Chris Larabee walked up to the regular table at the saloon in his town, the table everyone knew belonged to the men hired over three years ago to protect the town, the men known famously now as The Magnificent Seven, to find two of his men. The one dressed to suit his other profession, shuffled cards with extreme disinterest, his favorite bourbon sitting filled, untouched. The other, attired in quite the opposite manner, his long hair nearly hidden inside the collar of his capote and under his hat, nursed a beer and watched the shuffling. The room was cold, the stove worked hard to keep up with the bitter cold and the blustery wind as it whipped through town.
"What the hell's wrong with you two?" the tall blond asked as he took a seat, grabbed a glass and pushed it toward Ezra Standish. The former gunslinger knew he would be switching to his regular rotgut, but he found that the card sharp was more than generous with his fine liquor. As the leader of The Seven, he tried to instill in these men who made little money to not take advantage of the gambler. As much as he was tempted, he tried to keep his own requests to a minimum. It was a hard thing: Ezra's stash was really good.
"Ezra's depressed," Vin Tanner said.
"Ah am not."
"Think ya might be," Chris said as Ezra filled the glass and slid it back toward his friend.
"Why?" the fancily-dressed poker player asked as he cut the deck one-handed.
"Because y'ain't playin' cards, y'ain't usin' your big words." Chris looked to the bottle, then his glass and then Ezra's and said, "Ya ain't drinking."
"Forgive mah insolence in utilizing the language of mah forbears in so pedestrian a mannah. As well, mah apologies for misapplyin' whatevah rule is in place today. Ah will venture to perform more amenably in future."
Chris and Vin shared a look, then turned to their friend and said, "That's more like it," in perfect harmony, a harmony they were destined to share, just as it had always been, since they first met.
"Ha, ha, ha," Ezra offered, clearly not amused.
"What the hell's wrong with him?" Chris asked Vin.
"Ain't had any snow ta measure, jest had that one night o' soakin' rain day b'fore yesterday," Vin explained, which really didn't explain much. The tracker smiled as Inez brought out a tray with their supper. It was a veritable feast, a platter full of grilled vegetables, the last of what was available in the root cellar combined with the bounty Inez Rocios just returned with from a recent, clandestine visit to see a dying aunt in Mexico. Beef from a cow butchered from Robert Merton's ranch, roasted slowly to perfection, as Inez always did, tortillas and sliced avocados, chopped tomatoes and fresh salsa. It was quite a platter considering the season was late winter soon to trip into spring. Vin started in as Tommy showed up with a full pitcher of beer and more mugs, followed by the remainder of The Seven filing in, J.D. Dunne and Buck Wilmington first, and just moments later, Nathan Jackson and Josiah Sanchez.
"Boy do I love Thursdays," J.D. said as he filled a mug with beer and then his plate high with food.
"Thursdays?" Chris asked as he, too, wasn't shy about the amount of food on his plate.
"Yeah. Inez always makes somethin' special on Thursdays," the young Easterner said just before spearing a large piece of the fine, aromatic beef and shoveling it into his mouth.
Buck frowned and said, "What're ya talkin' about, kid? All the food Inez cooks up is fine eatin'." The former Texas Ranger followed his friends in filling his plate. Those who knew the lean gunman marveled at how he maintained his thin physique, fully aware of how much food he ate. Vin had more than once suggested a tapeworm. Buck was always happy to offer the details of the activity that really kept him fit and trim.
"You eating?" Nathan asked Ezra as he joined in with the tracker and the preacher to get their share. "Best hurry," the healer added as Josiah poured them each a beer and topped off Vin's. The gambler took a much smaller amount of food and a tortilla. He piled the meat and vegetables, the fresh salsa and a couple of slices of avocado and wrapped the fixings inside of it.
"Hey, that's a good idea," J.D. said. The sheriff copied Ezra's actions.
Inez showed up with another pitcher of beer. She smiled as she saw all seven of the lawmen using the tortilla for something other than scooping the food and sauce off the plate. Though she knew she impressed Maude Standish those few years ago with her burrito, it was not a dish that had caught on in the frontier town. She and Ezra occasionally shared one together, privately. She rubbed his shoulder as she reached to place the new pitcher on the table, knowing that the one Tommy just brought out would be empty. This one wouldn't last long with this group, either.
