Tangled Heart
Author's Note: This event has no direct connection with any of the episodes. It's simply a scene and dialogue which wouldn't leave my head until I'd written it down.
All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.
"When your long day is over
And you can barely drag your feet
The weight of the world is on your shoulders
I know what you need
Bring it on home to me"
-- "Bring It On Home" performed by Little Big Town
The day had been a hot dusty one, devoid of the rain they'd all been hoping for, and Matt had felt every mile of the long walk from the Keller homestead. The sun had beat mercilessly down upon him as he stumbled, dizzy, shirt drenched with sweat, back toward Dodge. His muscles ached and slow waves of nausea rolled over him with the shimmering heat radiating from the prairie but Matt had refused to give in. He'd made it back to town only a few hours ago, plumb exhausted in body and spirit, but there was still work to do.
Matt had a headache. It made balancing his ledgers and finishing his backlogged monthly paperwork more difficult. The figures jumped out of their neat columns and spread across the paper like an ink stain whenever he tried to look at them. He sighed, laying the pencil aside, and rubbed his weary eyes. The action only succeeded in starring out his vision and reminding him that it had been far too long since he'd had a decent uninterrupted night's sleep.
The problems had started several days ago with a telegram from Fort Dodge informing him about the escape of a group of highly dangerous prison conscripts from the Fort. Matt had spent hours riding out to the nearest likely hide-outs and alerting the local ranchers and homesteaders as he searched for signs of their whereabouts. He hadn't found them right away and his absence had given drovers, buffalo hunters, and drifters alike the opportunity to raise hell up and down Front Street. It sure didn't leave him much time for sleep. Most of it he could easily have tolerated; after all, these things were common to life in Dodge City. But what he'd found out at the Cooper homestead after three days of searching….no one should ever have had to witness something like that.
"Mr. Dillon. Mr. Dillon." It took Matt a moment to realize someone was addressing him. Judging from the anxious note in the man's voice, Chester had probably been talking to him for quite a while and not getting an answer.
"What? Sorry, Chester…. What is it? Did you need something?"
"You've let your coffee go cold, Mr. Dillon," Chester explained apologetically. He seemed to know something was off with the marshal because he held his voice respectfully low. "I was askin' ya if you'd like it warmed up. This here's a fresh pot. It's got just the right amount of chicory, Mr. Dillon, just like you like."
"No, thank you, Chester. I…I don't think I want any more coffee right now." Moodily, Matt slammed the ledgers closed and stuffed them into his desk drawer. He stood up, bracing himself against the old wooden desk as a wave of dizziness hit. "I need some air. I think I'll take a walk." He jammed his Stetson on his head, pulled the brim low to keep the sun out of his eyes, and stepped out onto the boardwalk.
The day hadn't gotten any cooler. Doc had warned Matt that he'd had too much sun exposure and needed to stay out of the heat for a day or so, but he didn't figure he could spare the time. Some of those soldiers were still out there and Matt had a job to do. Still, he was only human and right now he was so worn down he could barely function.
Dodge City was quiet this afternoon. Matt automatically scanned Front Street and noted only a few homesteading families come into town for supplies. Nothing which looked like trouble caught his attention but he acutely missed the Cooper family's wagon. They usually came to town to do their weekly marketing on this day. Matt's demeanor changed to one of sorrow and regret when he realized that Emily would never again jump off the wagon and race for Mr. Jonas' store to look at the candy. Her older brother Bran would not be waiting for him in front of the marshal's office begging Matt to demonstrate his marksmanship. They were gone and it was his fault. Not fast enough. I should have gone out there sooner.
After he completed his rounds, force of habit brought him back to the Long Branch. The saloon was empty of patrons and Kitty, head bent over whatever she was doing, sat at one of the back tables.
Matt stood there a moment admiring the way the dusty sunbeams played over the golden highlights in her fiery hair. As the day became warmer she'd loosened her collar, exposing a smooth expanse of alabaster skin. Small ringlets had escaped her carefully combed coif and curled against her neck in the humidity. Her cheeks held a rosy glow from the heat. With a stifled moan, Matt suppressed the desire to nuzzle her neck as she brushed aside those curls with a slender manicured hand. He knew she'd disagree with him, but Matt thought she looked beautiful.
He crossed the saloon with a few strides of his long legs, pulled out one of the old captain's chairs, and flopped down next to her. "Hiya, Kitty," he greeted her, as he removed the Stetson and tossed it on the faded felt tabletop. "Am I interrupting anything important?"
