Prescription for a Chill

The Hostage ATC (B&W Season 11)

by Lilyjack

Kitty waits for Matt to come home after his rescue from desperate prison escapee Lon Gorman & his gang.

Chapter 1

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Kitty Russell jerked to consciousness with a start. Had she finally drifted off to sleep? Dammit, what had woken her? She'd hardly slept a wink in over a week now, and just when she'd managed to doze off... Oh, her body ached all over. She slowed her breathing, attempted to relax her tense muscles, and groggily speculated on what could have startled her to wakefulness. Her hand smoothed over the cool sheet on the empty side of the bed, her chest tightening anxiously, but she chided herself, remembering that it was only a matter of a couple more days, three at the most, before Matt would be back at last.

There it was again, the noise that must have roused her—loud voices somewhere farther up Front Street, calling out. She could hear the few customers remaining downstairs in the Long Branch noisily scraping back their chairs, glasses clinking on tables, boots clomping hurriedly across the plank floor as they exited the swinging batwing doors.

She raked her hair-probably a wild mess—out of her face. Earlier this evening she'd just hurriedly pulled the pins out and shaken the curls down, collapsing in bed. In the dim light of the moon, she could still see her abandoned clothing lying around the room in small ruffled and beaded heaps. She'd been too tired to do anything besides crawl under the covers after pulling a comforting nightdress over her head. Two more days, she'd thought to herself as she hugged Matt's pillow tightly to her chest and buried her nose in its feathery down, hoping to detect the lingering scent of her lover. Doc said maybe three days, depending on how much healing time Matt required before he was fit to head home. Then he'd be back in her arms, instead of just this old pillow.

Kitty rubbed at her scratchy, swollen eyes. She could have sworn they each held a thimbleful of dry Kansas dust the way they chafed when she blinked. She wryly thought to herself that her lack of so-called beauty sleep since Matt had been gone was most certainly telling on her. Good old Sam had been sure to use this as an excuse to convince her to go upstairs early the past few evenings. Each time it was the same quiet argument. "Miss Kitty, you look plumb tuckered out... No, ma'am, you need your rest. I can take care of things down here just fine. Now...Miss Kitty, I won't take no for an answer. Don't forget—I'll have the Marshal to answer to when he gets back, and he'll want to know why I haven't been looking after you proper. I'll walk you up now, if that's alright by you..."

And the tall, genial man who'd been her faithful employee for years had insistently escorted her up the stairs as she spluttered meek refusals while Sam amiably ignored her, smiling and holding her elbow like a gentleman the whole way. He'd opened her bedroom door for her and waited patiently while she stepped inside. He'd hesitated a moment, that giant of a man with the kind, careworn face, realizing he'd been quite bold in his entreaties, insisting that Miss Kitty hie herself to bed. But his kind yet penetrating gaze had taken in the dark circles around her exhausted blue eyes and the pinched appearance around her mouth, and he had reached across and patted his beloved lady boss's arm warmly. "You get some rest now, you hear?" Then he had given a firm nod. "It'll all be over soon. I'll take care of things for you downstairs, Miss Kitty. You just rest."

And she'd released a big sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly. She squeezed his large, gnarled hand, murmuring in a low voice, "Thanks, Sam." He'd gifted her with a wide, somewhat relieved smile before she swung the door shut soundlessly.

Three nights in a row Sam had escorted her upstairs to get some extra rest, ever since they'd received the fateful news from Lamb County, Texas, that Matt Dillon had escaped his captors, and that at long last he was coming home.

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Yes, just three days ago it was, early in the morning, and Kitty had been standing at the bar polishing glasses that didn't need a bit of polishing. She was up and busy at that rather uncustomary hour because she'd never really gotten to sleep in the first place, just tossed and turned all night after receiving a wire from the marshal of Amarillo who'd talked to Matt. It was both frightening and frustrating to realize that Matt and Lon Gorman's gang were nearly halfway to the Mexican border and Festus and Thad hadn't managed to free him yet.

And Kitty had admitted to Doc how scared she was, that she was desperately afraid of losing him and how much he meant to her and to Dodge. Doc knew exactly what she meant. Doc had known her back when she was just a poor saloon girl, brand new to the town. Kitty figured she owed nearly as much to Matt Dillon's influence as to her own chutzpah for her climb in the social and economic world. She didn't know if she would have tried so hard if she hadn't wanted to prove herself to him, to be a better person for him. What would she have been without Matt Dillon?

So she'd spent another sleepless night worrying about Matt alone with those killers heading for the Mexican border. Her nerves were stretched taut waiting for hour upon endless hour, day in and day out, wondering if they'd kill him when they got across, aching to know if she'd ever see him again, ever be able to tell him what she'd been pondering these last days without him, what he truly meant to her.

And so her thoughts dwelled on him now while she furiously polished glasses, and Doc pretended to read the paper over a cup of coffee at a nearby table. He finally slapped the paper down in resignation. "You're gonna polish all the shine off those glasses if you're not careful."

"What?" she asked absently.

"Listen, why don't we go to Delmonico's and have some breakfa-?"

Then Barney had rushed through the door, dark visor on his bald head, spectacles reflecting light from the morning sun. He waved a small white paper in his hands. His voice was shaking. "I have a telegram! From Amos Hockley in Texas!"

Doc scraped back his chair and rushed quickly to Kitty's side, right where he'd remained for this entire ordeal.

Kitty's breathing was shallow as she laid her work on the polished wooden bar. This was it. She just knew. This was the news she'd been waiting for. She spoke in a quiet monotone and her eyes remained fastened on her folded hands. "You read it, Barney." Doc's hand squeezed hers comfortingly.

Barney fluttered the paper toward Doc nervously. "Don't you wanna read it inst—?"

Doc exploded, "You heard the lady! Read the blasted telegram!"

Barney's voice trembled as he spoke aloud, "Matt Dillon freed from kidnappers. Will return to Dodge after medical treatment and rest. Amos Hockley. Sheriff. Lamb County."

Doc noticed Kitty's eyes flutter closed at Barney's words and the color drain from her face, and he quickly slipped a strong, supportive arm unobtrusively around her waist. She'd remained steadfast throughout everything, but he realized she'd taken about all she could at this point. It seemed she'd used the last of her reserve strength to listen to the words of that telegram and she didn't have a drop to spare. Doc eased her over to a table and shooed Barney out of the room. He'd poured her a big stiff drink nearly to the top of the glass and patted the trembling hand that lay atop the table while she sipped her drink slowly at first, then killed it finally with surrender, swiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. "It's all over," Doc had simply said. "It's all over, honey. He's coming home."

She'd looked at him with her exhausted features, drawn and colorless from constant stress and lack of sleep and said in a voice hardly louder than a whisper, "This time, Doc..."

tbc

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