"Thank you, darlin'," Buck said. "Say, tell me somethin'."
"Sí?"
"The kid here says you cook special food on Thursdays. I told 'im that you cook good food all the time."
"Why, thank you, Buck."
"See kid? Told ya."
"No, Buck. J.D. is correct," Inez countered.
"See?" J.D. said while chewing a mouthful of food. Buck looked at his plate quizzically.
"Madre de dios. Do you eat avocado every day?"
"Which is the avocado?" Buck asked. Vin nearly spit out his avocado-heavy mouthful as he laughed while chewing.
"Och," Inez sighed. Ezra smirked. "The slices of green?" she said with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh. Well, then … no," Buck returned.
"Beef?" the pretty Mexican woman asked.
"No, definitely could eat beef more regular."
"The fresh salsa?"
"Nope. Haven't had that since the fall," Buck admitted. "What's this creamy stuff?" Buck took a taste with the side of black beans. "'s nice."
"That is homemade cheese," Inez replied. "Is that familiar to you?" Ezra lowered his head and bit his lip to hide his smile as his love interrogated the lean gunman.
Buck finished chewing and said, "All right. I get it. It's special." He smiled at Inez and added, "And just as good as always."
"Good for you, Buck," Josiah offered. Inez leaned in and gave Buck a peck on the cheek.
"Gracias," she said. She squeezed Ezra's shoulder before heading back to the bar.
"Don't know what you're grinning about, Chris," Buck challenged his old friend. "You didn't know, either."
Chris answered through his mouthful of beans and rice. "Yeah, but I didn't get caught."
The batwing doors flapped open hard as Ralph Burberry and Tommy Maxwell, two of the children of the town, tore into the saloon and ran over to the lawmen. Tiny Ralph was still growing into his legs and would have barreled into Ezra had the poker player not been ready to capture him in his arms.
"Master Burberry, what is wrong?" the former con man and current part-time teacher to these children and about a dozen and a half more youngsters in town, asked.
"There … there … there … " the little boy started. He gulped too much air in between his attempts to speak. He would soon hyperventilate if something wasn't done quickly to prevent it.
"Son," Nathan said, his deep, soothing tone drawing the child's attention. "Calm down, take a good, deep breath, then let it out." Ezra kept his arm around Tommy's shoulders as the boy leaned into the trusted teacher's chest. Ralph followed the healer's instructions as Ezra questioned the other little boy.
"What is wrong?" Ezra asked Tommy.
"Smoke. Big, white smoke," the child said.
All of The Seven but Ezra and Nathan stood immediately, as did several other townspeople who overheard.
"Where?" Chris asked. He was firm but not stern in order not to frighten the boys.
"North," Ralph answered, finally able to speak. "Out toward Mr. Merton's corrals." Five of the lawmen headed out of the saloon, followed by at least four other men.
Robert Merton, the rancher who had become a trusted citizen of the town and a reliable extra set of eyes, ears and hands to the town enforcers, had built stockades outside of town as a staging area for the animals due for slaughter to be butchered for use in the town and meted out to the reservations and surrounding communities. The large herds of cattle to be sold were kept out at his ranch.
"Do you know whether it is Mistah Merton's corrals on fire?" Ezra asked as both he and Nathan stood to join their brethren.
"No." Ralph Burberry's eyes started to fill with tears. "Do you think all the cows are burning up?" he asked. There was such innocence in the question, heard by the healer and the gambler, the little boy not grasping that whether it was this way or via slaughter, those animals' fates were the same either way. Tommy stepped closer to his friend and Ezra wrapped both boys in a hug.
"No," the card sharp said. "You said the smoke was white?"
Tommy nodded his head. "It was like a big, white cloud growin' out of the ground.
"I'll make sure they know," the former slave said as he left the saloon.
"Ah will be there momentarily," Ezra said. He turned back to the two boys. "Ah want you to go home." He turned to the bar. "Tommy?" The young man who helped Inez in the saloon removed his apron, nodded to the pretty saloon proprietress and rushed to the table. "Please escort Masters Burberry and Maxwell home."
"I will. Let's go, boys."
"I don't want the cows to die," Ralph said. Ralph's little friend Tommy grabbed his hand as big Tommy placed his hand on the upset little boy's neck and walked the children to their respective homes.
"What can I do?" Inez asked.
