Mañana
By Lady Chal
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I'm not making any money off of them, I'm just taking the boys out to play for a while...
Summary: When Inez is accosted, rescue comes from an unexpected quarter and Ezra finds himself caught up in an rare fit of chivalry that could lead to something more...
AN: This story is the first of two that comprises my own little M-7 universe. It takes place a few months after the events in "The Brotherhood" (which alas, I have not yet finished) and some time before all of my other M-7 stories published here.
Chapter One
Ezra Standish gathered his winnings into a tidy stack and bid goodnight to the last customers as they slipped out the door of the saloon.
"As always, gentlemen, it has been a pleasure."
Only after the last footfalls had faded down the boardwalk, did he allow himself to slouch back into his chair and stretch his aching muscles. His internal clock told him it was late. –Well after midnight, in fact. A glance at his gold pocket watch narrowed the hour to a few minutes shy of two in the morning.
From across the room came a sigh deep enough to match his own fatigue.
"Madre de Dios," Inez muttered, leaning heavily upon the bar, "I thought they would never leave."
"Late nights are good business," Ezra reminded her as he collected the scattered cards and dealt himself a hand of solitaire. It was his own preferred method of sorting the deck, though with the caliber of players he had met recently, he knew full well that if any cards were missing, they would have been in his own possession. Not that he needed to resort to card manipulation in this crowd. Honest hands were easy enough to win, and he simply didn't need the grief the others would give him for a dishonest game. –They gave him too much of that already.
"Si, they are good business," Inez agreed as she moved past him in a rustle of skirts. "But you are not the only one who 'cleans up' from such an evening," she observed dryly as she collected the empty glasses.
Ezra quickly flipped through the deck, matching the cards more by habit and instinct than any real awareness of his actions.
"Have you never heard of mañana Inez?"
She shot him an acid look. "It is mañana, Ezra. It has been for the past two hours." But she seemed to consider his implication as she moved behind the bar to wash the last of the glasses. "I suppose I could sweep up in the morning," she mused, "but I really should take more ale to the cellar so that it will be cool by tomorrow afternoon."
She considered the problem further. "Four cases should do it, I think."
Ezra frowned at her as he gathered his cards and tucked them into the pocket of his frock coat. She looked dead on her feet. He doubted she had the energy to cart one crate down the steep cellar steps, let alone four of them.
"When my mother engaged you to manage this establishment, I do not believe she expected slave labor, Inez. You should have had Jake carry those down for you." He frowned, looking around. "Where is your illustrious bartender? I don't recall seeing him tonight."
Inez groaned and ran a tired hand through her ebony locks. "Jake was too busy sampling the inventory to do much of anything. I fired him this morning."
"I dare say that would explain his rather surly temperament." Ezra murmured as he downed the last of his own drink and carried it over to the dry sink behind the bar.
"If you mean was that why he was angry, then yes," Inez said. She moved to the closet beneath the staircase and opened it to reveal the neatly stacked cases of ale.
"He should have thanked me. He was so stinking drunk at the time that if he had tried to go down the steps, he would have broken his neck."
"A wise business decision all around then," Ezra mused, circling around the end of the bar. "The way the winds of fortunes have blown as of late, no doubt the Judge would have found you liable and forced the Tavern to pay the costs of the burial."
He loosened his cravat and put his hand on the post at the bottom of the staircase railing. "On that note, I believe I shall retire while I still have the energy to negotiate the stairs myself."
"Good night, Ezra." She called softly, pausing in her task of wiping down the tables to offer him a tired smile.
"Good night, Inez."
Slowly, he climbed the stairs, too weary to notice the dark eyes that lingered upon him a moment longer than was strictly necessary. At the top of the staircase, he paused before the small marble topped table and considered the array of finger lamps that it held.
There were six lamps, one for each room, but it seemed that only two of them would be needed tonight, what with Jake dismissed from the premises and the remaining two bedrooms vacant and un-rented. Pulling the silver match box from his pocket he extracted a Lucifer and struck it, lighting a lamp for himself. Then, struck by an uncharacteristic impulse he could not name, he removed the chimney from a second lamp and lit it as well. He replaced the chimneys and adjusted the wicks, taking care to adjust the second lamp so that it would shed enough light to illuminate the landing for Inez when she finally made her way up the long dark staircase and retired for the night. He hesitated for a moment and considered the two lamps, burning side by side. –Two lights in the darkness, he thought, --keeping each other company. He suddenly scowled as he realized the drift his thoughts had taken. When had he become such a dreadful sentimentalist?