Although she'd sensed his presence from the moment he peered over the batwing doors, Kitty looked up and smiled at the marshal. "Oh hi, Matt." She closed the leather ledger in front of her, pushed the cork back into the ink well, and put them to one side. "No, you're not interrupting. I was trying to get some figuring done, but it's just too danged hot."
"Seems to be the day for it," Matt sighed. "I gave up on trying to focus in all this heat myself a little while ago."
"It's thirsty work," Kitty agreed as her fingers delicately skimmed along his sleeve. "Would you like a drink? I was about to get myself something."
"A beer sure would be nice," Matt replied. As Kitty excused herself to get their drinks, he sighed and slouched against the chair back, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. The headache backed off a bit as he tried to relax.
Spending quiet time with Kitty always provided a tonic to his tired soul…and he'd been more than tired lately -- tired of the late hours, tired of breaking up the seemingly endless bar brawls and street fights, tired of never having a real day off and always having to watch his back. Matt knew what the obvious solution was; Kitty had suggested it, half teasing, often enough but he couldn't in good conscience lay down the badge or walk away from the responsibilities and obligations it carried with it. Dodge City needed him. The Law needed him. There just weren't that many honest lawmen on the frontier and Matt had the misfortune of being one of them, he thought with justifiable bitterness.
The sound of mugs being set on the table startled him out of his reverie. Matt snapped erect and his hand was half way to his gun before he even realized what he'd done. Sheepishly, he grinned at Kitty and feigned a more relaxed posture. "Sorry, 'bout that, Kit." I seem just can't seem to focus at all today. He scrubbed absently at his temples with thumb and forefinger. It hadn't helped the first time he'd done it and it didn't help now. It only succeeded in intensifying the ache.
"Old habits die hard," she said as she nudged one of the cold mugs into his hand. "You don't look so good, Matt." She took note of the slump to his shoulders, the dark shadows under the eyes, and the tense lines of his muscles. He sure needs some TLC. Matt looks like he's about to fall over! "How long since you got a decent night's rest, Cowboy?"
He dodged immediately answering her question by taking a deep drink of his beer. "A while," Matt finally admitted when he realized she was going to keep staring at him until he answered. "I finished my rounds about one last night and was headed off to bed when that brawl broke out at the Lady Gay. Finally got that sorted out and got 'em all locked up. I'd been asleep about an hour and a half when Chester woke me up. Lydia Cooper was outside, nearly hysterical, carrying on about drunken soldiers raiding their homestead."
"Oh, Matt, no. She had to be mistaken." Hoping to convey some solace, Kitty placed a gentle hand on his rock solid arm.
"I wish she had been." He took another long swallow of his beer and sighed. "It's a miracle Lydia made it back to town. She went out through the root cellar and managed to take one of the soldiers' horses. I saddled Buck and rode out that way to check it out. There weren't but three or four, not the whole company she'd reported, but they may as well have been." Agitated, Matt ran fingers through his curls causing them to swirl wildly about. He didn't want to remember what he'd found out at that homestead, much less talk to Kitty about it.
Unfortunately his memory had other ideas….
He'd seen the smoke from the road and had prodded Buck into a ground eating gallop over the last half mile. They'd nearly trod on the first of the bodies. Matt had leaped from the saddle and gathered Bran's lifeless body into his arms. Bran's father, still clutching the Henry rifle, lay a few yards beyond. Emily had still been alive; he could hear her screams and the drunken, confused shouts of her tormentors. As several of them wheeled away on the remaining horses, he and Buck had given hard chase but the conscripts had out distanced them. Matt had unholstered his Colt and gotten off a few shots. He was pretty sure he'd hit at least one of them but Buck was played out. Matt debated continuing the pursuit on foot but decided he had to get back to the homestead and focus on saving Emily…if he could.
Kitty gently squeezed the marshal's arm and drew his attention back to her. She knew him well enough by now to understand that the incident troubled him immensely and could only guess why. "Matt, why don't you come on back to the office with me? I've got to put these darned books away." They walked past one end of the long, L-shaped bar to the office. As they passed by, Kitty shot Sam a brief glance; he gave a nearly imperceptible nod and continued wiping the mugs. Kitty closed the door behind them and gestured for him to sit in the desk chair while she balanced on one hip at the edge of the desk. "What happened, Matt?" she asked softly. "Was anyone hurt?"
He nodded once, curtly. "They were all dead when I got there, except for Emily. She was bad hurt by a stray shot." Matt couldn't bring himself to speak of the greater atrocity that had committed.
