"Why don't you just go talk to him?"
The young man stared out to the avenue, watching the two people in conversation in front of Gloria Potter's mercantile. The young woman who asked the question could see the desire to do just what she asked in that well-loved face. But she also knew of the uncertainty, the guilt and the worry that the man beside her felt. 'What if he said the wrong thing?' was a question that he'd asked himself for going on three days. If it wasn't that question, it was, 'What should I say?' To say that Casey Wells was frustrated with her man was the understatement of this young year.
"The longer you don't say nothin' the harder it'll be to say anything," the girl said, far wiser than her unassuming demeanor and youth would suggest.
"I know," J.D. Dunne said as he leaned against Nettie Wells' wagon and continued to stare at the situation across the road. Ezra Standish, just moments ago, had finished up a lesson with the children. J.D. could see that the subject of today's lesson was directions: north, south, east and west, important concepts to learn in the wild, raw country of the desert Southwest. Earlier, the fancily-dressed gambler and the children made their way up the avenue, stopping occasionally as students pointed in one direction or another. Casey told J.D. that the southerner chose the noontime hour for this lesson in order to discuss the sun and its position in the sky and how that could be used to both estimate the time of day and see which direction was which, other than maybe at precisely twelve o'clock.
"You know he's not coming to you."
"I know."
"He shouldn't have to, not really."
"I know, Casey," the young sheriff said with a raised voice. Heads turned, including the former con man's, but he was quickly back to his conversation with little Ralph Burberry. The lawman towered over the little boy, but everyone knew how the seven-year-old didn't like to be treated as or talked to as a child.
"I'm just tryin' to help, J.D.," Casey said as she jumped down from the wagon. "Do whatever you want," she said as she stormed toward the hardware store where her aunt was doing business.
"Casey!" J.D. called.
"I got better things to do than watch you mope around," she called, certain that the same people who heard J.D.'s earlier outburst would hear what she had to say, too.
"Never would've guessed it."
"Guessed what?" J.D. asked irritably.
"That Casey would be next on your list. I figured maybe Vin or Josiah'd be the next one you'd alienate."
"Fancy word, Buck. You been spendin' extra time with Ezra?"
Buck Wilmington frowned at his young friend. Today was their third day back from saving the handsome ladies' man's hide. The bank robbers and kidnappers were waiting in the jail; Judge Orin Travis was due on Monday for their trial. It would be an important day, Monday, to the former Texas Ranger, but it was nowhere near as important as today. Today was the day that Buck would see to it that J.D. got his head out of his ass and did the right thing.
"As a matter of fact I have been, kid. Been enjoyin' his company, too. Not exactly sure which word it was you think I didn't know the meaning of. 'Course I'm just some dumb fella who never was college material, not like you."
J.D. finally stopped watching Ezra and turned to his 'big brother'. "That ain't how I meant it," J.D. said softly, ashamed to have said something so mean to the man he had grown so close to.
Buck didn't have it in him to stay mad at J.D. He knew the man was hurting, embarrassed for his words and actions of late. No matter how many times Buck and J.D. had spoken these last days, none of those conversations had resulted in the conversation the young man really needed to have.
"Why don't you go talk to him? Looks like he's done with the kids for today." Ezra and little Ralph were finished talking. The two 'gentlemen' shook hands, and then the tiny boy ran towards home. Ezra watched him run down the main street and saw Mrs. Burberry waiting for her little man to arrive home. He waved to her, she returned it, and then he turned and looked the other way down the avenue, and right at Buck and J.D. as the two men observed their fellow lawman. The man in the fancy red jacket and matching vest made no more than a shadow of a nod of his head to them, and then walked directly to the saloon.
"No. You saw him. He don't wanna see me."
"J.D., you couldn't be more wrong."
The young man from the east shook his head. "You saw him. He didn't even wave or tip his hat."
"J.D., like I said, I have been spendin' time with Ezra. All he's lookin' for is an explanation. He ain't even lookin' for an apology." J.D. was all set to counter that assumption, but Buck cut him off. "But," the tall gunman said as he placed his hand on his friend's shoulder, "it would be the right thing to do to give him one."
