"Our brightest blazes of gladness are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks." Samuel Johnson

You didn't expect to fall in love at first sight the first time. You figured it was something that happened to other people – to those who wore their hearts exposed on their sleeves - but a pair of dark eyes and a cascade of dark, curly hair swept your feet out from under you before you had time to think about it. Of course, that was a long time ago. You were younger then and you didn't mind the surprise of it because it was Sarah. She was everything you'd ever wanted and thought you'd never be able to have and you surrendered to the feeling without protest – because it was Sarah.

That's why the pain went down so bitter when she was taken from you, why everything went so dead inside that you figured you were safe from that sort of thing ever happening again. You hadn't deserved her and the Fates had seen fit to prove it by taking her away. Afterwards, there wasn't a piece of your heart big enough to break off and give away to anyone and you'd drowned its shriveled remains in so much whiskey and rage and self-pity that you were often surprised to wake up in the morning and feel it still beating in your chest, sustaining your body even after your soul had departed to follow your wife and son.

Needless to say, then, falling in love at first sight a second time wasn't something you'd ever concerned yourself with because you figured it was impossible – so the day it happened, the unexpectedness of the feeling hit you in the gut so hard that you were surprised you didn't double over, reeling from the impact.

She wore a dress of claret red and stood in the middle of a dusty street with a Winchester rifle clutched awkwardly in her hands. Her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and she had hurried out of one of the storefront offices in an attempt to stop a group of drunken cowboys from lynching a black man. And even though you couldn't quite make out her features from where you stood outside the saloon, you knew you had just fallen in love. Something about that defiant stance, the way the rifle in her arms was too big and her petite figure looked to be almost cast in miniature against the backdrop of the town, caused your withered heart to miss a beat and a lump in your throat to rise, cutting off your breath.

There were a hundred things you didn't know about her and you were still certain it was love. Yet how could that be?

After all, you didn't know that her name was Mary Travis and that she ran a newspaper in the middle of a town where less then half the citizens could actually read the words on the printed page.

You didn't know that her eyes were the gray-green of the last rays of light reaching over the desert horizon at twilight and that when they rested on you, they felt warmer than that very sun on an afternoon in early spring.

You didn't know that those same eyes could also cut a man in half with a sharp look when she was angry or could make him swear up and down to do anything for her when they were hurt and scared.

You didn't know that telling her, "Lady, I am the bad element" and slamming the door of her office would make you feel guilty for a week after, if only because the image of the hurt expression in those eyes got stuck in your head.

You didn't know that arguing with her would amuse you to no end and that you'd have to work hard not to laugh when she stood by her convictions with such fervor that wisps of hair would begin to escape from the bun at the back of her head.

You didn't know how hard it would be not to reach over and tuck those tiny strands of golden hair behind her ears when they strayed.

You didn't know that she, too, had suffered the loss of a spouse, living to see those vows of "'til death do us part" through to the other side and forcing herself to pick herself up and go on much as you did.

You didn't know that the first time she called you "Chris" instead of her more formal habit of saying "Mr. Larabee," your breath would catch in your throat and you'd stand frozen in your tracks until you recovered your senses enough to turn around and acknowledge her.

You didn't know that she had a son who was about the age of yours when he was taken from you, a son who'd suffered the agony of watching the murder of his own father but who came away from the experience with the sort of strength usually reserved for grown men three times his age.

You didn't know that watching over the two of them, Mary and her boy, would come to you naturally, almost as though they had belonged to you all along.

You didn't know that it would soon become your instinct to look to Mary whenever you needed reassurance or guidance – or whenever you thought that she might need the favor returned – and that even after it had become a reflex, you'd still look to her anyway, if only just to take her in with your eyes and remind yourself that she was real.

You didn't know how easy it would be to rest a hand on her waist or in the small of her back to guide her as the two of you walked, almost as though you were relying on her to lead the way.

You didn't know that you'd not only look after Mary and Billy Travis, but that doing so would make you look after yourself more carefully. Death wouldn't seem so inviting once you began to live for them.