"Doc couldn't do anything for her?"
"There wasn't any point in sending for Doc. She didn't live long after what the soldiers did to her…thankfully." Shadows haunted the marshal's blue eyes and he felt sick with more than just the headache. Matt tilted his head forward and cushioned it against his hand. He thought he might retch.
He heard the clinking of glasses and the popping of a cork. The rich, heady odor of good brandy filled his senses. Matt flinched. He didn't want a drink; there was no alcohol in the world strong enough to erase what he'd seen. Kitty slipped onto his lap, one hand holding the snifter and the other twined through the curls at the back of his head. "Drink, Matt. You need it."
Matt never could refuse her anything, not when she looked at him like that with those deep blue eyes filled with concern and love. He took the glass from her and sipped the brandy. "Thanks, Kitty."
Now that no one would see them or interrupt them, she set the snifter aside and, reveling in the feel and scent of him -- leather, wood smoke, and something uniquely of the prairie -- wrapped her arms comfortingly around the big man. "Matt, don't go blaming yourself. You're only one man. You can't be everywhere at once."
"I can try," he responded doggedly. "I did try and it still wasn't enough. I darn near killed Buck trying!" A ragged sigh escaped and Kitty saw his eyes glisten with the tears he would never allow himself to shed.
Troubled, for Matt almost never lost control of his emotions, Kitty tightened her arms around him. Her hand, lightly scented with ink and Tudor rose water, caressed Matt's cheek. A bit clammy, but not fevered. I think he's just worn out and worried. Kitty knew how deeply Matt loved the big feisty buckskin. Not that he would ever acknowledge that affection outright. She sighed; she and Buck had a lot in common when it came to that! "Will he be all right? You won't have to…"
"Nah, it's not that bad," said Matt, straightening up and running his long fingers through his hair once more, "but it'll be a while before he should be ridden again."
"How did this happen, Matt?"
"The colonel wasn't at the post. He was out with a platoon looking for the AWOL officers. I couldn't leave Buck there."
"Why not?"
Matt had spoken highly of the colonel of Fort Dodge in the past. Kitty guessed from the warmth in the lawman's voice when he spoke of the man that they were on good terms, perhaps even had a friendship. Such a man would never have permitted either Matt or Buck to leave the post worn out and half dead with exhaustion.
"You remember that Private Simmons?'
Kitty nodded. "You arrested him a few months ago for assault when he roughed up that dance hall girl. Nearly killed her, if I remember right."
"That's the one; he may also have connections with the four who raided the Cooper homestead." Yet another loose end I've got to round up. I want them all, every single one responsible. "Simmons was tending the stables. He'd already threatened Buck once before; I couldn't chance giving him the opportunity to do something to my horse. Naturally," and Matt's voice was rich with irony, "he claimed they hadn't a horse to spare."
"And you walked all that way?" No wonder he's so exhausted. Kitty silently cursed the parsimonious bastard who wouldn't even lend the marshal a horse.
"Not exactly. I rode Buck slow -- walked him part of the way after he threw a shoe -- and finally made it as far as the Keller homestead. Their boy will bring him back into Dodge in a few days, once he's grazed and rested and Keller fixes that shoe. They only have the one horse, so I walked on into Dodge. I didn't want to be stranded out there, in case the remaining AWOL soldiers took a notion to head into town."
Well, that explains why I didn't see them come in this morning. Whenever Matt went out of town, Kitty watched eagerly for the big buckskin's reappearance on Front Street. She could always tell by the way Matt held himself in the saddle whether he'd been successful, or his quarry had eluded him -- and if he was wounded or ill. She lovingly tousled Matt's hair, pressed her lips against the soft warmth of his, and then returned to her seat. Taking up the pen and uncorking the ink well, she began writing.
"What are you up to now?" Matt asked, feeling a little less weary and heartsick. Her brief kiss and loving touch made the burdens he carried seem less heavy. "I thought you said it was too hot for figuring."
She finished writing and sealed each note in an envelope, then slid a small brass key across the desk to him. "You go on upstairs and wait for me. I'm going to deliver these notes and then run an errand. Well, go on," Kitty demanded in a tone of voice that brooked no argument. "I promise I'll be back in a few minutes."
"What's in those notes?" Matt asked suspiciously.
"If you must know," Kitty informed him, holding up the envelopes, "one goes to Chester, telling him you're unavailable until tomorrow afternoon and asking him to take care of things. I'm leaving the other for Sam, to let him know I'll be upstairs in my rooms all evening and I'm not to be disturbed." With a wink and a smile, Kitty proclaimed, "We are taking the night off."