J.D. nodded. He knew that he'd let things get out of hand, and that he'd done exactly what Buck and Chris both told him never to do: let a personal problem get in the way of doing his duty. And there was more than one personal problem going on with J.D. on that fateful day. He looked to Buck again with a grateful smile and took his hat off, running his hand nervously through his hair. He lowered his head, finding fascination in his boots, and then looked up to his best friend and said, "I don't know what to say to him."
Buck observed the nerves evident in the sad, worried, perplexed man. He pulled him into a light hug and said, "You made a right mess of things, kid." He released J.D. from the embrace and said, "You might want to just start with 'I'm sorry'. Of course, Ezra ain't gonna make it easy for you. He'll want you to tell him why you're sorry."
"I know. I don't know what to say."
Buck knew that he couldn't show the annoyance he was feeling for his protégé; that would be the best way to insure that this very important conversation not happen. "Why are you sorry?" he asked.
"You know why. We talked about it."
"Exactly. But I'm not the one that needs to hear it." Buck looked at J.D. and could see the hesitance in his friend. They were all private men, not wanting to tell their current or past hurts. But they were also all now what they had not been before they met: friends. And friends could say things to friends that they would never say to others, even family. Ezra was a good example of how confiding in family could result in pain, even betrayal. "J.D., Ezra is a good man. Once you tell him, he'll understand. The longer you let this go on, the harder it is on both of you." Buck waited to see if he would get any answer from J.D. The pause went on for too long. "Do you feel any better the longer this goes on?"
J.D. looked to the ground, and then back up to his friend. The concern in Buck's face seemed misplaced considering how J.D. had acted that day and night. And ever since. And it was not lost on him that Buck had said the same thing that Casey did before he chased her away.
"I was awful to him."
"I know. Sometimes Ezra can rub a man the wrong way." Buck knew well this man who stood next to him. He understood his decency and he knew how important being part of The Magnificent Seven was to the young man who volunteered to be sheriff those three years ago, and took a pay cut to be one of seven. J.D. told Buck during one of the many moments they'd shared since returning to town the day of the robbery that he feared he had broken their team, and that he didn't know if he could fix it. Buck knew that criticizing Ezra as he just did would get the exact response that he hoped it would.
"Ezra ain't to blame, Buck. I know that now."
"But he could've been. You know he can be pretty single-minded in his pursuit of money. He won big off those fellas. He could've been drunk on his success … "
"No. He ain't like that. Well, not so he wouldn't be watchin' and listenin'. He's good at that."
"Well, you and me, we both know what needs to be done, J.D. You just got to decide when you're gonna do it."
It was hard to miss J.D. thinking about what Buck just said. He smiled as he imagined his 'little brother's' brain working overtime, steam coming out of his ears. And because he was observing his friend so closely, he saw the exact moment when J.D. made his decision.
"I'm gonna go talk to him." The decisive man placed his hat back on his head and started for the saloon.
"Good luck," Buck said, loud enough for the departing lawman to hear. J.D. stopped and looked back at his friend and mentor.
"Thanks, Buck. For everything," he said, and then headed to find Ezra in the saloon.
"Good man," Buck said out loud, even though there was nobody near to hear it.
J.D. entered the saloon at a brisk pace. He was forced to slow down; the drinking establishment was full as the suppertime hours approached. He made his way around several tables, and failed to even look in the direction of the table he regularly shared with his fellow peacekeepers. He glanced to the gambler's regular table and found it vacant save for the 'Reserved' sign that somehow managed to work at keeping people from taking a seat there. After three years, J.D. recognized that the sign on the table meant that their professional poker player intended to hold court there at some point in the day. Or night. The young sheriff headed straight for the staircase but was stopped by a call from Inez Rocios.
"J.D.!"
"I gotta see Ezra," he called back without looking at the pretty Mexican and Ezra Standish's love interest.
"Not now, J.D.," she said as she hurried to the stairs.
"But … " he began, but Chris Larabee's voice joined the conversation.
"He's got patrol at midnight. He's gonna catch some shuteye," the tall blond said.