Picking up his own lamp, he made his way to his room and closed the door behind him. With the same careful precision that he attired himself each afternoon, he slowly undressed for bed. Removing the cravat, he carefully folded it and laid it upon the bureau. The plum colored frock coat followed, carefully arranged upon its wooden hangar and stowed in the large walnut armoire. Methodically, he removed his holster and unbuckled his shoulder rig, rolling the leather belts carefully and setting them on the bedside table. His fingers were fumbling with the small buckles of the derringer rig when a loud thud and a disconcerting rattle of glassware echoed up from the taproom below. The sound brought him up short, and he scowled to himself as he realized what it must be. Inez. –Trying to lug those crates of beer to the cellar, no doubt.
Good Lord, he thought irritably, didn't the woman have more sense than to carry those heavy crates herself? She'd likely break her neck.
And who else, pray tell, is going to do it for her? The small, insistent voice –the one that had been troubling him more and more frequently these days—asked quietly from the back of his head. –Certainly not Jake, the voice continued. She just finished telling you that.
Grumbling softly to himself, he turned on his heel and opened the door. There were times, he thought wearily, when Southern manners and gentility simply weren't all they were cracked up to be.
Inez uttered soft, Spanish epithets through gritted teeth as she tugged at the nearest case of dark brown bottles. She truly wondered why she'd bothered to keep that fool Jake around as long as she had. He was as lazy as an old dog, and when he wasn't into the house stock, he was always leering at her in that disconcerting way that made her feel as if she were not wearing any clothes. She should have fired him months ago. If he'd been doing his job at all, the spring trough would have been fully stocked to begin with. When it was full, it usually held enough bottles to last for two or three days. She would see to that tomorrow, she decided. In the mean time, she only needed to take enough beer down to see them through tomorrow's dinner crowd. She would have to take them one at a time, though. They were simply too heavy for her to manage more than that.
Taking a firm grip upon the crate, she was preparing herself to lift it when she was stopped by a firm hand upon her arm.
"Enough, Inez." Ezra's voice was soft, but firm, and near enough that she could smell the faint whiff of bay rum as he gently pushed her aside.
"—But I—"
"You're dead on your feet. I'll take the crates down to the cellar. You go and lock up. I daresay the rest of this will keep until morning."
Pride and indignation flashed brightly in her brown eyes. "I am perfectly able to do this myself, Señor."
Ezra shot her a sardonic glance. "I have no doubt of that, my dear Lady." He hefted two of the heavy crates with a soft explosion of breath and she could not help but notice the play of his muscles beneath the fine linen of his shirt as he carted the cases in the direction of the cellar stairs.
"I assure you," he grumbled, "I have only my own selfish interests at heart. At the moment, I'd like nothing better than to repair to my bed. However, I doubt I'd get much sleep with you banging around down here until all ungodly hours of the morning."
He fixed her with a green-eyed glare. "Now lock up, Inez, and let's call it a night."
Her mahogany eyes snapped back at him. "As you wish, Señor," she said, dropping him a mocking curtsey before whirling away to shutter the windows.
Ezra carefully made his way down the worn steps to the cellar, his blood doing a slow simmer in his veins. Damn, but the woman could be stubborn! Ungrateful, too, he thought as he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. He frowned as he noted the derringer rig, still strapped to the inside of his right forearm, and took extra care not to get it wet as he transferred the bottles of warm beer from the wooden cases to the spring-fed trough which ran through the stone floor of the cellar. Inez likely would have broken her neck hauling the cases down here, tired as she was. Still, he had to admit to himself thather attitude wasn't the only thing that had irritated him.
"Señor," he muttered to himself. "Señor indeed!"