"Ah do not believe there is much to be done, mah dear." Ezra kissed her forehead. "Ah will send Dave Landon over to the jailhouse so that there is someone here should you require assistance. Let Tommy know." Ezra turned for the exit.
"Ten cuidado, mi amor."
The handsome Southerner smiled and headed to the livery.
"Gotta thank you fellas for getting out here so fast," Robert said as he passed the water ladle to Josiah. "And for bringing so many others out to help."
"We're happy we could help," Josiah said as he took his kerchief and poured some water on it and used it to wipe his face of the sweat, dirt and soot. "And we didn't have to find people. All these men came willingly."
"Guess I'm more blessed than I know."
Chris took a drink and said, "It's so damn dry. One of these days one of these fires is gonna get away from us."
"All the horses and cattle are accounted for, Mr. Merton."
"Thank you, Andy." Andrew Patterson was one of so many who came to town a drifter. His past was a difficult one, though not as hard as another drifter named Andrew, Andrew Cuthbert. The two Andrews appeared similar in several ways. Andrew Patterson suffered from a permanent and severe limp; Andrew Cuthbert had a hearing impairment … and a past that left many of the townspeople questioning whether he should be allowed to remain in Four Corners. He had taken part in capturing and killing his own cousin, part of a criminal family, and continued to show only affection for the town and its citizens. His hearing problem kept him doing odd jobs for the first year of his time in Four Corners, but his success in becoming a citizen of the frontier town was cut short as he was killed during a bank robbery. Andrew had caught the eye of Robert Merton, who saw something special in the young man. Just days before the rancher was going to offer him a position in his organization, he died in an attempt to save himself, and Ezra and Vin, from the men attempting to rob the bank. Andrew Patterson had a similar bearing, quiet but earnest, also suffered from what some would consider a debilitating injury, but Robert saw in him what he had seen in another Andrew, and Andy now played a significant role in running the herds. When you spent a goodly amount of time on a horse, a limp was not so noticeable and put him on a level playing field with any man. And as it turned out for the young man from Ohio, it wasn't so bad being called Andy. Andrew Cuthbert had frowned at the shortening of his name; it had rarely been used with him with any respect by members of his own family. Andy Patterson had found the only family he'd ever really known in this town and felt only warmth and friendship when he was called by the shortened version of his given name.
"I'm gonna leave the fellas to handle these cattle." He coughed, not the only man in the area still trying to get the soot out of their throats. "I'm heading to the ranch."
"Thank you, Andy. I'll see you in the morning," Robert said as Andrew rode his horse east.
"You know, this wasn't nature. No lightning," Buck noted. "Likely someone tossed a smoke."
"Probably from the stagecoach," J.D. said.
"Could be," Robert said.
"Passengers are all being warned not to do that," Buck said.
"Reckless," Nathan said.
"Criminal," Ezra offered as he pulled his no-longer pristine handkerchief from his face and neck. He had shed his jacket and vest before diving in to fight the fire. His shirt now looked more gray than white. He coughed, covering his mouth with the handkerchief, careful not to breathe in more dirt from the soiled cloth.
"Don't know if you can say that, Ez. They wouldn't have meant to start a fire," J.D. replied. The young man wasn't one to place blame unless it was deserved.
"I don't know, J.D. I think I agree with Ezra," the healer said after he quenched his thirst. He had been observing Ezra through the day's ordeal. The former con man knew what he was doing around the spreading flames. Nathan learned as a young slave how to control a fire, all slaves had their roles when lightning or other natural or unnatural events caused smoke or flames on a plantation. Buck, Chris and Vin seemed equally adept. Josiah and J.D. seemed less accomplished but brave in their actions; Nathan envied them that they'd never been forced to learn those skills. The other men who followed them out all did the best they could, and this fire was put out with minimal damage.
The earlier, quick conversation they shared as they left the saloon hinted at some hidden knowledge about fire when Ezra said, "Ah believe we will find that someone worked hard to extinguish the fire. The white smoke is a telltale signal."
"Yeah," Nathan said. "As dry as it is and the kind of brush and grass we got out here, the smoke wouldn't stay white for long."
