was tossed out.

        Jebidiah barely had time to register that it was his brother's body before he stepped back to avoid being toppled over.

        "Do you know that damned man?" the barkeep asked from the door when Jebidiah cursed down at Craig's moaning body. 

        "Yeah," he admitted grudgingly. "Yeah, I know him." 

        Craig got to his hands and knees and wobbly made weak attempt to stand. With a growl, Jebidiah placed a heavy boot on his brother's back, shoving his belly into the dirt once again. 

        "If he comes back in here looking for a fight, he's gonna get more than he can handle," the burly barkeep warned. 

        Jeb tipped his hat at the angry man. "You won't get an argument from me." 

        The barkeep nodded curtly, snarled down at Craig and strode back into the saloon. 

        "Goddammit, Jeb, let me up! And get your damned foot off my back!" 

        Jeb sighed and stepped down just a tiny bit harder before backing away. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked his younger brother as he slid his thumbs through his belt loops and stared down at him. 

        "I'm having fun, big brother," Craig muttered, using the nearby hitching post to pull himself to his feet. 

        Jebidiah raised a brow. "Fun?"

        "Yeah," Craig muttered rubbing at his temple. 

        Jeb shook his head. "Willie was always the one I had to worry about when it came to liquor. I never thought I'd have to worry just as much about you."

        Craig spit dirt from his mouth and swiped his shirtsleeve across his lips. "Why the hell did you say his name for? I don't want to hear it." 

        Jeb rolled his eyes. "I don't give a three-toed rat's ass what you want to hear. I'll talk about him all I want to." 

        Craig attempted to head back toward the saloon. Jeb grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip, stopping him in his tracks. "He died, Craig. Willie died and it hurt, it still hurts, but you have to move on. Wyatt is—"

        "Dying!" Craig exclaimed, cutting him off. He yanked his arm free from Jeb's grip. "He's dying, Jeb. Both of my best friends...." 

        Jeb shook his head before rubbing at his neck. "Wyatt is awake and growing stronger. He has been for days." 

        Shock registered on Craig's face before morphing into rage. He swung at Jeb who easily dodged the sloppy punch. Craig's momentum sent him stumbling and he would have fallen had he not latched himself onto a passerby to steady himself. 

        "How dare you," Craig hissed. "How dare you not tell me." 

        "I'm sorry..." the harassed passerby whispered. 

        Craig frowned. "Not you," he grumbled, shoving the man away. The abused and rather confused man saw his chance and quickly made a break for it. 

        Craig whirled on Jeb but Jeb spoke first. "I was waiting on you to pull your head out of your ass, little brother. I thought that the last time I dragged you out of a saloon and gave you news about Wyatt, you'd see the light and change your ways. I dragged you out once to help you, I wasn't gonna do it again.

        "If you want to go see Wyatt then go see him, but you damn well better get a bath and get sober first. Seeing you like this would only make him worry." 

        "Wyatt doesn't need me," Craig muttered, kicking at the dirt. "He has Zachariah." 

        Jebidiah opened his mouth, fully intending to tell Craig that the giant, bounty hunter had left town, but then changed his mind. If his brother wanted to become a drunken fool then Jeb wasn't going to stop him. He'd spent his whole life tending to everyone and he was done. It was time for Craig to stand on his own two feet.

        "If you decide to pull your head out of your ass, we'd be more than happy to see you at the doc's. But you damn well better be in better shape than this when you come. Wyatt don't need to be worrying over you." 

        Jebidiah turned and strode away, hoping he could shake the bad mood his younger brother had put him in before he saw Wyatt. The boy would surely pick up on it in a hurry.

---

‘What did he say?’ Wyatt quickly asked the moment Jeb stepped into the room.

        Jebidiah cleared his throat and rubbed at his neck. "Who?"

        "Craig," Pete spoke up from his bed. "Wyatt was standing by the window and saw you two talking in town." 

        Jeb tossed the candy onto Wyatt's bed, noticing Eleanor who was sitting silently in the corner. That woman was a full bushel short of a load. She rarely spoke, didn't leave her room often and tended to simply sit in shadowed corners and attempt to disappear into the background.

        But she'd been through hell ten times over by the sound of it so Jeb didn't fault her for her oddities.

        Wyatt didn't even glance at the sack of candy. His eyes never left Jeb. 

‘What did Craig say? Is he okay?’

Jeb clenched and unclenched his fists as he chewed on his lip. What the hell was he supposed to say.

‘He’s drunk, isn’t he?’

Jeb didn’t need to speak so he simply nodded.

‘He knows I’m here?’

“He does now,” Jeb replied, averting his gaze momentarily.

        Wyatt's dark eyes narrowed. 

‘He didn’t before?’

“He won’t pull a whiskey bottle out of his mouth long enough to listen to much of anything,” Jeb snapped defensively.

        Wyatt's sadness was damn near palpable and Jeb wanted nothing more than to hightail it out of that room like a coward. "I brought you candy," he muttered. 

        Wyatt nodded and grabbed the sack, though the sadness on his face didn't fade. Jeb was grateful when he felt Gill's presence behind him just before the man slid an arm around his waist and came to stand beside him. 

        "The doctor said that as long as Pete is feeling up to the wagon ride and Wyatt has the strength to get around, we can live in the next day or two." 

        Jeb nodded, happy to hear the news. "It'll be good to get home." Then he smiled. "Speaking of home..." Reaching into his pocket, Jeb pulled the two envelopes from within. 