He must have gotten under her skin somehow for her to revert back to the formality. Of the six men he considered his friends, he alone had enjoyed her familiarity. Everyone else was addressed formally as 'Señor,' but to her, he was simply Ezra. This was rather new development, born of the long painful days of his recovery this past spring, when Inez had tended to his injuries. Still, this was a privilege he had enjoyed immensely, especially given Buck's failed attempts at seduction with the spirited Mexican bar maid.
In truth, he credited much of his easy companionship with the bar maid and their unspoken acceptance of one another to the hours of common interest they had both invested in the daily operations of the Saloon. Of all the citizens of Four Corners –and even the men he had come to consider his friends—Inez alone was the one person who did not seem to judge him. He had returned the favor in kind. –Unlike Buck, who eyed her with lascivious intent, or Chris, who seemed to regard her as a magnet for trouble (though he granted that it was through no fault of her own), to Ezra, she was simply Inez –bright and cheerful, with an easy knack for selling drinks and a wicked talent for sharp words. –Both of which were gifts he held in rare esteem.
Stung as he had been by his mother's takeover of his enterprise, he could not fault her business acumen in hiring Inez to manage the taproom. He supposed that it took one shrewd woman to recognize another, and Inez and his mother were shrewd women indeed. Perhaps that was what he liked the most about her.
With a weary step, he climbed the steps to retrieve the last two cases of ale. The unexpected darkness of the main floorbbrought him up short. Inez, it seemed, had wasted no time in turning in for the night. The hell with the other two cases, he thought. He'd be damned if he was going to negotiate that load down the steps in the dark. Swearing softly under his breath, he crossed to the bar and then froze as a soft thud met his ears. It was followed by a muffled female whimper that had him instantly snapping the derringer to hand.
Moving with a silent, catlike grace, he crossed the room. He spared only a swift glance at the door which hung slightly ajar, a thin sliver of moonlight streaking across the floor. Whoever it was had taken her by surprise. He only hoped he could return the favor.
The sight which met his eyes as he reached the door to the kitchen sent anger roiling through his gut like a wild, clawing creature. There were two of them, he saw. One gripped her tightly from behind. A meaty fist clamped across her mouth muffled her cries as her captor ground himself tightly against her. The second man tore eagerly at her clothing even as he fumbled with his own.
"Easy now, little missy," the second man hissed. "We just came to finish a little business. We already paid your man. There's no need to be prickly about it."
The rough voice was unfamiliar to Ezra's ears, as was the one that followed it.
"Whooee! That Jake feller was right, wasn't he Charlie? She shore is a little wild cat!"
"I believe you are mistaken, sir." Ezra's own voice sliced through the darkness like the blade of one of Nathan's throwing knives. "Señorita Rocillos is a lady. I will take issue with any one who says otherwise."
The man whom Ezra deduced to be Charlie managed one slow swallow as he felt the twin barrels of the derringer press lightly into the base of his skull.
"Easy now, friend," Charlie rasped hoarsely. "My pard and I here were just looking to show the lady a good time."
The sound of the derringer being cocked was nearly as chilling as the calm, emotionless voice that followed it.
"As I do not recall having previously met with your acquaintance, I assure you that I am not your friend."
Ezra pushed the gun deeper into Charlie's neck before allowing himself to meet Inez's terrified gaze. "And judging from Miss Rocillos's expression, I would surmise that she is not, in fact, enjoying your company. Unhand the lady."
They did not immediately respond, and Ezra tightened his grip on the man he now held, his fingers barely registering the feel of coarse wool and cotton piping beneath his hand. He caught the gleam of brass buttons on the cuff of Inez's captor and mentally swore. Military, he thought. Probably from the company that was camped out at the edge of town. He had little doubt there'd be hell to pay for this.
The soldier who held Inez must have seen the realization dawning in Ezra's eyes, for he emitted a harsh laugh.
"You can't touch us," he taunted. "We're sworn soldiers of the U.S. Army. Major Reilly don't much care for you boys as it is. He'll have your head on a platter if you shoot us."
Ezra's green eyes bored into the soldier's blue ones as he considered the words. Then, slowly, deliberately, he removed the gun from Charlie's neck, lowered it, and fired.
Charlie dropped to the floor in agony as he screamed and clutched at the wound which was already seeping blood high up along his inner thigh. The second soldier froze as he found himself staring down the muzzle of the gambler's gun.