The healer was taken by surprise by Ezra's expertise. They'd all fought fires in their time in Four Corners, though those few instances were the impetus to make the town more fire-ready. Seeing Ezra handle himself so well was the positive. What Nathan saw that disturbed him was a constant look in the man's eyes. If he had to label it, the black man would categorize it as part extreme determination … mixed with what Nathan would judge abject fear, if he didn't know Ezra Standish as well as he did. Now, with the flames controlled and mostly out and the smoke dissipated, the gambler was back to how he had been earlier: quiet, morose … depressed.
"Can't smoke and toss it like there ain't dry grass and scrub that'll start a fire 'fore you can blink twice," Vin agreed. The tracker's hair was wet with sweat and water. "Jest like settin' a fire on purpose."
"It ain't," J.D. started to argue, but Chris, Buck, Nathan and Josiah set him straight.
"It is," the four lawmen said, in unison, some decent harmony as they did it. Nathan and Vin looked to Ezra, who smiled knowingly, tipping his head so as not to show too much of how important that memory was to him.
"Let's head on back to town," Chris suggested.
"Thanks for your help, fellas," Robert said gratefully.
Buck slapped him on the back. "Glad it wasn't worse."
"Thanks to all of you."
"And to the boys," J.D. said.
Nathan walked up to Ezra. "Ralph will be happy to hear the cows didn't burn."
"Yes," Ezra said, his throat catching. He coughed to clear it, and then coughed as though he couldn't.
"You all right?" Nathan asked, a frown of worry on his dark visage. For all of the good health Ezra had enjoyed since their trip to Denver and his malaria treatments after, the healer would always worry about the Southerner's past health concerns. Smoke in the lungs would not be kind to a man who had experienced regular respiratory troubles over the years.
Ezra's worried green eyes met Nathan's concerned brown ones. The card sharp opened his mouth, then closed it fast. He reached out and warmly clasped Nathan's forearm, offered a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, then walked toward his horse. Ezra continued to work hard to clear his throat as Chris walked up to the former slave, eyed Ezra heading away, then turned to the healer.
"Something wrong?" the leader of the lawmen of Four Corners asked.
"I'm not sure. Ezra seems … I don't know." Nathan thought for a moment as Chris waited patiently, not the former gunslinger's forte, but something he would do for any of his men. Then Nathan said, "Shaken."
"You think the fire spooked him? He worked it fine."
"I don't know." Nathan looked worriedly toward the Southerner. He turned to Chris. "Nobody's hurt. And he's got a little cough going. I'm gonna stay close to him, see if I can find out what's bothering him."
"You two all right these days? You want Vin or me to talk to him?"
"No, we're good." Nathan walked determinedly toward the professional poker player, who already wore the always saddle-bagged extra shirt, as well as his vest and jacket.
"Mind if I ride with you?" Nathan asked.
"Of course not, Nathan. It would be mah pleasure." The kind black man smiled, tightened the cinch on his saddle and mounted at the same time as Ezra got up on Chaucer.
"Mind if we talk about what's bothering you?"
Ezra's jaw visibly tightened and the former con man knew he hadn't hid his tension before Nathan saw it. "Why would you think that something was bothering me?"
"Saw … I don't know … the look in your eyes? Did what happened today remind you of something?"
Ezra sighed. "Mothah would be disappointed," he said under his breath.
"Good," Nathan returned.
"Ah did not think Ah said that loud enough to be heard." The man in the fancy aubergine jacket rubbed his forehead worriedly.
"That's because something's vexing you. You want to talk about it?"
Ezra looked straight ahead, his bearing in the saddle almost painful to watch. Nathan wondered how anyone could remain so straight in the saddle, and for so long. The sun shone bright as it set in the western horizon, bright, warning of warmth possible the following day; it would be the first true warmth as they worked their way toward Springtime weather. Nathan looked away from the sunset and back to his riding partner. He figured Ezra had chosen not to talk. The man who would be a doctor had his skin been lighter seated himself comfortably in his saddle, looking forward and toward home when the gambler began to speak.
"Ah was quite young the first time mah Mothah left me with one of the many relatives and friends who served as mah surrogate parent throughout mah younger life."
"Ain't right."
Ezra turned and smiled at his friend. "It is … was … nothing Ah could control and is far in the past."
"Not far enough, I think," Nathan answered quickly. He shook his head. "I'm sorry for taking your mama's … "
"Don't. You have apologized, more than once." Ezra knew this was about the time Nathan agreed to be hired by Maude as the house 'doctor'. The black man had apologized more than once, disturbed at what he'd done and how the entire fiasco ended for the gambler.