        "This one is yours," he said, tossing one to Pete. "I figure Jane wouldn't want me reading it out loud." 

        Pete's ears reddened but that crooked grin spread across his face. "It would probably make you jealous. That woman has a way with words..." 

        Jeb grumbled under his breath. "I'll be she does.. just remember that's my cousin you're sharing sweet words with." 

        Pete laughed. "You remember that Gill was mine before he was yours. We shared something special." 

        Gill rolled his eyes. "What does the other note say?" 

        Jeb opened it up. "It's from Maria. It says, 'Hope you all are doing some better. You need to be getting Pete and Wyatt home so I can tend to them. They need a real doctor's care and I just don't trust it to be anyone but me. The baby came yesterday, if Pete hasn't read his letter yet then this is the first he's hearing. You're a pa, Pete—" 

        Jeb stopped reading as Pete's eyes lit up and his jaw dropped. "I'm a pa?" 

        "That's what it says," Jeb assured him. 

        "Well keep goin'!" Pete exclaimed. "Is Jane alright? Is the baby okay? It ain't got two heads, does it?" 

        Jeb chuckled and returned his attention to the paper. "Jane and the babe are both doing just fine. The boy is gonna be a charmer, like his sweet talking daddy, if I had to guess but maybe some of his mama's good sense will take hold. Preston is doing great at learning just what a cousin does. He hasn't left Jane or the babe for more than a few minutes and insists on helping in every way that he can. That's all I have to say for now. Y'all just get on home. You've been gone far too long." 

        As Jeb stopped reading, Pete tore open his letter and he quickly swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. He held the letting out to Wyatt. "Don't read past the first couple of lines cuz I can't promise what you'll see.. but you'll want to see what she said first." 

        Wyatt took the letter and looked down at it. Jeb saw the tears fill his brown eyes before he looked up, a happy smile beaming across his face. Just as Craig came shuffling into the room, Wyatt put the letter down and sighed. 

        

‘She named the baby Willie.’

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

        "I was hoping Zachariah would be back before we left," Eleanor admitted quietly as she stared out the window. 

        Wyatt adjusted the sling on his shoulder and nodded at her back. He had hoped Zachariah would have returned by now as well—or at least sent word. But there had been nothing and going home could not be put off any longer. 

        Jeb and Gill were missing their son and Pete was ready to meet his. So Wyatt had to swallow his own worries and fears and head home with his family. 

        Putting on a brave smile, Wyatt tapped Eleanor's shoulder. She turned to face him. 

‘Zachariah is strong. He’ll come back to us.’

Eleanor sighed as he gaze dropped. “I hope so.”

        Wyatt took her hand in his and led her from the room. She was what gave him strength when he felt so frightened and worried himself. Eleanor 

needed him. She wouldn’t speak to the others and didn’t seem comfortable in their presence. She trusted Wyatt and Zachariah had entrusted Wyatt with her care.

        Wyatt refused to let him down. 

        "Take it easy going home," the doctor warned as Gill and Jeb settled Pete down on a bed of blankets and pillows in the back of the wagon. "Take plenty of time to rest. Both you men need some more healing time." 

        "Don't worry, doctor," Jeb assured the wiry man. 

        Pete grinned. "If there's one thing Jeb's good at it's mothering folks to death." He winked. "We'll be as spoiled as babes by the time we get home."

        Jeb grumbled and tossed a spare pillow at Pete, catching him in the gut. A broad smile crinkled Jeb's cheeks as Pete let out a pain-filled laugh and held his hands up in surrender. 

        Wyatt helped Eleanor into the back of the wagon before settling down beside her. His ribs weren't quiet healed enough to make days on horseback sound appealing. 

        "Just holler if you all need anything," Gill said. "Craig's driving the wagon and he's promised to be careful." 

        Wyatt shifted uneasily and hoped Craig was sober enough to remember. The man hadn't spoke a word to Wyatt, or anyone else, since he'd returned and he looked half-dead and smelled like a whiskey bottle. 

        Wyatt was worried about his friend but had no idea how to help him. 

        As the wagon lurched forward, Wyatt laid his head back. Soon he would be home and life would be back to its usual routine—only now Wyatt would be watching the horizon and praying his man was coming home. 

---

A week later, Craig pulled the wagon to a stop in front of Maria’s tiny house. Just as Wyatt’s boots touched the dirt, Preston burst from the house.

        His scrawny legs sent dust flying behind him as he raced their way. His pale face was red and his breathing was labored from the exertion he was putting into his run. 

        The boy threw his arms around Gill's waist and the ex-texas ranger dropped to his knees and hugged him even more fiercely. 

        "I..." Preston struggled to suck in a wheezing breath. "...missed you." 

        Jeb pushed the boy's glasses up on his nose. "You shouldn't have run, Preston," he scolded gently. 

        "Let's get you some medicine," Gill agreed, scooping their son into his arms. 

        "I'll help Pete in," Jeb added as Gill headed toward the porch. 

        Wyatt was no help in aiding Jeb and Craig as they got Pete from the wagon. He simply stood by awkwardly and noticed that Eleanor was doing the same. 

        "Wyatt!" Maria exclaimed when he stepped into her home. She rushed over and wrapped her thin arms gently around him. "Please don't you ever run off again. This place just isn't the same without your sweet smile." Wyatt couldn't help but smile at her kindness. She clicked her tongue. "And anytime you decide to have an adventure, you end up shot. You've had about enough adventure, boy." 