"Shall we test the theory any farther?" Ezra inquired coldly.
Inez was released instantly. She fled to the shelter of Ezra's open arm, but the hand clutching the derringer never wavered.
"If I might be so bold as to inquire, with whom did you conduct this unfortunate business transaction?"
The soldier swallowed nervously. "W-with that bartender –Jake. He said he did it all the time, th-th-that she just played hard to get as an act for the customers. Look Mister, I—"
Whatever the man had been about to add was cut off in the crash of the back door as it rocked back on its hinges and slammed against the wall. Vin Tanner's lean figure was silhouetted in the doorway, the mare leg carbine ready in his hands.
He took in the scene with one swift gaze that swept from Inez's trembling frame to the prone figure on the floor to the ghost white soldier at the end of Ezra's gun before coming to rest at last upon the gambler himself.
"I was turnin' in for the night when I heard the shot." Vin said in way of explanation. "--Just thought I'd see if you needed a hand." The scout's voice was mild, but like Ezra, his body was tense and ready for action.
"As a matter of fact, Mr. Tanner, you have arrived at an opportune moment. Perhaps you would be so kind as to escort these two men to more suitable accommodations?"
"I'm sure JD can find a spot for 'em." Vin said, lifting his carbine ever so slightly in the soldier's direction.
Vin's gaze swung back to Inez, silently taking in her trembling body and the tears tracking silently down her cheeks. "You all right, Inez?" he asked quietly.
She nodded slowly, but did not speak.
Reaching around her with his free hand, Ezra reset the derringer into its sleeve rig before folding her somewhat awkwardly into a protective embrace.
"I believe she just needs a moment to compose herself," he said over the top of her trembling head.
"Perhaps you might fetch Mrs. Travis when you're done with these two gentlemen?"
Vin nodded and jerked his weapon at the two men. "Pick up your friend and let's go."
The man scrambled to the moaning mass that was his friend and hastily helped him to his feet. Charlie shrieked in pain and even Vin seemed to turn just a shade lighter under his tan when he saw the location of the wound.
"Jesus, Ezra. I don't think even Nathan can fix that one."
"I'm sure our colleague will appreciate the challenge." Ezra said coolly. Under other circumstances, he supposed he too would have inwardly cringed at the wound as Vin had done. It was in a sensitive enough location to garner sympathy from any man. But he was having difficulty feeling any kind of regret, what with the way Inez stood, trembling in his arms.
The soldiers left, moaning and cursing under the tracker's watchful gaze. Vin hesitated only long enough to close the door, leaving the two alone once more.
Ezra was rather disconcerted at the prospect, finding himself at a loss for what to do next. It had been a long time since he had comforted a woman –a fact he was becoming uncomfortably aware of with each second Inez lingered in his embrace.
Fortunately, Southern manners and gentility –the only positive part of his upbringing which he truly owed to Maude—came to his rescue. Reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat, he extracted a fresh linen handkerchief and offered it to Inez. She accepted it gratefully, dabbing at her eyes and nose.
"Thank you," she said. Her voice was thick with unshed tears.
"Come," he said gently and took her hand. He led her back out into the tavern and seated her in a chair at his customary table. Rummaging behind the bar, he found a clean glass and a particular bottle and set it before her. Unstopping the bottle, he poured a healthy measure of the amber contents into the glass.
"Drink," he ordered, pushing the glass towards her.
Inez eyed him almost warily, fully aware of the magnanimous gesture as her gaze shifted from the bottle to his face. Unlike the usual rock gut served and swilled in the tavern, this particular bottle contained an exceptionally fine brandy that Ezra used to refill his flask. Maude had sent it to him last Christmas, and he hoarded it with a miserly affection.
"I insist," he added, drawing a chair close to hers and sitting beside her.
She complied, wincing slightly as the liquor burnt a fiery, but not unpleasant path down her throat. The liquid warmth seemed to pool in the pit of her stomach and then slowly spread through her chilled limbs. When she opened her eyes, she found herself staring into Ezra's pale green ones. He said nothing, merely stared at her until she suddenly found the terrible story spilling out of its own accord.