"I know, but it hasn't made me feel any better about being hoodwinked … "
"But that is precisely it, Nathan. Her entire life has been about, as you say, hoodwinking people. You cannot be faulted for being taken in by someone who is, quite … " Ezra stopped to cough and clear his throat, " … frankly, the best at what she does." Ezra looked away and then turned back to the healer. "It is … how do they say, yesterday's news. Far in the past."
"Not far enough. Be honest."
"Well … "
"I'm sorry, Ezra. Ain't my place to judge your mother."
"Nathan, Maude Standish, to this day, demands judgement. Perhaps if she had been judged more, or parented bettah, mah li … things might have turned out differently."
"Maybe," the healer said, not showing his surprise at the depth of their conversation. Ezra rarely ventured close to confessing much about his past. Something must have alarmed him enough today to move him to speak so openly. "You turned out all right," he added with a sly grin.
Ezra smiled. "Only due to the influence of fine men like you."
"Over three years together, we're all different men."
"Nathan, we are all different in some ways. You, however, have required little change," Ezra noted warmly.
"Nah. I've changed a lot."
"Not so much."
Nathan let it go, for now, because that wasn't what he was riding beside the Southerner to talk about. "So, go on with what you were saying," he encouraged.
"Yes. Ah was livin' with an aunt and uncle and mah two young cousins. It was a familiar place, and Ah had grown close to Will and T … Tommy and Obie. Ah always suspected that mah aunt and uncle and Will and T … Tommy might not have truly been related to Mothah and mahself, after Ah was never sent back there after the l … last time." Ezra shook his head and then continued. "The … workers were burning some debris on the back side of the barn, between the barn and the river. They always transported the pruned branches and dead leaves to that area since it was closer to a water source in case the fire escaped their control." Ezra's voice grew progressively harsh-sounding with the talking and the smoke he'd inhaled and the coughing. Nathan should have stopped the conversation, but he didn't. He couldn't.
"And one time it escaped their control?" Nathan queried.
"It did. Mah cousins and Ah had been playin' not too far away when the flames shot high in the air and jumped up to the loft. The door had been left open and … ." Ezra abruptly stopped speaking.
Nathan gave the former con man some time to compose himself, then asked, "A loft filled with hay?"
"Yes. Obie and Ah ran into the barn to release the horses. Ah told mah young cousins to run to the house to get their fathah. And they did."
"Some of the horses didn't make it?" That would explain Ezra's empathy when speaking with the boys earlier about the cows. There was no explaining how Ezra Standish came to have such an affinity for children, such an ease in being around them. Nathan hoped to hear the details of that story from his friend one day.
"No, they all survived, but Obie took too long to come out. Ah ran back in and found him locked into a stall, a large, frightened mare blocking his way to the door. The smoke was terrible."
Nathan nodded. "Where were all of the adults?"
"They were fighting the fire from outside," Ezra answered numbly. He seemed well into his memory of the event.
"And Obie?"
"Ah moved a large bale of straw in front of the stall, which took precious time, then reached up and undid the latch. Obie, the last horse and Ah truly just escaped with our lives."
"That must have been scary for a little boy."
"It was." Ezra shook his head once more, blinking his eyes ferociously to stave off tears. "Mah uncle ran up to us and asked, 'Where are your cousins?' Ah could barely speak, with the thick smoke that Ah had swallowed. Ah told him that Ah had sent them to the house. Ah was just one year older than Tommy. For some reason, mah uncle felt that meant Ah would mind them, as much as mah aunt explained that Ah was just a boy. Ah had hardly begun schoolin' in mah Mothah's ways. Ah was able to care for mahself, that Ah had been taught already, but … "
"You saved them from getting hurt."
Ezra lowered his head. "Mah uncle roared at me, 'Only Will is at the house!'"
"But you saw them run … "
"Tommy had apparently come back to help. Mah uncle ran into the barn, straight into the smoke and flame, the barn was old, had not been maintained properly for years. It was fully engulfed despite the valiant efforts of so many men, women and children who mah uncle held in bondage."