        "Where's Jane? And the babe?" Pete snapped with a grouchy impatience that was so out of character it had everyone laughing. 

        "Right this way," Maria replied with a wave of her hand. 

        She led the group to the back bedroom and Wyatt stared in awe at the sight inside. Jane had always been beautiful but she'd also had a tough side and rough edges. But lying in that bed with her hair hanging loose and a sleeping baby with bright red hair curled against her chest, she appeared softer—almost angelic. 

        Her eyes lit up when they met her husband's. "Pete, come look," she whispered. "Come look at what we made." 

        Gill stepped away from Preston, who seemed to be feeling better already after his shot, and quickly aided his best friend into the bed, settling the awestruck man down beside his wife. 

        Jane placed the baby in Pete's waiting arms and tears filled his eyes. "Damn Gill... it looks like I finally did something right, don't it?"

        Gill smiled. "Yeah, it sure does." 

        Maria began to usher the onlookers toward the door. "Come on now, let's skedaddle and give the new family some alone time. I know Jane's real eager to have a few 

words with Pete.“

        Pete's head snapped up. "Words?" He swallowed hard and glanced at his wife. "She said that as if the words you wanna have are bad words."

        Jane laughed and kissed his unsuspecting lips. "How about I keep the bad words to myself this time and swallow 'em?"

        Pete nodded, resting his brow against hers. "That'd be real nice." 

        Wyatt quickly walked out of the room and didn't stop walking until he reached the porch. He breathed in fresh morning air and tried hard to keep his hands from shaking. 

        He was happy for Pete and Jane, he really was, but seeing their closeness made Wyatt's heart ache. He'd had a small taste of that with Zachariah but it hadn't been enough. 

        Damn, but he hoped his man would hurry home.

A/N: It’s short, i know, but i hope you still enjoyed it!

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-One

Days passed and became weeks which turned into months. Seasons changed. The cold of fall froze the dirty ground before the spring thaw brought everything back to life.

        The early summer heat was oppressive and didn't bode well for the rest of the season. If it was a taste of what was to come, they'd likely all die of heat stroke. 

        Wyatt found it hard to care. 

        Zachariah had never come home. He had never sent word. It had been roughly eight full months and everyone on the ranch had begun to accept the fact that he was 

never coming back.

        Everyone except Wyatt. 

        Even Eleanor had stopped talking about her brother as if he were a living person and instead referred to him in the past tense. She still didn't talk much, though she no longer acted uncomfortable around the gang. She did like to keep her body completely covered at all times—even going so far as to wear a long-sleeved dress with a shawl in the heat they were now experiencing. 

        She lived in Jeb and Gill's home. Her and Preston had formed a unique and heartwarming bond and Wyatt suspected that she was comfortable living with the two men because she knew that neither of them would ever show any interest in forcing her to lay with them the way Clint's gang had. 

        Wyatt hefted up the sledge hammer he was holding and brought it down hard upon the fence row he was driving into the ground. Thoughts of Clint made him want to have that man's head on the post he was pounding. 

        Wyatt's mind was sharp enough to know that Zachariah must have failed in his quest. He understood that, chances were, Clint and his men had managed to kill Zachariah—but Wyatt's heart was another story. 

        His heart refused to accept that without proof and Wyatt refused to force it. If he forced his heart to believe something like that then he would probably curl up and die. He had to believe that 

someday Zachariah would come back to him.

        Laughter came from Jeb's porch and Wyatt glanced up to see Jane holding a giggling Willie on her hip as the boy gripped Preston's blond hair in his chubby little hand. 

        "Make him let go!" Preston exclaimed painfully. 

        Pete's laughter grew as Eleanor hopelessly attempted to disentangle Willie's fingers from Preston's hair. "Control your child," Gill teased Pete from the barn door. 

        Pete winked. "There won't be any such thing as controlling the boy," he assured him. "He's my youngin through and through." 

        Wyatt's lips curved in the ghost of a smile at the antics of his family. He wanted to join in with them. He wanted to feel like the light-hearted, fun-loving person he'd once been. But it was hard. 

        He missed Zachariah. Maybe if he knew... if he had proof that the man wasn't coming home, he could figure out a way to move on... Until then he was going to be forever waiting and forever wondering. 

        "You okay?" Craig's voice broke through his thoughts. 

        Wyatt glanced at the other man who was standing with a roll of wire in his hands, wrapping it around the posts Wyatt was pounding. They were making an extra corral to house the ponies that Jeb had ordered. All it had taken was Preston asking if he could have a pony to have Jeb ordering several of the beasts. 

        

‘Yeah,’ Wyatt responded to Craig’s question. Craig had been trying over the last months—he really had. He was still struggling with demons of his own and still tended to disappear for days at a time on drunken flings but he always made an attempt to check in on Wyatt and spend time with him.

        Problem was, Wyatt just wasn't good company. 

        Craig sat the wire down and pulled his bandana from his back pocket. He wiped the sweat from his face and sighed. "Wyatt, you can talk to me, you know. I know you're hurting and want Zachariah to come back but....." 

        Wyatt shook his head. 

‘Don’t. Let’s just work.’

“I know I haven’t been the best of friends to you lately, Wyatt, but I’m trying… I don’t know how to help you.”

        Wyatt nodded and forced a smile. 

‘I know. Do you want to go riding tonight?’

Craig grinned. “Sure. We could camp out like old times. Play some poker, shoot at the moon and leave these settled down folks behind a while.”