"Oh. Damn," J.D. said, followed by, "I was …." He stopped talking, remembered the sign on Ezra's table, and then said, "All right. I'll talk to him when he comes down for poker." Chris nodded to Inez, who smiled gratefully and headed back to the bar.
"J.D., come sit," Chris said as he turned to head back to his chair. He sat with Nathan Jackson and Josiah Sanchez, both of whom seemed to be finishing their midday meal. Late. It was nearly two-thirty, which reminded J.D. that he hadn't eaten since a very early breakfast earlier in the day.
"I'll be right there," the man holding the bowler hat said. He stopped to place an order with Inez and then joined his fellow lawmen at their table.
"So, what's up?" he asked.
"Want you to hold off on talking to Ezra until tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? Why?"
"Because he's lookin' to try and enjoy himself at the poker table and then he has patrol. Don't need him distracted, especially if your talk don't go well."
"What's Ezra makin' money got to do with it?" J.D. asked.
"You ain't serious?" Nathan asked as he wiped his mouth.
"It's mostly about the patrol, J.D.," Chris clarified.
"But it ain't no small thing to be responsible for makin' him lose at the table," Nathan said. "You know that," the healer reminded the sheriff.
"Well … " J.D. started, ready to challenge just how important it was not to hurt Ezra's chances to win a few dollars, but Josiah answered J.D.'s original question.
"Life with Ezra ain't easy on a day where he doesn't have someone to blame for his occasional losses. Stage came in and he already made plans to meet up with a couple of fellas after everyone's had a rest, a bath and a meal."
"Since you ain't made things right yet, and if you don't get it done and he's distracted … " Nathan said, not planning to finish his thought. Chris, however, did.
"You're gonna have a target on your head."
"I ain't gonna upset him. I'm just gonna be honest about why I did what I did."
"J.D., there's no way to know how he'll react to your news," Josiah said. "And even if we knew what you were going to say to him, none of us knows if what you have to say might bother him."
"We still don't know all that much about him. His past … " Chris said. "How what you've done might change his reaction from what we would expect."
"He's careful what he tells us," Nathan agreed. As the former slave finished, Buck walked in and joined his friends at the table.
"Somethin' wrong?" he asked as he saw all the serious faces at the table.
"They say I should wait to talk to Ezra until tomorrow," J.D. complained.
Buck looked to the three men sitting with J.D., ending at Chris' face. The town's well-known Lothario needed no more than look at the hard visage to know that whatever reason Chris had for the delay, it was a good one. And even if it wasn't a good one, it wasn't worth starting an argument that would result in losing that argument.
"It's just one more day, J.D."
"But Buck … "
"Just remember how important it is for you to do it and you'll be fine, even if you do have to wait."
J.D. was more than frustrated with the four men in front of him. He stood and said, "I'm gonna go to the jail, let Vin head over here."
"Thanks, J.D.," Chris called. Vin Tanner was still recovering from a gunshot wound and, though just watching the three men in the jail wasn't hard work, it could lead to all kinds of trouble for a man who needed to be careful for a few more days.
"That's right thoughtful of you," Josiah said. Buck patted his friend's back, and Nathan nodded his head in approval. J.D. walked to the batwing doors.
Chris turned to Buck. "He told you why he acted like he did?"
"Yeah."
"Do I need to worry?"
"I don't think so. Think you can understand, though, old pard."
"Why's that?" Chris asked.
"Has to do with an anniversary, at least some." The two old friends shared a long, knowing look. They were not the only men at the table to understand the comment. They all had important dates in their lives that were particularly meaningful, but the date of the deaths of Chris Larabee's wife and son had been of import to any number of the other members of the Magnificent Seven who had more than once needed to bring Chris back from a bender on that particular anniversary.
"And the rest?" Chris asked, knowing he was indebted to these men for the life he now led.
"He knows now that my life ain't any more important than any of yours. He knows he went a little crazy."
The men all nodded and hoped that J.D. had truly learned a lesson.
J.D. was sitting outside of the jail as Ezra returned from patrol. Very late. Chris and Buck walked over from where they'd been sitting outside the saloon, waiting worriedly for the gambler to show up. Fifteen minutes late was one thing. Moving into the second hour signaled trouble.