In short, you didn't know anything about her at all.

You simply knew that right there in the middle of the afternoon in the middle of a town in the middle of nowhere, your own heart had betrayed your mind and fallen in love for only the second time in your life. And when one of the cowboys knocked her over and another ripped the rifle from her hands and the group rode past, captive in tow, your stomach and heart lurched as one and your instincts told you to go help her up, to sweep her into your arms, hold her close, and never let the world near her again.

You even took a step in her direction before it registered in your mind, before you realized exactly what you wanted to do (and why you wanted to do it) and you thought: Oh shit.

The thought that followed it was significantly less rational and you almost obeyed the screaming voice in your head that ordered you to run, to follow the town marshal on his stolen horse and get yourself the hell away from not only the dusty town in the middle of the desert, but from the feelings that had crept up on you from behind and pounced without warning. And it was feelings, plural now, because that first blush of love had immediately been followed by a fresh wave of pain over what you'd had and lost, a pang of guilt for daring to love someone else when you hadn't even avenged the deaths of your family, and a wave of shame at what you'd become in the three years since their passing – a burnt out shell of a man sustained only by hate.

(Funny how that hate wasn't as firmly attached as you thought, though, considering how quickly it had moved aside to make room for Mary Travis.)

You almost fled then – and you probably would have if you hadn't glanced across the street and locked eyes with Vin Tanner for the first time. He'd just stepped out of the dry goods store, a brand new rifle in his hands and his storekeeper's apron banished from his wiry frame, and when his gaze came to rest on yours, you knew that you weren't going anywhere but to the cemetery to save a man from an unjust hanging. Woman or no woman, in love or not, you had one more thing to do before you could depart the dusty town and you couldn't let the lanky gunslinger go on his own. A man could get killed that way.

(And hell, if you played your cards right, maybe it would be you who was killed and you wouldn't have to worry about the woman after all.)

So if it was love at first sight with Mary, it was friendship and brotherhood at first sight with Vin as you shared the first of many silent conversations in the distance between where you both stood:

Can't let them hang him.

Nope. It'd be a shame.

I'm going. You in?

Lead the way.

That was the start of everything, the turning point in the new life that grew out of the ashes of your old one and you've often wondered since what would have happened if you had gotten on your horse and ridden out of town that day. You have a pretty good idea of what wouldn't have happened, that much is certain:

You'd never have been asked to protect an Indian village from raiders and thus, never befriended the rest of the men you came to regard as brothers in arms – and friends.

You'd never have seen the grace with which Vin carried the burden of being a wanted man, never learned the value of a good con from Ezra, nor seen the healing powers in the hands of Nathan, watched JD grow into a man of purpose and forthright honesty, or understood the true meaning of faith as Josiah saw it.

You'd never have remembered why, exactly, you had long been friends with Buck and the way that the randy gunslinger could always make you smile.

You'd never have learned all the things you didn't know about Mary, never have met her son Billy, and never allowed the strong pull of love at first sight to wear down all of your defenses until you allowed it to consume the heart you'd thought you'd lost for good.

You'd have never experienced the feeling of being a part of a family again, a family that looked out for its members and never let anyone or anything break it apart.

In fact, you'd probably never have lived – really lived – again.

You didn't expect any of that to happen and you still wonder from time to time if you deserve it, if maybe the Fates didn't make a mistake again and if everything you have isn't temporary. But that can't be the case, because this time the experience is so much richer and you can't help but feel as though you're where you belong. And when Mary's eyes meet yours or her arm snakes around your waist as you watch the sun drop over the edge of the horizon, you feel that twinge of love that surprised you so much on the very first day all over again. It's unexpected – and that, you suppose, is what makes it so special.

Author's Note: How excited am I that they finally put this series on DVD? I've been waiting since high school (and I'm in grad school now – you do the math!) I've missed the boys terribly, and in my re-viewings I've come to appreciate (more) the subtle nuances of the Chris and Mary dynamic. There may be room for a Mary chapter to this story, even – you'll have to let me know if that interests you. (Click the button below to share thoughts!)