"You can't be blamed for what your uncle did or thought." Nathan knew where the rest of the story was heading. To blame a little boy for something that was not his fault …
"He blamed me for Tommy's death. He said Ah was more worried for the life of some dirty nig … . Well, he was livid. His rage built over the minutes and hours that followed. As the barn simmered, a pile of ash growing where wood and saddles and tack and hay once stood, mah uncle began the whippings. He beat all of the men and several of the boys. He nearly killed Obie." The Southerner shrugged and winced.
"You hurtin' somewhere?" Nathan asked. The healer knew his friend had been whipped. This story explained the hint of other injury beneath the more obvious scars Ezra clearly sustained as an adult. You had to be right up at them to see them, whatever he used to help lessen the look of the scars had done a good job. But it was as clear as day to a former slave and healer. When Ezra shook his head no, Nathan believed him. "Is Obie short for … "
"Obediah."
Nathan offered a sad grin. "I wondered why you spent so much time with my daddy, at the end," Nathan said softly.
"Your fathah was a fine man, Nathan. Ah enjoyed his company."
"And talking with him somehow reminded you of your … of Obie?"
Ezra looked to Nathan, caught his eyes as they continued riding, and said, "He was mah friend, Nathan. But mah uncle took care of that. Mothah was summoned and Ah left the plantation, nevah to return."
"Your uncle … " Nathan started, but Ezra interrupted.
"Was a vile, hateful man."
"Did he hurt you that day?"
"Nathan, Ah … it is … difficult."
The former slave nodded. He knew that it was … hard. Very hard. He let that topic drop and asked instead, "So how come you're so good at fighting fire?"
A long pause precipitated the response. "Well, as a young child, Ah had convinced mahself that Ah could have done more, that mah family … that Ah would not have been turned away if Ah had done more to stop the fire before … "
"It was't your fault that your cousin died," the healer told his friend, a man who was so evidently upset by the events of that day so very long ago.
"Ah know … now."
"So what did you do?"
Ezra laughed, a hint of bitterness echoing in the air.
"Mothah took us to Charleston. The cough from all of that smoke lingered," the gambler said, looking at Nathan and seeing the irritation in his friend's face. "Ah know, mah apologies. Being honest about mah past has always been difficult for me. If Ah expose too many truths to the wrong people … "
"I ain't the wrong people, Ezra."
"Ah know that. Ah truly am sorry. Ah know all knowledge of past illness and incident would have helped you … "
"Don't worry. I know now. And you're doing better, though today could be bad."
"We will deal with it, together."
"You know we will."
"Anyway, mah cough back then was a detriment to helping Mothah in any of her cons … " Ezra cleared his throat before going on, " … so Ah was left in our room to recuperate."
"Did she call for a doctor for you?"
"Of sorts." Ezra paused and took a swig from his flask. He handed it to Nathan and continued, without answering further the question about a doctor. "Following nearly two months of recuperation, Ah could take no more. Ah spent the next two weeks with the men of the Charleston Fire Brigade, Bay Street watch." Ezra made note that Nathan did not even try to hide the fact that he confiscated the flask safely into his own coat pocket. The healer had obviously decided that liquor and smoke did not mix. Ezra knew he was right and went on. "Ah," he said, choking on the word. He cleared his throat and began again. "Ah learned all of the rules of fire, fought many a fire with those fine men. Mah mothah nevah knew. Ah told the station chief that Ah was sixteen years old."
"How old were you?" A chill went up Nathan's spine as he anticipated the answer.
"Ah turned thirteen just months before."
"You stayed with those people from when you were very young until you were thirteen and they kicked you out?"
"Banished me like Ah was a murderer was surely how mah uncle saw it. The day Ah left he looked at me as though mah rank on the plantation was lower than any of the souls he … owned."
Nathan seemed momentarily speechless. The frank testimony from Ezra that he'd lived amongst slaves, something they all knew was true but that the Southerner seemed loath to talk about, was a revelation. There could certainly be no better proof that Nathan and Ezra's relationship had moved to a higher, better place than this conversation. The former slave struggled with what to say next.
"Ezra … "
"Nathan, Ah tell you this story only to move us along in answering your question of how Ah learned about fire fightin'. Ah would not wish … " Ezra coughed, turning his face away from his friend. The cough went on for too long, at least according to Nathan Jackson. The strong man slapped Ezra high on his back. Ezra coughed one more time. His eyes grew wide, his mouth arched downward, a grimace that Nathan recognized.
"Spit it out."
Ezra seemed disinclined to follow the directive.