"Hey, Ezra, can I … " J.D. started, but Ezra interrupted fast but with a tired drawl.
"Ah know we need to talk, Mistah Dunne, but would you mind if Ah continued on to the livery and took care of Chaucer first?" Ezra's voice sounded raw, as though he had a bad cold, which he hadn't had when he started his patrol.
"I … I was just gonna offer to take him over for you," J.D. said hesitantly.
"Ah … " the gambler started roughly, cleared his throat to try to speak and ran his hand down his face in an exhausted manner and continued, "Mah apologies. Ah would feel bettah doin' it mahself."
"Run into trouble, Ezra?" Chris asked.
Buck said, "The kid knows what to do, Ez. He ain't gonna do nothin' to hurt Chaucer."
The card sharp sighed, weariness, frustration, a little heat in the action. "Ah was not suggestin' that he would, Buck." Again, the smooth lilt was missing from the southerner's speech. "And yes, Chris, Ah did have a run-in with Mistah Horton."
"Oh my god, Ezra!" J.D. said as he stepped to the other side of the southerner's horse, already checking him over in spite of Ezra's contention that he didn't need help. "What happened?" Buck and Chris moved over to see what had J.D. so upset.
Chaucer was bloody and raw on the right side from just between his withers and shoulder to about his elbow. It appeared the horse had been hit with buckshot. Some pieces of lead still seemed to be embedded in his hide. Ezra had obviously done a fair amount of work on the wound, but it really needed Tiny's expertise, maybe even Nathan's.
"Could we get Chaucer over to Tiny before Ah tell the story?" the lawman begged, just barely able to be heard now.
"Are you all right?" Chris asked.
Ezra dismounted, his landing shaky as he clung to the saddle atop his horse to help him keep his feet.
"Ah will meet you at the saloon," Ezra said, once more just barely able to make himself understood. J.D. walked beside the former con man as they made their way to the livery. Chris headed to the saloon; Buck followed behind his friends and Chaucer, intent on getting the healer over to check on his finally returned friend. As he walked ahead, he heard J.D. speak.
"Ezra, I'll take real good care of Chaucer. Me and Tiny, we've worked a whole bunch of times on injuries on horses, some lots worse than Chaucer's." Ezra stopped and looked at his young colleague. He grimaced at the thought of speaking again, which J.D. read the wrong way. "I ain't sayin' that what happened to Chaucer ain't bad, 'cause it is."
Ezra couldn't speak, but he thought he could get his point across. He could see that J.D. was nervous, probably due to the gambler giving off the wrong signals. He and J.D. might still be on the outs, but Ezra would never doubt that the boy would only ever do exactly what was right for any horse. The tired peacekeeper placed his hand on J.D.'s chest as he looked him in the eye. He handed the reins to the sheriff and said, hoarsely and in a whisper, "Thank you." He gave Chaucer an affectionate rub of his ear as he stepped away.
J.D. smiled, so happy that Ezra would trust him with this task in spite of the fact that they had hardly spoken a word of significance to one another in many days.
"I'll be in to let you know what's goin' on with Chaucer once we're done." J.D. added softly, "You don't have to answer, I know your throat's hurting you." Ezra smiled appreciatively, tipped his hat and headed for the saloon.
The weary man, worried for his horse, walked slowly to the saloon, so slowly that Buck and Nathan caught up with him at the boardwalk. Buck put his hand on Ezra's back as he said, "J.D. said …." Before the lean gunman could finish, Ezra jumped ahead, as though the touch of the hand had burned him. He tripped up the step and seemed to be heading for a hard dive to the planks but Nathan's quick reflexes caught him. A groan was heard as Ezra gained his footing.
"Guess it's more than your throat that hurts," the healer said.
"Ah … " the gambler started, but the compassionate black man stopped him.
"Hold off on talking 'til I've had a chance to check you out."
Buck added, "Let's get you up to your room."
"Chris … " Ezra began his objection, but the leader of the law enforcers of Four Corners was watching the trio heading toward the building. He met them at the door and read Ezra's lips because he couldn't hear him at all.