"Kitty, I can't just take a night off like that!" Matt held her in a steel blue gaze which normally made even the toughest outlaws shudder.
It would not, however, work on Kitty Russell. She crossed her arms in defiance and stared him down. "You can and you will, because if you don't I'm going for Doc and we both know what he'll say. You're obviously not well, Matt Dillon, so for once in your life, stop being so stubborn…please?"
Matt slouched even further in his seat. He knew Kitty would make good on her threat if he resisted and he knew what Doc Adams would say. He'll confine me to bed. He didn't know if he could stand Chester hovering over him and Doc's scolding. "All right, Kitty," Matt said, mustering a smile for the woman who had his best interests at heart. "We'll do it your way."
Climbing the rear stairs to Kitty's rooms seemed to take forever and drained away most of the marshal's remaining strength. His hand briefly trembled, a small reminder of how much the past several days had sapped his strength, as he inserted the key into the door. He was grateful when he finally got it open.
The rooms, like their owner, displayed a quiet and genteel beauty. The furnishings were sturdy and of good quality; he would have expected nothing less from a woman with Kitty's tastes. He breathed deeply, intoxicated by her scent -- composed of the perfume she favored, starched lace, and something he could only define as woman -- lingering in the rooms.
Matt smiled faintly, distracted by a distant but special memory. The delicate feminine furniture simply hadn't been designed with a tall, broad shouldered, muscular marshal in mind and for quite some time he'd had to be careful about how he sat on her things. They'd been talking and sharing a nightcap when the chair he'd been sitting in had given an alarming groan followed by a snap. His reflexes had saved him from loss of dignity but there had been no saving the poor chair. Kitty had gradually replaced the delicate Southern style furniture, never meant for a man of the marshal's size, with more practical designs. To make up for it, she'd ordered them upholstered in fine plush velvet and soft satin. This -- and the woman who presided over this domain -- had become his sanctuary, the one place where he truly felt sheltered from the rude world which existed outside her door. The marshal greatly appreciated such effort on his behalf.
Better wash up. Now that Matt was alone in the quiet of Kitty's room, he realized how weak and shaky he actually felt. The walk under the blistering sun had taken a lot out of him. Kitty kept a bar of unscented soap in the washroom for him. The soft linen towel with its lace and ribbon trim, faintly scented with lilac water and cedar, brought to mind another pleasant memory and took his mind off his debilitated state.
On the night in question, a heavy spring rain had blown up out of the prairie and Matt had forgotten his oilskin. He'd come up the back stairs after he had finished rounds and stood in her front room, dripping on the carpet, while Kitty rummaged around for something he could dry himself with. She'd tossed him something which suspiciously resembled…. Matt had stared at it and then looked back at her helplessly.
"Kitty," he'd said, his face going red with embarrassment, "I can't use this!"
"For heaven's sake, Matt, it's just a bath towel," she'd exclaimed. She noticed the blush flooding his cheeks and hid a smile when she realized what he must be thinking. It wasn't often she could put the marshal in an awkward position and Kitty enjoyed every minute of it. "Just what did you think it was?"
The coy tone of her voice told him he'd made an error in his initial belief that she'd thrown him her petticoat. "You don't want to know," he'd sighed as he began to dry his hair.
She'd taken the towel from him and assumed the task drying him off. "Matt," she'd said, laughing, "I might be many things, but I would be less than a lady to throw my undergarments at a man."
"Kit," he'd said, putting his arms around her and pulling her to him, "I don't think anyone would ever dare call you anything but a lady."
The stinging of the soap in reopened scrapes brought Matt's thoughts back to the present. He discovered he'd scrubbed his hands harder than intended. Quit woolgathering. Not that he could really blame himself; Kitty certainly posed sufficient distraction! Matt poured a generous measure of cool water back into the basin from the delicate porcelain pitcher and rinsed. He emptied the basin and refilled it, splashed some over his face, and tried in vain to make his dark curls lie tamely.
When, about twenty minutes later, Kitty returned from her errand she found him sitting on the edge of the chaise lounge. Matt's shoulders were bowed, his head hanging low and his large strong hands resting limply between his knees. She dropped the basket she'd been carrying onto the table and went to him.
"Matt! Matt, honey, what's the matter?" He threw himself into her arms and clung to her fiercely. Kitty cradled his shaggy head against her breasts and soothingly stroked Matt's back. He pushed her away after a moment, fumbled blindly out of her embrace.