"Spit. It. Out." Nathan spoke louder this time, drawing the attention of Buck, who was riding ahead with Josiah and J.D., and Chris and Vin, who were covering their rear.
"Keep movin', Kid."
"You sure?" J.D. asked as he turned in his saddle to see what the nasty sounds were all about.
"Yeah. I'll be right back."
By the time Buck made his way to Ezra and Nathan, Chris and Vin were already with them.
"Everything all right? Whoa! What the hell happened?" Buck asked worriedly.
"Ezra's an idiot," Chris said as he held his canteen handy.
"That don't clarify nothin', Chris," Buck smirked. Vin snorted a laugh.
"Gentlemen … "
"Ew. What's that?" Buck asked, leaning over in his saddle to get a closer look at the sizable dark puddle on the ground. He followed the trail up Chaucer's leg to Ezra's and then the nasty black that streaked his fancy clothes and had not been completely cleaned from his chin.
Nathan shook his head as he watched to make sure Ezra was all right. Buck turned from Nathan, who obviously had no plans to answer the question, to Vin and Chris. Vin replied.
"Ezra here hacked up a lungful o' smoke 'n' wouldn't spit when Nate told 'im ta spit. Got sick when he waited too long."
Buck looked at Ezra. "You can be damned stupid. And what'd ya get for it? Ya soiled your pretty clothes."
"Buck," both Chris and Nathan said in warning. Vin said the same with his glare.
"You fellas are right. Sorry, Ezra. That wasn't very funny." Ezra nodded his acceptance of the apology. He didn't yet seem ready to speak, despite his gentlemanly utterance of 'gentlemen' earlier.
"Don't talk, Ezra. Give your throat and your lungs a break," Nathan said.
"But you just said … "
"I know. And yes, I want you to keep trying every ten minutes or so to cough and see if you can get rid of some more of that stuff."
"Ezra ain't allowed to talk?" J.D. asked as he and Josiah joined them.
"You're a brave man, Nathan Jackson," Josiah joked. Both the healer and the gambler laughed lightly, Ezra punctuating his mirth with a cough.
The Seven headed home. Their supper interrupted, they knew they would be able to count on Inez to have something ready to eat for those who were so inclined.
"Helluva night," Josiah said.
"It … " Ezra started, but a series of warnings from his brethren stopped him cold.
"Do what you were told, Ezra," Chris said. Ezra cleared his throat and said no more.
The professional poker player coughed periodically, just as he'd been told. Much to Ezra's dismay, the coughing was productive most of the time, forcing him to spit out what came up. Each instance ended in a groan and then, "Mah apologies". His friends stopped telling him that he didn't have to apologize, but they soon stopped suggesting that when they knew his upbringing prevented him from holding back on the request for forgiveness. The rest of the ride was done in companionable silence in deference to Ezra's other problem: an inability to remain quiet for very long, on any topic.
Ezra stretched long and deep into the comfort of his feather bed. A good, deep breath told him his cough was gone. He still smelled of smoke. He did not recall settling into his soft bed the previous night. He knew, now, that he could rely on his friends; they did not disappoint in making sure that his exhausted mind and body made it home.
The light shining into the window suggested it was well into mid-morning. He sat up and placed his feet on the floor. He swiped his hand across his face and said quietly, "These linens will need washin'."
"Reckin' so." Ezra reached for his gun. "Ain't there. I don't wanna die, least not that way."
"Vin," the gambler breathed, relieved.
"Ezra."
"Why are you here?"
"Nathan heard a little rattle in yer chest when he put ya ta bed."
"Good lord, Vin! Phraseology?" Vin shrugged his shoulder and smirked. Ezra did not hide his annoyance with his friend, which just made matters worse as Vin snorted, amused. "You've been here all night?" the former con man asked as he stood and grabbed his clothes from the previous day. He would perform his morning ablutions at the bath house; there was much dirt, sweat and soot to be rid of, revolting as the thought of him sleeping like that was.
"Nah. We took shifts."
"Really?" Ezra asked as he buttoned up the less dirty shirt from yesterday. He began picking out a clean outfit to change into after his bath.
"Yep. You sound pretty good."
"I'm fine," the poker player assured the tracker.
"All right." Vin would get back to that before he left. "Found out about the fire. Weren't someone throwin' out a smoke."