"Go on up. We'll talk later."
"Mistah Horton … "
"I'll head out to get him," Chris assured his friend. "I assume he's secured in his house?"
"Barn."
"All right. J.D.'s with Tiny and Chaucer?"
"I got that, Ezra," Buck said. "Tiny says that there's a couple of pellets that are deep, a few that aren't quite so bad. He said he'll be fine. J.D.'ll be over when they're done."
"Good men," Ezra whispered. Buck and Chris shared a look, both encouraged by Ezra's kind words for the youngest member of their team.
"That's enough of that. Let's go," Nathan ordered.
"Grumpy," Ezra said.
"He's just worried," Buck corrected.
"It's what he does," Chris said.
"All ya'll can shut up now," Nathan said, a little grumpily.
"He won't be talkin' before tomorrow," Nathan said. "Probably should wait another day or two."
"It's a shame we can't use that sign language that Ezra used with that friend of his who came to visit from New Orleans," J.D. said. The young man was anxious to talk with Ezra; what happened on patrol forced a postponement of that important discussion.
"Hell, J.D. I doubt anyone knows that language. Seemed to me they were speakin' their own unique language," Buck said.
"They were," Vin said after another swallow of his second beer. It was the first day that Nathan had allowed him more than one alcoholic beverage since his injury from before the bank robbery and Buck's capture. "Ez told me it was a combination of French sign and American sign, and all that babblin' that Ezra did was French, or somethin' like it. He would speak while he signed 'cause he didn't know all the words in sign. His friend was good at lip readin'."
"How come you know so much about it, Vin?" J.D. asked.
The tracker shrugged and replied, "The tribes don't speak every native language. They use sign when they have to."
Chris and Josiah walked in to the saloon and joined everyone at the table.
"How's our boy?" the preacher asked.
Nathan shook his head. "His throat is bruised and swollen," he started. "Someone tried to strangle him."
"Yeah," Chris said. "And?"
"The rest ain't too bad. He's got a bump in the back of his head, might've been out of it for a few seconds, but I don't think he would have lost consciousness. Seems fine that way. Got a few pellets in his thigh, just above his knee. His shoulder's bruised, probably threw himself from Chaucer when Horton fired at them."
"I don't think he threw himself. He would've stood with Chaucer," J.D. said. It was something that the young man admired most about the southerner, his love and commitment to his horse. "Chaucer probably got spooked worse than Ezra was expecting. Maybe Johnny fired more than once." Chris looked thoughtfully at their young sheriff. "What?" J.D. asked.
"He did," the former gunslinger answered.
"What else did you find out?" Buck asked.
"This is from a more sober Johnny Horton, but it all sounds about right, based on what we observed," Josiah began. "It seems Ezra arrived at Johnny's pretty early, but Horton was drunk, anyway. Ezra called for him while he was outside, giving plenty of notice, but Johnny came storming out of his house yellin' about a trespasser. Ezra kept trying to get him to see that he was friend not foe."
"He told you all this?" Vin asked.
"He's feeling pretty bad about it. Says he likes Ezra," Chris said.
"Funny way of showing it," J.D. said. He watched as his friends' faces showed the irony of his words based on events not that many days ago. "Yeah, I know. But I do know now."
"Johnny said he didn't realize it was Ezra and just fired. He heard Ezra yell and Chaucer screech and he fired again," Josiah added. Though he was disgusted with what this drunken man had done to his good friend, Josiah knew he had no place in making comments about blindingly drunk men doing stupid things. "This time he actually hit his target. Ezra was thrown from the horse and Horton stormed over and put his hands around Ezra's throat."
"Damn," Buck said.
"Ezra's in better shape, physically, and he wasn't drunk, but it took him a while to fight him off," Chris said. "Probably that knock to the head."
"Probably," Nathan agreed. "And Horton told you all of this?"
"Says he remembers most of what happened." Chris looked to Josiah and shook his head. Both men had gone on benders where they knew they had done some bad things, but couldn't remember any of it.
"Says he knows he's lucky he didn't kill Ezra," Chris said.