        Wyatt felt a pang in his heart but managed to keep it from showing on his face. He'd give his left leg to be just like those settled down folks. 

‘Sounds good,’ he lied.

        The two men went back to working. Wyatt shed his shirt a short time later and his attention went to the claw necklace dangling against his chest. He hadn't taken the thing off since Zachariah had placed it on him and Wyatt didn't think he ever would. 

        Knowing he had at least that tiny piece of the man he loved next to his heart filled Wyatt with the smallest bit of peace. He glanced at his best friend and Craig smiled back at him. 

        Wyatt knew he had to get on with his life and head to start living again. It was time he went back to being the friend and family member that those around him had been missing for so long. 

---

        Jeb's heart had never been so damn heavy in his life as it was just now. Holy hell but how was he supposed to do this? How could he deliver the news he'd just learned? 

        He knew he had to. It had to be delivered today because waiting would only delay the inevitable and possibly hurt someone he loved even more. 

        Jebidiah had to let Wyatt know that the man he'd been waiting on so faithfully all these months wasn't coming home. Newspapers tended to tell the truth and right there in black and white, written in that paper he'd purchased, was the article about the death of a well-known bounty hunter named Zachariah.           

        While Jeb had wanted to believe it could have been a different bounty hunter by that name, the description in the article left little doubt. 

        The man Wyatt loved was dead. 

        Jeb knew this was going to destroy the man he considered a brother. Wyatt had been a ghost of his former self since returning home and seemed to only be living for the day when Zachariah would ride back in the way he'd vowed to. 

        Without that day to look forward to, Jebidiah was scared to death that Wyatt would, quite simply, give up. 

        He rode onto the ranch slowly, each footfall of his horse seeming to thunder loudly in his ears. Instantly his eyes found Wyatt. The man was shirtless and slicked in sweat as he used a sledgehammer to pound in fence posts for the new corral. 

        Craig was stringing wire along behind him and Jebidiah was shocked to see that the two men were smiling and laughing—almost like old times. 

        Damn that was only going to make telling Wyatt the truth that much harder. 

        Jeb felt Gill's eyes on him and he motioned for the other man as he rode into the barn. 

        "What's wrong?" Gill demanded, Pete at his side as his Jeb slid off his horse's back. 

        "I happened to pick up a newspaper in town," Jeb began as Pete began to unsaddle his horse. "Damnation, Gilliam, I don't know how I'm gonna do this." 

        Gill stepped forward and took Jeb's hands. "You don't have to do anything alone," he promised. "Now what exactly is it that we have to do?"

        "We only get newspapers out here every couple of months so this one is from back in the early spring—" Jeb swallowed hard and pulled a sugar cube from his pocket before giving it to the skittish appaloosa Wyatt had gotten while he'd been with Zachariah. "Zachariah is dead."

        A pin could have been heard dropping in the barn as Pete and Gilliam took in the news. 

        "Dead?" Pete whispered. "How the hell did he die?"

        Jeb sighed. "The paper said he got in a shootout with Clint and four other men. Those men are dead too but Zachariah was injured bad and succumbed to those injuries later." Jeb stared hard into Gill's brown eyes. "How in the hell do we tell him that he's not coming home?"

        Three sets of eyes looked out the barn door and found Wyatt. He and Craig were working together to string a line of fence wire. Gill wrapped a tight arm around Jeb's waist. 

        "Do you want me to do it?" he offered. 

        Jebidiah shook his head. "No, it should be me... just be with me, okay?" Jeb didn't care how weak or vulnerable he sounded—because it couldn't be nearly as weak or vulnerable as he truly felt. 

        "He has to know deep down that this was going to be the news he heard..." Gill spoke sadly. "He'll be okay." 

        Jeb shook his head. "I don't think so, Gilliam. Hell, if someone rode in and told me you weren't ever coming home..." he shivered and gripped the man a little tighter. "I reckon my heart would just stop beating then and there." 

        "Do y'all want me to come with you when you tell him or should I go let Jane know?"

        "Go ahead and tell Jane," Jeb replied. "Just don't let Eleanor hear... If he's able, we'll let Wyatt tell her. If he's not then we'll let her know." 

        Pete nodded. He patted Jeb and Gill on the back. "Good luck... I don't envy you." 

        Jeb took Gilliam's hand in his and they stepped out into the sunlight. He paused, wondering exactly what he was going to say and how he was going to say it. Just as he was building himself up to continue on that walk, hoof beats thundered in the distance and then grew closer. 

        Instinct had both Jebidiah and Gilliam pulling their guns and then the figure neared and Jebidiah's arm dropped quickly. 

        "Damnation." 

MDtFqC{sh

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-One

Wyatt heard the hoof beats approaching and his heart beat quickened. Not with worry. Not with fear. With excitement.

        He couldn't see the horse or rider yet, the smokehouse kept them hidden from his view, but Wyatt didn't need to see with his eyes to know what his heart was telling him. 

        Zachariah had come home. 

        Throwing down the sledgehammer, Wyatt ran to the side so the smokehouse would no longer hinder his view. 

        If he could have cried out with joy, the sound would have echoed off the prairie grass and mesas. Zachariah's black gelding was at full gallop. Its black mane was blowing as wildly in the wind as Zachariah's long dark hair. 

        Zachariah showed no signs of slowing down as he neared Wyatt but Wyatt had no fear of being trampled. He saw Zachariah's arm come out and, as everyone and everything else around him faded, Wyatt wrapped his hand around that strong arm and felt himself hoisted through the air. 