"I'm gonna be sick," he muttered through clenched teeth and lurched back into the washroom. A few minutes later, Matt reappeared, leaning heavily against the door jamb and looking for all the world like a lost boy.
Matt's occupation had done a thorough job of exposing him to the worst deeds human beings could visit upon one another. He'd buried more homesteading families than either of them could properly account for, whether they'd met their end through violence, plague, or famine. Sure, he'd often known the names of the family members and he always counted such incidents failures on his part to protect the citizens of his territory but he always held those emotions in. Something about this incident, then, was different. I'll find out later. He'll talk about it when he's ready.
His jaw worked a few times as Matt tried to form the words. Finally, he managed, "E…Emily…my God, Emily…."
That one name, so painfully uttered, allowed Kitty to connect the pieces. Matt reacted this way when he had failed someone he considered particularly close, and that would have definitely included Emily Cooper. Matt had delivered the little girl himself, had been the first person to hold her. She remembered Emily's red hair, bright as a newly minted copper penny, and thought she understood why Matt had doted on her.
"Matt honey," she said in a low, persuasive tone, "come here." He took a few fumbling steps toward her, wavered. Kitty got up and guided him into one of the wing backed chairs beside the dormant fireplace. Matt, his face grey and slick with sweat, struggled to stop the tremors which occasionally shook him. His hand in hers felt icy and moist.
"D…dizzy…I…."
"Your head bothering you, Matt?" she asked as, with practiced hands, she began lightly kneading the knotted muscles in his neck and shoulders.
"Some," he admitted. The weary marshal, who would ordinarily have been enchanted by his beloved redhead's ministrations, seemed annoyed instead. Matt sat up, batting her hand away and said, with only a slight quake in his voice, "That's enough, Kitty. I'm…I'll be all right." It would have been a lie to say he was fine. He didn't have to pretend, not here and not with her.
"Oh, Matt…." Her voice displayed a wealth of emotions: concern, love, compassion. "Was it that bad?"
He simply nodded, swallowing back the bile which materialized at the mere allusion to the incident at the Cooper homestead. "It was worse than anything I'd seen in a while and anything I ever hope to see again. Kitty…." He shrugged, an uncharacteristically helpless gesture. "It…it's not something I'll want to talk about, if you don't mind."
"Of course." She knew he'd revisit every move he'd made out there, every detail in every scene, for weeks to come in his dreams…but that could be dealt with later. For now, Kitty could offer him the simple comfort of her presence as she tended to his more immediate needs. After his abrupt reaction a minute ago, she decided to try another tack.
Matt leaned back in his chair, feeling spent and exhausted. He watched Kitty rummaging through the basket she'd brought up with her. "What have you got?" he asked with mild curiosity.
"You" and the tone of her voice forbade him any argument, "need something to eat -- and drink."
"Oh, no more to drink, Kitty!"
"I don't mean liquor, I mean water. Anyway, I'd bet my best keg of whiskey that you've missed a few meals while you were out on the trail."
"Your whiskey's safe," Matt responded, a trace of guilt in his voice. He'd left town so quickly he hadn't had time to take more than a few rudimentary supplies. Thinking back, he couldn't actually remember using any of them. He didn't really feel like eating right now either. "Kitty, that's a nice thought but I…I'm not sure I want to eat anything just yet."
Kitty put both hands on her hips, blue eyes snapping with determination, and pursed her lips. When she got in a mood, there were few who could win an argument with her. "Well, you're gonna. That's probably half your problem right there. Honestly, when did you last eat?"
He thought about that and a vague recollection of absently chewing on a piece of jerky while he watered Buck surfaced. That had been at least a day and a half ago. Matt had intended to get something to eat when he came back in but had gotten distracted by the backlog of paperwork.
"Never you mind," she told him with a tart edge to her voice, "if you have to think about it, it's been too long. Here." Kitty thrust a bowl, still warm enough to sting his palms, into Matt's hands. "Eat." Still keeping an eye on him, she poured water from her pitcher and placed it nearby.
Knowing Kitty wouldn't leave him alone until he'd at least made a token effort, Matt spooned up some of the chicken broth. Its soothing warmth spread throughout his aching, empty stomach. He popped one of the dumplings into his mouth and discovered he actually was hungry. Matt smiled fondly at her. Kitty always knows what I need, even when I don't. "This is pretty good for Delmonico's," he said. "A lot like yours."