"That's nice, but that ain't likely to keep him out of prison," Vin said.
"I guess that depends on Ezra," Chris said.
"No it don't," both Vin and J.D. said. They smiled at each other. Vin added, "Man needs to finally learn. This ain't the first time he's done somethin' like this. It's jest the first time someone really could've died. Needs ta pay."
No one at the table disagreed.
"J.D., you could have that talk with Ezra, just have him use pen and paper," Buck said.
"No," both Nathan and Chris said. "It can wait," Chris added.
"Man's got a sore back, probably a headache, a sore leg and it don't make sense making him hold a notebook with his bad hand." Nathan turned to J.D. "You all right with waiting?"
"Sure."
"Can I talk to you, Ezra?" J.D. asked tentatively.
"Of course. Sit," Ezra said as he shuffled his cards.
"Your voice sounds better."
"It is almost completely back to normal."
"I'm glad."
"Thank you, Mistah Dunne."
J.D. sighed. He held his hat in his hands, fondling it to the point of crushing the brim. He watched his fingers as he did it, and refrained from saying anything.
"Mistah Dunne?" Ezra asked.
"Ezra, do you think you can call me J.D.?" J.D. kept his head lowered as he added, "You were doin' that, until … "
"Yes, Ah was. Ah suppose Ah made an assumption during those hours that our … association had become less than friendly, that Ah no longer earned the right."
J.D. finally raised his head. "What right?"
"To call you friend."
J.D. shook his head vehemently. "Ezra, I was wrong. I know I was wrong. And if I didn't know I was wrong then, it was only because I had … stuff on my mind. I know that's no excuse."
"We all have 'stuff' that can make us act aberrantly." Ezra could see that the word wasn't one with which the young man before him was familiar. "Strangely, different than we would ever have been thought to act by our fr … acquaintances." Ezra wasn't sure whether they would get to a discussion of friendship by the end of this conversation. Acquaintance was safer; a safer word, a safer relationship.
"Well, my stuff was that the day of the robbery was the anniversary of my mom's … of when my mom left."
Ezra nodded his head, though it was only for his own benefit as he found himself once more looking at the top of J.D.'s head. He was the only one among his peacekeeping brethren whose mother was still alive. Though he did not have the intense relationship of deep love for his mother that a son should, that Vin and Buck and Nathan and J.D. had for their mothers, his affection for Maude Standish ran deep enough that he knew, despite their continuing difficulties living as mother and son, that he would miss her every day when she was no longer of this earth. He wondered whether Josiah and Chris felt similarly about their mothers, or whether the difficult histories, Josiah with his father and sister, Chris his wife and son, whether those pains would forever blunt the long ago loss of the person who bore them.
"It is clear that you loved your mothah dearly. You must miss her terribly."
J.D. raised his head, his eyes glistening with tears. He wiped them away so that they wouldn't fall and said, "I did and I do miss her so much. But I should never have used her loss as a reason to blame you for what happened or might happen to Buck. It wasn't your fault, but I couldn't see that, not that day."
Ezra had been hurt that day and night. He was shocked that a man that he called friend would turn on him the way J.D. did, would attack him as he did, would be willing to toss away three years of friendship so cavalierly. He was used to being treated that way in his life, and it had hardened him, much to his mother's approval. But this was different, being treated like this by one of these men to whom he had grown so fond. The gambler originally thought that maybe he had been in the wrong, that he missed something that should have been so obvious. He was convinced otherwise by his other friends. And over the first days upon their return, the former con man's own pain at being shunned by someone so generally kind and generous of heart wounded him, deep in his soul. He had seen the sign those two days and turned his own heart away from all of J.D. Dunne's attempts to reconcile their differences. Yes, Chris suggested that he might need to go to J.D., but Ezra had resolved that this would be something that would never be.
These last days Ezra was pleased to witness the J.D. of old. When Ezra tried to speak, painfully and well before he was ready, J.D. reassured him with exactly what he needed to hear so that he didn't have to suffer that pain. He made sure that Chaucer's every need was seen to, something that each and every one of their fellow lawmen made sure to tell Ezra about as he convalesced. He checked that everything in the card sharp's room was just right and that he wanted for nothing, including delivering pastries daily from either Nettie Wells or Gloria Potter, sometimes both. Amends had been made by this young man, well before 'The Conversation' finally took place.