        He was tossed behind Zachariah in the saddle and Wyatt wrapped his arms tight around the big man's waist, clinging to him with unabashed desperation. He saw his family staring with different degrees of shock and surprise but they quickly became distant figures as Zachariah rode Wyatt away across the plains. 

        Wyatt did not know or care where they were going. All he focused on was the feel of Zachariah's body against his as he kept his arms wrapped tight around him and buried his face in his back. 

        Tears soaked the back of Zachariah's dark vest but Wyatt could not fight them or keep them at bay. They were tears of pure joy and relief. He had been so sure in his mind that Zachariah was gone but his heart had been right all along. 

        He wasn't sure what had kept Zachariah gone for so long but that didn't matter just now. All that mattered was savoring the here and now. 

        Wyatt saw the tiny shack that he had once kept a tied-up Zachariah prisoner in growing closer. He smiled when he realized that Zachariah must have remembered the place as well. 

        The panting horse came to a stop and Zachariah slipped down before turning, putting his hands on Wyatt's hips and pulling him down as well. Their bodies were flush as Zachariah stared down at him. 

        Wyatt took in every line, scar and angle of that face. He took in the way the hot breeze tossed strands of hair across Zachariah's cheek. He took in the sight of every fleck of black within those dark gray eyes as they gazed down at him. 

        "Dammit, Wyatt, if you ain't the best damn sight I've ever seen." 

        Wyatt beamed up at him, unable to wipe the happy smile off his face or stop the tears that were still falling from his eyes. Zachariah's hand cupped Wyatt's face and his calloused thumbs gently wiped away the dampness. "Don't cry, Wyatt. I'm here now and I ain't never going away again." 

        Wyatt barely managed a nod before he quickly rose to his tip toes and pressed his mouth to Zachariah's. 

        Wyatt may have started the kiss but Zachariah was quick to take it over. He tilted Wyatt's head and deepened the kiss with a fervor that shocked Wyatt. His hands dripped lower, his fingertips dancing over Wyatt's bare shoulders and causing him to tremble wildly. 

        The summer heat was forgotten as Zachariah put his hands on Wyatt's hips and lifted him into the air. Wyatt smiled against his man's hungry mouth as he wrapped his legs around Zachariah's waist and Zachariah carried him to the door, never breaking the fiery kiss they were sharing. 

        Wyatt reached behind himself blindly and closed the door. He felt Zachariah carry him to the far wall and the two came down together on the rickety cot.      

        "I know we need to talk," Zachariah growled, pulling his mouth from Wyatt's. He nipped hungrily at Wyatt's neck and Wyatt's back arched from the bed, desperate to bring his body closer to Zachariah. "But it's gotta wait because I want you something fierce." 

        Wyatt swallowed hard. 

‘I want you too,’ he somehow managed to say. His entire body was shaking and all he wanted was for Zachariah to ease the painful want that he had awakened with nothing but a hungry kiss.

        With a hungry growl, Zachariah once again captured Wyatt's mouth. He nipped at his lips and Wyatt allowed him the entrance he was demanding. Their tongues warred for dominance, though Wyatt didn't battle long. He had no problem with giving Zachariah control. 

---

Zachariah could not get enough of tasting Wyatt’s kiss. There had been a time, not too long ago, when he hadn’t thought he would ever even see his man again. Now here he was, holding the man close and tasting his mouth—breathing the same air.

        Zachariah ran his hand up Wyatt's lean side, happy that no shirt stood between his fingertips and Wyatt's soft skin. He had never before had a chance to caress Wyatt's lithe muscles and so he took his time do that now. 

        Every dip and bend became burned into Zachariah's memory. Soon his mouth was following the path of his fingertips. 

        Wyatt's skin was tangy beneath his tongue. Zachariah smiled and took note of the way Wyatt's back arched and his eyes closed with ecstasy when Zachariah swirled his tongue around his dark nipple. 

        "You like that?" Zachariah growled. Wyatt nodded. Zachariah winked up at him. "Then you're gonna love this."

        Zachariah straddled Wyatt's knees and swiftly undid his gun belt and pants. Wyatt's hardness sprang free and Zachariah saw the way Wyatt shifted uncomfortably and appeared suddenly bashful. 

        "I've wanted to taste you for a long time," Zachariah admitted.  

        Wyatt still appeared unsure and even a bit afraid. It reminded Zachariah of his innocence and felt awe and pride alike fill him. To know that his body would be the only body lucky enough to know Wyatt's was awe inspiring. 

        Zachariah lowered his head and licked at one of the hard muscles low on Wyatt's belly. Wyatt's hips shot up and his hands were suddenly on Zachariah's head, urging him lower. 

        Without hesitation, Zachariah sank lower and gave the man exactly what he was asking for. 

        Zachariah didn't have much more experience than Wyatt had and he'd been out of practice for a long while but he called on every instinct and bit of knowledge he had locked away as he pleasured Wyatt. He wanted to give only the best to his man. 

        Wyatt's grip on his hair was painful but it only served to deepen the want that Zachariah could feel tightening within him. It didn't take long before he felt Wyatt begin to squirm and stiffen beneath him. 

        Zachariah glanced up the length of Wyatt's body and saw the hunger and the want in his eyes. He saw the tightening of his jaw. 

        Zachariah growled against Wyatt and that proved to be the last bit the other man could take. Zachariah was sure that he lost a few hairs as Wyatt's grip grew even tighter. 

