Part One

Ezra Standish couldn't sleep. He'd been trying for hours, but sleep had eluded him. When he had reached one hundred and eighty seven, he had stopped counting sheep. That had been over two hours ago. The night continued to inch by in excruciating increments. A gentle breeze stirred up from the nearby river where they camped. The cool night air fell softly upon his cheek. He was wide awake.

He turned away from the drab orange-gray embers of the dying fire and shut his eyes tightly. Standish had already memorized every detail of the land surrounding the riverbank. There was no need to continue to stare out of sleepless eyes at the bare trees and craggy rocks that sprouted up along the muddy bank, or to shift his gaze to watch the two horses tethered to the nearest tree, as they snorted softly in their sleep.

Lying on the ground waiting for sleep to come, he became acutely aware of all of his senses. He felt the hardness of the earth beneath him. There was a discomforting sensation of heaviness where his body pressed against the ground. He fancied that he felt each little pebble and twig that dug into his flesh. Ezra sighed deeply with exasperation as he wriggled and squirmed searching for a comfortable position.

He tasted the fire when he opened his mouth, each wisp of smoke sticking in his throat, choking him. A violent spasm erupted from his lungs, gripping his throat. Ezra breathed in deeply as the coughing fit passed. The smell of wet pine needles and damp earth mixed with the smoke and filled his nostrils. He heard the river water murmuring comfortingly. Still he could not sleep.
Standish blinked his eyes, opening them wide. He turned over onto his back. The stars above him had the audacity to twinkle cheerfully. A falling star arced through the sky, blazing a trail. Surely an omen of some sort. Ezra couldn't guess what it might portend.

He glanced over at his companion who slept peacefully on the other side of the fire. There lay Buck Wilmington, not only sound asleep but snoring softly, the jagged rhythm of his noisy breathing playing a neat counterpoint to the melodious babbling of the nearby river. Ezra's lips parted slightly, and he nervously bit his lower lip as he regarded his friend.

Buck's tall, lean frame was twisted and tangled amidst his bedding, long legs splayed akimbo like a discarded doll. His face, always handsome, seemed peaceful and without any worries underneath the illumination of the pale moonlight. Ezra propped himself up on one elbow and leaned forward. He watched Buck's upper lip with interest as the brown hairs from Buck's mustache fluttered minutely with each exhalation of breath. Ezra's eyes drifted over Buck's face noting the dark stubble that stood out on his masculine cheek and the surprisingly long lashes that curled downward from his lowered lids. He watched as Buck shifted in his sleep. Wilmington's right hand, balled up loosely in a fist, came to rest against his cheek, innocently, like a newborn babe.

Ezra smiled wistfully at his friend. In all his nomadic, dishonest, and lonely life, Standish had never imagined that he would have alighted in such an unimportant backwater territory. It seemed even less likely that he would have chosen the profession of a lawman. As a betting man, he never would have gambled on such an unlikelihood; the odds surely would have been stacked against him. But here he was protecting this wild western territory with six other men at his side. And for the first time since Ezra's distant childhood, he actually cared about something.

Of the six other lawmen, Buck in particular had sought out his friendship. Forced his friendship if truth be told. Ezra was used to being solitary, in fact he preferred it. He liked his self-reliance. Somehow that had changed. Something had clicked between him and the lanky gunslinger who slept soundly on the other side of the fire. Maybe it was because they both liked to talk a blue streak. When they were together they joked and laughed and slapped each other on the back. Ezra's smile widened as he thought of the good times and fun that he and Buck had shared. But was there something more to it?

Ezra continued to smile as he stared at Buck's slumbering form. He watched the shadows of dark and light that played across his friend's face, a feeling of warmth in his chest. In Ezra's disorganized childhood being passed amongst his mother's distant relatives and associates, it had been impossible to form any lasting bonds or attachments. As an adult, with his lifestyle as a card sharp and a confidence man, it seemed prudent to avoid any relation beyond mere acquaintance. Lying here in the outdoors, wide-awake, staring at the other man, Ezra had to admit that he cherished Buck's friendship. Now that he had a friend, Ezra Standish meant to keep him.

Ezra's smile began to fade and his brow furrowed as he recalled the cause of his insomnia. Once more, he sighed. It was all Wilmington's fault that he couldn't sleep. Ezra tossed over in his bedroll, angrily turning away from Buck. He shut his eyes forcibly, willing sleep to come. Perhaps he should try counting sheep again.

With his eyes shut, Standish couldn't stop the events of that evening from replaying in his mind's eye. Thoughtfully, Ezra reached up towards his face. One pale and graceful hand came to rest underneath his chin. Tentatively, he began unconsciously tracing fingertips along his mouth. He moved his fingers gently across the surface of his lips, remembering.

Ezra couldn't help thinking of the soft brush of Buck's lips against his; the faint tickling of Buck's mustache under his nose; the burn of their stubbled cheeks grazing against one another. He remembered the jolt of surprise and the faint taste of whiskey when Buck's tongue entered his mouth. Ezra shivered at the memory of the unexpected pleasure that had run through him, from his lips, to his chest and settling deep in his gut.

Buck Wilmington of all people! The self-professed ladies' man. What could this mean? Ezra wracked his brain over and over again. They had been drinking whiskey all evening; that was true. Was the kiss prompted by too much alcohol? Would Buck even remember in the morning? Would he pretend not to remember? Ezra's brain raced to find an answer. Each question that sprang to his mind brought no answers, only more questions and a burning feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach.

Ezra rolled over onto his back again, eyes no longer closed. There seemed to be no hope of finding sleep. He stared at the stars intently, as if the answers to his questions could be found in the constellations. Orion blinked at him defiantly. The stars were silent.

Sitting up, he stared into the dull embers of the fire. This time his eyes avoided the still sleeping form of Buck Wilmington. Shifting his gaze, he looked down at his hands sitting loosely in his lap. Frowning slightly, he noticed a small worn spot on the plain brown woolen blanket that covered him. He poked his index finger at it experimentally. His finger popped through to the other side. Suddenly, an entirely new thought came to Ezra Standish as he sat there absent-mindedly fiddling with the hole in his blanket. It was something that he hadn't yet considered.

'In vino veritas.' The ancient Latin phrase sprang to his mind. Could it be that Buck actually meant the kiss? He glanced back at Buck with horror, a tendril of terror sending a chill down his spine. Ezra shuddered. Oh, why did Buck have to complicate their friendship with that soft, sweet kiss?

Ezra's brow furrowed and his frown deepened as he savagely twisted his finger in the worn spot of his blanket. A soft groan escaped his lips. Ezra flopped backwards, lying down. He pointedly turned away from Buck and stared into the blackness of the river as it shimmered faintly, glinting underneath the moon's beams.

Ezra tried to comfort himself by thinking about home. It eased his mind a little to think that by tomorrow night he would be in his room above the saloon away from the contradicting emotions that Buck Wilmington was stirring up in him. 'A few hands of poker and a good night's sleep on a soft feather bed is all I need or want,' he thought.

Eventually, Ezra was never really sure when, he fell asleep.