"Ah can see how your mind might have worked that day. Buck is very dear to you."
"But Ezra, that's just it. You're dear to me, too. And so are Chris and Vin, Nathan and Josiah. I know," he added as he touched his heart, "deep down, that life wouldn't ever be the same if any of you were gone. I should've acted better. My mom, she would've wanted me to act better."
"Your mothah loved you, J.D. There is no denyin' that. It is evident in the fine man that you are. You are a testament to your mothah."
J.D. smiled. "Thanks." J.D.'s eyes grew wide, his smile wider.
"What?" Ezra asked.
"You called me 'J.D.'," the man seated in Ezra's comfortable rocking chair said. The chair began to rock for the first time during J.D.'s visit.
"So Ah have," the southerner said with a smile of his own.
"Does that mean that we're friends again?"
Ezra's smile also grew larger as he said, "Ah like to think that maybe we have never not been friends. Let us call what has transpired between us a brief separation?"
J.D. absorbed the words and then said, "So we're friends?"
"We are, indeed, friends," Ezra said as he offered his hand in friendship. J.D. shook it enthusiastically. Ezra was happy that he didn't use his left hand for such alliances, and that if he had to be rocked from his horse after being fired upon with buckshot that he'd landed on his left side, which was only nominally protected from harm by the young man's fervent handshake.
"Ezra."
"Chris."
"How're ya feelin'?"
"Much improved. Thank you for asking."
"Nathan release you for work yet?" Chris knew the answer, and he knew the attitude he would get from his friend as he replied.
"No."
"No? That's it?" That was unexpected.
"Ah have decided to turn a new leaf and to appreciate mah freedom to heal at mah leisure."
"Is that right?"
"Hell no, that's not right! What on earth could Nathan be waiting for? Ah did not suffer a perforation … " the gambler saw that Chris was ready to challenge that, buckshot actually being known to cause perforations, but Ezra put his finger up and continued, "of significance, no concussion, a minor bruise that has resolved itself satisfactorily."
"You want to take Chaucer out."
"Ah do. Ah miss him, and the only way that Ah will know for sure that he is one hundred percent is to take him out."
Chris smiled. "Already did that."
"No, Ah did not. Ah believe Ah would remembah that."
"I already did that. So did J.D."
"Is that so?"
"Yep. And Robert's top horse guy took a look at him and said he's, and I quote, 'a magnificent animal and is healing beautifully.' Think he's gonna make you an offer."
"There is no amount of money … "
"Simmer down. I already told him that."
"Oh. Very well. Still, what is it about Nathan that he is being so difficult this time?"
"Think it might have somethin' to do with J.D. pestering him to make sure you are really healed."
"Good lord. Ah really do not know what Ah should do about that boy. Ah am quite certain that Ah have gained five pounds during this convalescence."
Chris laughed out loud. "You don't have to eat every treat he brings you."
"Blasphemy!"
"I'm sure he'll let you off the hook soon. I have it on good authority."
"Whose authority would that be?"
"Mine. Can't have you gettin' too complacent."
"Ah … " Ezra started, but then he remembered that precise word as the one he used days ago to explain how maybe he was responsible for what happened to Buck. It could still be the case, no matter that Chris had shot the possibility down. "Well, Ah guess we are in agreement on this one."
"Looks like."
Chris started to walk down the avenue, a stroll to check on the merchants, something that he finally learned to do without scaring half of them, like he did when the notorious gunslinger started the practice three years before. So many signs of change in this dusty western town, this town they all happily called home.
"Oh, Chris," Ezra called from his comfortable seat in front of the saloon.
"Yes, Ezra," the tall blond said as he turned back to his friend.
"How much did Robert's 'horse expert' offer for mah 'magnificent' steed?
Chris' smile grew large as he turned away and commenced once more his walking patrol of the town, leaving Ezra's question unanswered.
Exactly as expected.
The End.