        Wyatt's lean hips thrust upward and Zachariah growled with hunger as Warmth filled his mouth and he drank it down with greed. 

        With Wyatt trembling and riding out the final waves of pleasure coursing through him, Zachariah finished removing the outlaw's boots and pants. Then he stretched out beside the other man and pulled him into his chest. 

        "You okay?" he asked with a chuckle.

        The smile that lit up Wyatt's face took Zachariah's breath. 

‘I love you.’

Zachariah’s heart slammed to a sudden stop. His jaw dropped as he stared dumfounded at Wyatt.

        Love?

        Zachariah had known he loved Wyatt and had been reasonably sure that Wyatt loved him as well. But to hear it out loud... or to see it come from Wyatt's mouth... Zachariah had never imagined he'd ever be loved by anyone. 

        Wyatt's brown eyes filled with disappointment and pain. He tried hard to pull himself from Zachariah's arms but the man held tight. "I love you too. Damn, Wyatt, I love you so damned much it hurts." 

        Wyatt's face beamed with happiness once again. He rose to his knees, straddling Zachariah who had flipped onto his back. 

        "You're gonna start something," Zachariah warned. 

        Wyatt grinned and Zachariah would be damned if that grin didn't seem almost wicked. 

‘You already started it.’

Zachariah found himself laughing. “Yeah, I reckon I did.”

        Wyatt's hands were shaking as he began to undo the buttons of Zachariah's shirt. His lips tentatively tasted every inch of skin as it was revealed to him and Zachariah found himself gripping the rough sheets for all he was worth. 

        Wyatt's lips paused when his eyes found the red puckered scar on Zachariah's right side, just at the bottom of his ribs. Zachariah met Wyatt's gaze as the man looked up at him. 

‘That’s new.’ Wyatt’s gaze was accusing. ‘It’s too red to be old.’

Zachariah nodded, pushing his hips up against Wyatt. “Yeah, I got it a few months back.”

        The look on Wyatt's face made it clear that he was ready and willing to get up and go after the people responsible. Zachariah reached up and too Wyatt's face gently in his hands. "Don't worry," he said, pressing a tender kiss to his man's lips. "The other man looks a lot worse." 

        

‘You sure?’ Wyatt asked persistently.

        "I'm sure," Zachariah promised. "Now, why don't we get back to what I started?"

        He kissed Wyatt with a bit more determination and it made the other man seem to forget his thoughts of vengeance. Wyatt's hands went to his gun belt and slipped it from his hips. 

        Zachariah waited, very impatiently, as Wyatt removed his boots and slid off his pants. Without warning, Wyatt's tongue flicked against the tip of Zachariah's aching cock. 

        "Holy hell!" he bellowed as his hips rocked and the cot moaned in protest. 

        Wyatt seemed even more emboldened by Zachariah's response and soon eh was pleasuring Zachariah's cock like it never had been before. Zachariah thought about stopping him. He had hoped to make love to Wyatt today and hadn't planned on finding release in the other man's mouth. 

        But Wyatt's mouth felt so damn good wrapped around him that Zachariah forgot all his good intentions. Zachariah felt that band of pleasure growing tighter and tighter until suddenly, it snapped. 

        White light blinded all else from sight as Zachariah called out Wyatt's name and lost himself. Wyatt drank him down without hesitation. 

        Zachariah lay there trembling and jerking with his eyes closed, enjoying the aftershocks of pleasure. Wyatt lay down on top of him, curling up against his chest and propping his head in his hand. 

        "I wanted to make love to you, Wyatt. I hope you aren't disappointed." 

        Wyatt smiled up at him, appearing to be every bit a satisfied man. 

‘I’m not disappointed. And there will be time for that later.’ Wyatt’s dark eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not leaving again, are you?’

Zachariah shook his head and traced Wyatt’s shoulder with his fingertips. “Never again,” he vowed. “Did I miss a lot?”

        Wyatt's eyes lit up and he nodded as he took a deep breath. Zachariah saw the signs of a long ramble so he readied himself and focused all his attention on that mouth. 

        

‘Pete and Jane have a baby boy. He’s almost nine months old and they named him Willie. Preston, that’s Jeb and Gill’s boy, if you forgot, has decided he wants to train ponies to do tricks for carnivals so Jeb went and ordered a few of them and has us building a corral. Craig still drinks too much sometimes but I think he’s coming around. Eleanor is doing really good. She seems to get along with Preston and has been living with Gill and Jeb. I offered to build her her own cabin but she refused. Oh, and she adopted a pig, named it Bacon and refused to let Gill slaughter it….’

Zachariah held up his hand and Wyatt’s mouth slammed shut. Resignation filled his dark eyes. Zachariah quirked up a brow. “She named the damn pig Bacon?”

        Wyatt's face lit up. 

’Yep. And Preston helped her make ‘Save the Pig’ signs to convince Gill not to slaughter it.’

Zachariah laughed, feeling completely carefree for the first time in his life. ‘I’m surprised,’ Wyatt announced suddenly.

        "By what?" Zachariah asked, holding him tighter. 

        

‘You understood me. No one ever understands me when I ramble.’

“Well now you have someone who does.”

        Wyatt kissed him softly and Zachariah growled with annoyance when hoof beats sounded outside. "Better put our clothes on. It sounds like someone has come to check on you." 