Kitty, nibbling on a sandwich, returned the smile. "They got a new cook last week. He doesn't have many recipes but he learns quickly. I taught him that one a few days ago." A dimple appeared in her cheek as her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Consider it an act of self preservation. Besides, the poor boy needs to keep that job. He's got eight younger siblings and an ailing mother to support."
The marshal's legendary appetite did not live up to its reputation; he ate perhaps half of what he normally would, but Kitty didn't press him further. As she finished the last of her own meal, she cast a speculative glance at him. Matt's posture was relaxed, his eyes half closed. His skin had regained its normal color. He looked a good deal better than he had a few hours ago. She rose and slid onto his lap, caressing the silky curls and stubbled cheek. "Come on, Cowboy," Kitty whispered, planting a kiss on his lips, "into the bath with you!"
Matt opened his eyes and looked at her in confusion. "Bath? How did you -- when --"
Now that his condition had improved, Kitty couldn't resist teasing him. "Well, we are observant today, aren't we? I asked Sam to take care of it when I ran my errands."
"I don't seem to be at my best today," Matt admitted sheepishly. The truth was, he'd been in no condition to notice anything a few hours ago. "Kitty, that's a lot of trouble to go to…."
She silenced him with a playful finger to his lips followed by a deep kiss. "Never you mind. It's ready for you, now go."
He ambled behind the privacy screen, stripped out of his dusty clothes, and then stepped into the bath. The large copper tub was just one more thing Kitty had acquired over the years with him in mind. The marshal could lay full length in it without having to fold up his long legs or hang them over the edge and, he recalled with a smile, it could easily hold two if one knew how to make the proper arrangements…and Kitty had proven to him many times that she knew exactly what arrangements to make.
The water was tepid rather than hot, lightly scented with something that reminded Matt of a cedar grove and wildflowers, but it banished the unpleasant feeling he'd had since his walk across the prairie of being cooked from the inside out. He let himself drift, upheld by the water, and napped.
"Don't drown, Cowboy." Kitty's voice, low and amused, sounded near his ear as she put her arms around his neck. "That's not meant for sleeping in, you know!"
"I can think of other things it's not meant for. That's never stopped us."
"Matt. No. Not this time," she said firmly and kissed the top of his head to take the sting from her rejection. "Now let me help you wash up." Kitty, kneeling beside the tub, took the washcloth and dipped it into the water. Matt noted with pleasure that at some point in the evening Kitty had set aside her silks in favor of a loose dressing gown of frothy white material belted with a wide satin ribbon of deep rose. She lathered the cloth up well and began tenderly soaping his shoulders. Kitty took her time, working over knotted muscles until the tension ebbed away. Her hands, with a mind of their own, moved lower.
"Kitty," Matt warned, groaning in frustration as he grabbed at her hand, "You'd better stop. Don't start something you won't finish."
Her laugh, full and sensual, caused the marshal to shiver with desire as she delicately walked her fingers down his torso. "Who says I won't finish it? I said, not here; I didn't say, not ever." Kitty finished her ministrations, stood, and handed Matt a towel. "There's clean clothes on the chair there."
Matt stepped out of the tub, tucked the towel around his waist, and made another grab at Kitty. "Who says I'll be needing clothes right away?" he chuckled.
She evaded his grasp, dancing away from him and batting Matt's hand. "Come to bed when you've finished," Kitty said. "It's been a long day for both of us and I'm tired."
By the time Matt re-emerged from behind the screen, Kitty had lit the bedside lamp. The golden pool of light softly illuminated the room, casting her in silhouette and turning her long tresses into molten copper. Her hair whispered like silk as she drew the silver backed brush through it and filled the room with the scent of her perfume. For a moment, Matt simply stood there loving and admiring her. She was his reason for existing, the reason why he struggled so hard to beat the odds each time, the reason he got out of bed each morning. His life was really about her.
He got up on the bed beside Kitty and pulled her back into his arms. "I'll do that," Matt said softly as he took the brush away from her. Matt drew it through her hair, watching it cascade through his fingers. She relaxed, her head against his bare shoulder, and purred in pleasure. "So beautiful," he murmured, his lips caressing the nape of her neck.
"Matt," she breathed, "I need to feel you close to me. Make love to me, please."
Matt turned her around until she was facing him and tenderly cupped her heart shaped face in his large hands. "Woman," he said, his voice rough with emotion, "what you do to me…."
Tomorrow morning Matt Dillon, the US Marshal, would have to ride out after the conscripts who had gotten away.
Tonight, however, was hers. Matt Dillon, the man, made that plain the only way he knew how.