"They were waiting for me," she began. "They surprised me when I went to bar the door…"
By the time Mary Travis appeared, some twenty minutes later with Vin and Chris looming behind her like uneasy sentinels, silence reigned once more. For Inez, it was the kind of dazed shock that cocoons one in a protective cloud. In Ezra, however, it was an angry living thing. If Jake McQueen was within so much as a twenty mile radius of this town come morning, he fully intended to kill the son of a bitch.
Larabee apparently recognized the intent in the gambler's eyes, for he glanced at Ezra and indicated the doorway with a silent tilt of his head. Leaving Inez to Mary's care, Ezra followed the two out into the damp chill of the October night. Through the half curtained windows of the Tavern, he could see Mary as she removed her shawl and wrapped it about the shivering woman.
"How is she?" Larabee asked quietly.
"Shaken, but unharmed," Ezra replied. "McQueen will not be so fortunate the next time I set eyes upon him."
Vin shook his head. "You won't. He took a horse from the livery and rode out of here an hour ago. Judging from the tracks he made, I'd guess he ain't planning on coming back any time soon."
"He's more intelligent than one would presume," Ezra said dryly.
Larabee was contemplating the darkened length of the street and the road leading out of town. The small flickering sparks of the camp fires could be seen a mile in the distance. He struck a match against the rough beam which supported the tin roof overhanging the boardwalk and lit one of his thin, black cheroots. He took a deep draw of the acrid smoke. "The Major out there won't be happy about losing two of his troopers," he observed.
"And the trooper you shot will be none too happy about the extra room in his britches," Vin put in with mild amusement.
Chris cocked an eyebrow and shook out the match. "Both of them?"
Vin nodded, a dark twinkle lighting his pale blue eyes. "Nathan seemed pretty sure the fella's family tree had been pruned for good."
Their leader uttered an epithet that was caught somewhere between a laugh and a curse. "Might have been better to kill him," he remarked to the gambler. "A man tends to hold a grudge about a thing like that."
"One would expect no less," Ezra said. He was feeling somewhat calmer now, but the stench of Larabee's smoke was making him wish for one of his own cigars –all of which were regrettably residing in the breast pocket of his frock coat, upstairs in his room.
Vin sighed. "I reckon we're gonna have to tell the Major."
Chris nodded. "You and I can ride out in the morning and talk to him. With any luck, we might even convince him to keep his men out of town for a while."
Vin snorted. "I wouldn't pin much hope on that."
Larabee drew deeply on the tobacco. "No," he agreed.
The three of them stood in silence for a long moment, each man contemplating the darkened length of the street with his own quiet musings. A coyote yipped somewhere in the distance, and an owl answered it with his own eerie call. From the livery across the street they could hear the muffled thud of a horse pawing at the feed bunk, all mixed with the soft rise and fall of the female voices behind them. When he had smoked the cheroot down to nothing, Larabee stubbed it out on the hitch rail and flung it into the street.
"Buck and Josiah will be back from the prisoner transfer tomorrow," he said. "We'll post a night watch until the army moves out. I want two men on watch all night long, --four during business hours."
Vin and Ezra nodded in agreement, then turned on their heel and followed him back into the tavern. Mary was sitting across from Inez, speaking intently to her. They only managed to catch her last few words.
"You should come and stay with me tonight," Mary was saying. "I have plenty of room and you shouldn't be alone."
Inez shook her head reluctantly. "No," she said, her voice was firm. "I will not be frightened from my own home. I will stay here."
She was somewhat surprised at the steadiness of her voice. Privately, she was not at all as confident as she sounded. Her past experience with Don Paulo had taught her only too well that this was a man's world, and no woman was ever really safe in it. –Especially not a woman such as herself. The recent events of the evening had only served to drive the lesson vividly home once again. In truth, it was neither bravery nor pride which cemented her decision to remain here in her rooms above the Saloon. It was fear. She could have accepted Mary's offer, wholly generous and offering a bit of privacy and refuge from the scene of the night's occurrence. But Mary Travis was a woman, a widow, who lived alone in her rooms above the Clarion with no husband to defend her, nor any weapon to bring to bear in her own defense. Shaken as she was by the whole incident, Inez was very much aware that she was safer here, at the scene of the assault than anywhere else in town. Here, at least, there would only be a few feet, a wall and a door separating her from a man with a gun –a man who had defended her—and in the alley behind the Saloon where Vin Tanner's freight wagon was parked there would be another. The shaky, trembling feeling had not quite left her, and she did not feel particularly safe even now, but in the warm light of the tap room, surrounded by her friends, she knew she would feel less so anywhere else.