        The men had just finished fastening their gun belts when a knock sounded on the door. Zachariah opened it to find Gill and Jeb standing on the other side. "We were a little busy," he grumbled. 

        Jeb nodded. "That's why we gave you a little time," he agreed. "But now it's time to come back to the house and explain a thing or two." 

        "About what?" Zachariah demanded as Wyatt came to stand beside him. 

        Jeb held up a newspaper and, while Zachariah's reading skills were lacking, he recognized the article. Gill nodded and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You look awfully good for a dead man," he stated, earning himself a sharp glance from Jeb. 

        Wyatt frowned and tapped Zachariah's shoulder to get his attention. 

‘Why’d he call you a dead man?’

Zachariah shrugged and shoved a lock of his long dark hair from his face. “Because I am.”

r

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

            Wyatt hung onto Zachariah’s hand as he stood with his back in Zachariah’s chest and Zachariah’s arm draped over his shoulder.  They were on the porch of Jeb and Gill’s house and Wyatt had yet to hear exactly why and how Zachariah had come to be a dead man.

            He had insisted that he only wanted to have to tell the story once and wanted everyone around to hear it so he wouldn’t have to repeat it.

            Eleanor sat at a tiny table with Jane and Preston while Willie smacked at the table and attempted to chew his mother’s sombrero.

“Faking your death?” Pete mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Couldn’t you come up with something a bit more original?”

            Zachariah chuckled, the sound rumbling against Wyatt’s back. “I figured if I was going to live on a ranch full of dead folks, I might as well be a dead folk too.”

            Wyatt twisted his neck and looked up at Zachariah. Instantly Zachariah’s gaze went to his mouth. ‘How much of that newspaper story was true?’ Wyatt asked. He had read the article while riding back to the ranch.

            Zachariah shrugged one shoulder, the scars on his cheeks twisting as he smiled down at Wyatt. “I reckon most of it is right—but I don’t know what it says word for word.”

            “Well then tell us what happened,” Jeb encouraged. “The article said those men were dead, are they?”

            “The real dead,” Pete spoke up. “Not dead like us.”

            Zachariah nodded. “Yeah, they’re dead. It took me longer than I thought it would to track them down and corner them so I could kill them. They are dead, I can promise you that, but I took a bullet to the chest.”

            Wyatt thought about that new scar low on Zachariah’s ribs. “I damn near did die,” Zachariah continued. “It took months for me to recover and I paid the doctor to keep quiet about my recovery. He agreed to let me die—at least as far as the public knew. He even put a casket full of rocks in a hole with my name on a wooden cross above it.”

            “Are you sure they’re dead?” Eleanor whispered, her wide brown eyes shining.

            Zachariah held Wyatt a little tighter and Wyatt gave his hand a squeeze, knowing the man was struggling with guilt he continued to carry. “I’m sure, Eleanor,” Zachariah insisted. “What’s left of them is rotting in the desert. I managed to drag myself onto my horse and get to a town. It was night and no one but the doc ever knew I was locked in the backroom.”

            “Well I for one am glad you’re back,” Jane announced cheerfully. “Poor Wyatt has been lost without you.”

            Zachariah shifted his feet and replied with an awkward clearing of his throat. “I’m glad to be back too, ma’am.”

            Pete laughed while Jeb and Gill chuckled. “Don’t call me ma’am,” Jane grumbled. She adjusted her sombrero and tossed her shoulders back. “Do I look nearly old enough to be a ma’am yet?”

            Pete nudged Zachariah’s ribs with his elbow and leaned toward him. “The correct answer to that question is yes,” he mock-whispered.

            Jane threw a baby rattle at him, catching him in the chest. “Kiss my ass, Pete,” she snorted.

            Pete grinned and shook the rattle with a wink. “With pleasure.”

            Willie clearly was not happy to see his rattle being abused. He let out a squeal and reached out a chubby hand. “Dada!” he hollered.

            Pete smiled from ear to ear and rushed to the boy. He scooped him into his arms and nuzzled his neck, causing the boy to giggle joyfully.

            Wyatt smiled at his family’s antics. It was good to see them all together and happy once again. Preston was reading a book just as he did ninety percent of the time Gill and Jeb were relaxed and watching Pete and Willie. Everyone was happy and at peace…..

            Except Craig.

            Wyatt turned his head to see Craig stepping off the porch and walking toward the barn with his hands deep in his pockets. He squirmed from Zachariah’s arms and Zachariah frowned. “Where are you going?”

            Wyatt pointed to Craig and Zachariah followed his gaze. He frowned. “Still acting like a child?”

            Wyatt glared up at his man and Zachariah held up his hands in surrender. “Fine. Fine,” he relented. “But I still think the man should grow up.”

            “That makes two of us,” Jebidiah muttered.

            Wyatt’s gaze went toward the sky and he stepped off the porch, following after his friend.

            Wyatt stepped into the barn to find Craig sitting on a bale of hay with his back to him and his shoulders drooping. “What do you want, Wyatt?” Craig grumbled without looking back.

            Wyatt walked to the hay bale and took a seat beside his best friend. Craig glanced over at him. ‘Aren’t you happy for me?’ Wyatt knew it might seem a selfish question to ask but he felt it needed asking.

            Wyatt had always tried to take care of his family. He’d tried to protect them, care for them, check on them if they seemed down….. and how did Craig repay him? By acting like Zachariah coming back was the worst thing in the world. It was enough to rile even Wyatt’s temper.

            Craig rolled his eyes. “I am happy for you.”