"What was it?"
"Some o' the older kids, playin' with fire. Tried ta put it out when it got bad, that's what all the white smoke was, but it got away from 'em."
"Did they come forward on their own?" Ezra hoped that they had. He spent time with children of all ages from the town, even some of the ones whose parents felt they no longer required further education.
"Yep. Wasn't any of yer kids," Vin noted.
"They are all our children, Vin." The former bounty hunter nodded. He wished that was true, but some of the kids, and worse, some of the parents, didn't think the same way.
"You aren't coughing. You're not feeling funny, tight in the chest?"
"Ah swear on the grave of mah sainted mothah, Ah am fine." He smiled broadly, knowing Vin understood the joke.
"Yer shur? Nate seemed kind o' worried 'bout ya."
"Ah know. Ah will speak with him."
"Good." Vin took a good look at his friend. Something important had gone on yesterday between his two friends. Something good. Vin nodded his head with a barely-there, satisfied smile. He rose to leave.
"Have you eaten?" the Southerner asked.
Vin grinned. "I could eat." The former bounty hunter winked wryly.
"So, you have eaten," Ezra said as he smiled at a man who gave Buck and J.D. a run on how much food he could put in his body in a period of twenty-four hours. Vin cocked his head, acknowledging that he had. "Ah will meet you downstairs in an hour, if you can wait that long."
"'Course I can. Just ate a couple o' hours ago." Vin opened the door to find Inez Rocios readying to knock on it. "Mornin', Inez."
"Good morning, Vin," she said as she stepped through the threshold with a pitcher of water, an armful of clean towels and a basket, the contents of which could not be discerned.
"See ya in an hour and a half. We'll both be hungry by then." The handsome Texan winked at Ezra, tipped his hat to Inez, saw the look in the pretty woman's eyes, letting him know that he could only wish to be as famished as Ezra would be – for food - after she finished with him. Vin headed out the door with a happy whistle.
Inez locked the door and then forced Ezra to sit on the bed as she climbed on top, straddling his lap and scooching up against his crotch like she'd done it a time or two before.
Ezra looked up into the face of the beautiful woman rubbing hard against him. If she didn't start to pace herself he knew he wouldn't be able to do the same for himself. "Ah was just preparin' to head to the bath house mah … aah!" Ezra said as the Mexican beauty pushed the gambler's shirt apart, unbuttoning it one-handed as she placed her other hand … somewhere else, and began to lave one of the erect nipples.
"I cannot wait that long." She unbuttoned the shirt further, licking at the skin she exposed. He reached his hand under her skirts and found the proof that she was, firstly, undergarmentless and, when his fingers reached their destination, found that she was, indeed, incapable of waiting.
"Ah am filthy, Inez," he said reluctantly.
"Yes, you are, señor," she replied lasciviously. She kissed him as though they'd been separated for weeks, though they had been together, regular and true, for some time now. "Are you going to," she went on, her hands touching him in places intimate … arousing. She continued, "help me get these clothes off so that I can bathe you?" She moved back and forth on his fingers, her eyes darkened in passion, her breathing mirroring her languorous hip movement.
"B … Bathe me?" he asked as she dismounted and took a position on her knees, her hands now at the buttons of his pants. Ezra panted, "Ah … would be happy to … assist … Inez, but you … are … makin' that … effort … r … rather … complicated … down … there."
Inez removed her hand. "No podemos hacer uno sin antes hacer el otro. Estas son tus reglas."
Ezra stood up abruptly and tore all of his clothes off in mere seconds. He lay back down on his bed, soiling his bedding further be damned. He saw that his love had also quickly disrobed.
"Hola, General," Inez said as she licked her lips. "I believe I will start with you," she added as she crawled onto the bed and took the gambler's very erect, not-so-little general into her mouth and began sucking, slow and long. Oh, so long and slow. She handed Ezra a cloth, which smelled of lemon and sugar. He put it in his mouth, their own singular ablutions beginning. He placed his hands flat on the bed, her rules. She reached her hand into the basket. Ezra's eyes went wide as Inez started in. His head shot back into his pillow as he moaned loudly around the wet cloth, a stream of sugary tartness making its way down his cheek, to his neck and onto the pillow. Other stimuli followed, a crescendo of passion and sex and personal fireworks made all the more arousing by … Inez's rules.
The End.