Mary rose then, and took Inez's hands in her own. "If you need anything at all, send for me," she ordered, giving the icy fingers a gentle squeeze. "I'll check in on you tomorrow," she promised softly, and then she was gone in a rustle of skirts.
The low rumble of men's voices died almost immediately, and Inez gazed blearily through the doors of the saloon to see Chris Larabee offer his arm to Mary and escort her back across the street towards the Clarion. Ezra nodded a brief farewell to the widow and then turned and walked back into the saloon, trailed by Vin.
The scout did not linger, but snagged a wooden chair from a near by table and carried it towards the doorway. Ezra said nothing, merely quirked an eyebrow in Vin's direction as he went about securing the rest of the shutters. Vin caught the glance and shot Ezra a bland look. "Figured I might just sit out front on the boardwalk a spell and enjoy the evening."
Inez was not fooled. She knew that the taciturn Texan would spend the entire night like a wakeful sentinel, the carbine ready across his lap and his keen eyes scanning the darkness for any further trouble-seekers. She blinked her eyes fiercely at the sudden tears which pricked at her lashes, wondering what she had done to deserve the friendship of men such as these.
Ezra grasped the large double doors, closing them upon the sight of the darkened figure tipped back in the chair upon the boardwalk. One by one, he snuffed the last few lamps that burnt in the taproom. Only then did he come to stand before her, gazing down into her face with a rare expression of genuine concern.
Come, my dear," he said softly, offering her his hand. "It's late, even for two nocturnal creatures such as us. You should rest now."
She nodded and rose wearily to her feet, grateful for the steadying grip he had proffered. His arm was warm and strong beneath her hand, and when she stumbled halfway up the seemingly endless staircase, it snaked out to catch her, gripping her firmly about the waist and pulling her once more into the security of his embrace. He walked her wordlessly down the long hallway to to the door of her room, a tiny space at the back of the building just over the kitchen. He opened the door and threw it back so that the soft yellow glow of the hall lamp dimly illuminated the simply furnished space.
"Will you be all right?" His voice was quiet, and there was more than a hint of concern burning in the jade depths of his gaze.
Her only response was a single, silent and rather unconvincing nod.
He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. "Sleep, Inez," he suggested. "Things will look different tomorrow."
"Better?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No," he said in a rare fit of unvarnished honesty, "merely different, but sometimes that is sufficient."
She smiled faintly, thinking of his words to her earlier this evening, before the soldiers had come. "Hasta mañana," she said, tilting her head with just a hint of her old sauciness. "Maybe when it comes I will know why you like it so much."
"Perhaps," he said. He was so hard to read, she thought. Of course, most of this was by choice. He'd have been a very poor gambler to let everyone know what he was thinking all of the time. Still, there were moments –not unlike this one—when she began to suspect that there was far more to this man than fancy words, fancy clothes and a very dangerous gun.
She felt the silence that swirled around them, and though she did not look forward to the solitude that awaited her, she knew there was really only one thing left to say.
"Buenos noches," she said softly.
He nodded, almost self consciously, and backed away in the direction of his own door.
"Ezra," she said suddenly, calling him back. She did not know what exactly possessed her to do it. Perhaps it was fear, or gratitude, or impulse, but she grabbed his arm, staying him, keeping her with him just one moment more.
The silence lengthened and stretched between them, the words of thanks somehow catching in her throat until she was sure she would never be able to speak them properly. Perhaps that then, was what caused her to lift herself ever so slightly on her toes and press her bruised lips gently to his.
"Gracias," she whispered. She knew the word was too inadequate, but was unable to think of anything else. Turning then, she fled to the seclusion of her room before she made an even bigger fool of herself.
She would not have been alone. Had she lingered even a moment more, she would have been treated to an unusual sight: the very loquacious Ezra Standish, standing still and dumbstruck by the kiss that still seemed to tingle upon his mouth.