            Wyatt raised a brow. ‘You don’t look very happy.’

            Craig sighed and kicked at straw with his foot. “I’m trying to be, Wyatt, I really am.. it’s just…” Craig stopped and buried his face in his hands.

            Wyatt nudged him gently with his shoulder to encourage him to keep speaking. Craig didn’t look up as he spoke. “I lost Willie… and then I lost myself.. and then I lost you to Zachariah.. and then I got you back and I thought we’d be going back to the way it was in the past—I thought we’d be like we used to be…” Wyatt recalled Craig’s plans for them to go out camping ‘just like old times’. Craig sighed. “But now he’s back and I’ve lost you all over again.”

            Wyatt sighed and begged for patience. He tapped Craig’s temple so the man would look at him. ‘You didn’t lose me. I’m right here.’

            Craig stood up and threw his hands in the air, pacing as he continued speaking. “Yeah, I have! You’ve settled down with Zachariah—or at least you will. And Jeb has Gill. Jane has Pete. Willie is dead—well big Willie is—little Willie ain’t the best of company.”

            Wyatt laughed at the thought of big Willie and little Willie. Even Craig smiled and shrugged both shoulders with defeat. “I’m happy for you, Wyatt, honest I am. I hated seeing you so sad. The problem isn’t you, or anyone here, it’s me. I need to figure out what the hell I’m doing here.”

            ‘What do you mean?’

            Craig patted a brown mare on the neck. “I need to go out on my own, I think. I need to find something. My whole life was always this gang and the people in it… I guess I need to go find something that’s just mine.”

            Wyatt swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. The person he’d been before Zachariah would have rebelled strongly at the idea of someone he cared about going out alone—but Wyatt understood now. He’d left the gang too and went out searching for his own life and it had led him to Zachariah.

            Maybe Craig would find happiness too.

            Wyatt desperately wanted his best friend to be happy because he knew he hadn’t been for a long long time.

            So, swallowing his own hurt at knowing his best friend was leaving, Wyatt stood and threw his arms around Craig, hugging him tightly.

            Craig stood there awkwardly a moment before returning the hug with gusto. “I really am happy for you, Wyatt.”

            Wyatt pulled away and smiled through his sadness. ‘I know. Good luck out there. I hope you find something that makes you happy.’

            Craig reached out and picked at a knot in the wooden beam beside him. “Jeb will probably throw one hell of a fit when he finds out I’m leaving.”

            Wyatt shrugged. ‘He’ll understand… once he’s taken time to think about it.’

            “You mean once Gill has finished lecturing him?” Craig amended.

            A grin split Wyatt’s face. ‘Gill is good for Jeb. He makes him lighten up.’

            Craig put his arm around Wyatt’s shoulders. “And Zachariah is good for you. Don’t you worry none about me, Wyatt. I’ll be just fine.”

            Wyatt smiled but inside he was more than a little worried. Craig would either find whatever it was he was needing out there or he would completely lose himself to the whiskey and never be the same as he’d once been.

            Wyatt just had to let him go and hope for the best—that’s all that could be done.

---

            ‘The line shack? You want to live in the line shack?’ Wyatt demanded.

            Zachariah nodded as he looked at the dilapidated wooden excuse for a building. “Yep.”

            ‘But it’s… . it’s a shack! It’s falling down!’

            Zachariah chuckled and pulled Wyatt into his arms, enjoying the way the sunset shone off his dark skin. “It needs help,” Zachariah agreed. “But I don’t mind putting in some hard work if you don’t. I want to have a place for us to be alone.”

            Zachariah nibbled at Wyatt’s neck and didn’t miss the way the other man’s knees buckled. Wyatt chewed furiously at his lip. ‘But why the shack?’ he finally inquired.

            “I have good memories here,” Zachariah replied releasing his hold on Wyatt. “I like those memories.”

            ‘Good memories?’ Wyatt let out a silent laugh. ‘This is where I kept you tied up as a prisoner!’

            Zachariah nodded. “True. But it’s also where I met you and that’s a good damn memory.” He loved the way Wyatt beamed at his admission. Then Zachariah winked. “Plus, I happen to think we made some good memories in there just a while ago.”   

            This had Wyatt flushing and looking down at his feet. Zachariah pulled him into his arms once again. “Now, if you’re done arguing, I’d like to get in there and make a few more memories.”

            ‘If you’re wanting a lot of new memories, we’re gonna need a bigger bed than that cot,’ Wyatt warned.

            Zachariah scooped him up into his arms and carried him toward the door. “The smaller the bed, the closer we’ll be. That works for me.”

            Wyatt laid a hand on Zachariah’s scarred cheek. ‘I’m glad you came back to me….’

            Zachariah leaned into his man’s touch. “I told you I would, Wyatt. I’ll always keep my word to you.”

            ‘Can I have your word that we’ll get a bigger bed? And a better stove? And an outhouse for God’s sake?’

            Zachariah laughed. “Demanding little fella, aren’t you?”

            ‘Can I?’

            Zachariah laid Wyatt down upon the rickety cot. Hell that man painted such a damn picture staring up at him that way, that Zachariah would give him the damned moon just to ensure he’d still look at him that way tomorrow. “You can have whatever you want, Wyatt. Just so long as I get to have you.”

A/N: And that’s the end of ‘An Outlaw’s Silence’! Thanks to everyone who stuck with me and read Wyatt and Zachariah’s journey :) The

next

book in the series is ‘Outlaw Vices’