CHOICES

[Note: This story takes place approximately two years after Season 19]

United States Marshal Newly O'Brian spurred his big gray gelding across the flat plains and into the rugged, pristine beauty of the Colorado high country, the fingers of his left hand reaching up to touch his shirt pocket, reassuring himself that the single sheet of yellow paper was still safe inside.

This wasn't government business and he didn't have to make this trip—technically probably should not be making it. He easily could have turned the job over to either of his deputies—Barton Zeigler or Johnny Ronniger. They were eager and bright young men and would have done his bidding without question. But although he trusted both of them with his own life, the life on the line just now was one he would entrust to no one but himself.

The telegram had arrived in late afternoon, addressed to U.S. Marshal Matt Dillon/Dodge City, Kansas. Newly had read the brief message and immediately began filling his saddle bags with the few supplies he would need for his trip. He had been trained by the best and knew the less he carried, the lighter the load and the faster the horse could travel. And he needed to ride as fast, if not faster, than he had ever ridden before.

He stopped by the bank, said a few words to young Charlie Bodkin who had taken his father's place as head of that financial establishment and received, without question, a draft in the amount of three hundred dollars. He withdrew his own meager savings, stuffed both the cash and the draft into his saddlebag, mounted his horse, and galloped west toward the setting sun and, God willing, Matt Dillon.

Just outside of Garden City, his horse could go no farther and he made camp for the night. The following night found him and his exhausted mount crossing the border into Colorado's unfamiliar territory. The next morning, wishing for the thousandth time that he possessed Dillon's tracking skills or Festus Haggen's ability to ferret a trail out of nothing, he raced on, praying that he would find his former boss and mentor soon.

Briefly stopping at Fort Lyon to change horses, he continued west until, as the terrain became more rugged, he changed direction, veering north into the mountains. It was rough going for both horse and rider but, if he knew Matt Dillon, the man was more likely to be found among those high peaks than in the bustling and rowdy towns below them.

And then he smiled as the landscape began to look vaguely familiar. Years ago, after Patricia's death, Matt had taken him away for a few days of hunting and fishing in one of the most untouched and beautiful spots he had ever seen. The big lawman had remarked at the time that when he hung up the badge for good, this was the place he wanted to spend the rest of his days. I hope you meant it, my friend, Newly thought to himself as the bay galloped across the clearing of heather and columbine toward the sound of a clear mountain stream rippling in the distance.

And finally he saw him—the unmistakable big buckskin—tethered to a small aspen and grazing contentedly on the grassy bank. Newly dismounted and approached quietly. "Hey, there old boy, am I glad to see you! Where's your master—where's the marshal?"

Buck whinnied and jerked his head. A little ways upstream, Dillon heard the sound and turned toward it. Squinting into the sunlight, he could just barely discern the silhouette of his old friend. "Newly! Over here!"

Relief coloring his tone, Newly called to him. "You need to come out—right now. It's important—very important." As he spoke, Newly gathered the clothing piled neatly on the bank and carried it to the water's edge.

When Matt had dried off a bit and pulled on his pants, Newly removed the folded yellow paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to his friend. "This came three days ago. I rode as fast as I could."

The former marshal's steel blue eyes scanned the brief message:

Kitty Russell seriously ill/ Stop/ Advise you come New Orleans soonest/ Stop/

(signed) Dr. John Chapman

Matt raised his head and looked at his former deputy. "You read this?"

Newly nodded. "Yes, sir. I thought it could be business, so…and I rode out immediately to try to find you."

Even as he pulled on the rest of his clothes, Dillon's quick mind spun into action. "Pueblo's the closet railroad stop. I can get the next train out of there. Money—I'll need...."

"Right here, sir. A bank draft for three hundred and all the cash I have."

"Newly, I can't…."

"Yes, you can. To take you to Miss Kitty." He extended his right hand to the older man. "My horse is pretty spent, so I'm going to let him rest a while before I head back to Fort Lyon. Godspeed, my friend."

Not trusting himself to speak around the sudden lump in his throat, Matt clasped the proffered hand, nodded, and swung his big body into the saddle and started off across the clearing at a pace that would have him in Pueblo before nightfall.

The young marshal stood on the stream bank, watching until his old friend became but a speck on the horizon. Please, God, I know what it is for a man to lose the woman he loves. Let him get there in time.

*************

The four day train trip from Pueblo to New Orleans was interminable, and Matt spent his days and nights pacing the cars or trying to find a comfortable position in his too-small seat. From Pueblo he had sent a telegram, notifying John Chapman of his pending arrival and asking to be kept apprised of Kitty's condition. He haunted the telegraph office in every town along the route, finding small consolation in the words "Condition Unchanged" that awaited him at every stop.

Still, that meant she was alive, if barely, and he held to that thought like a lifeline, for indeed it was—his lifeline, as well as hers.

As the train pulled into Memphis, his worried mind bolted backward to the last time he had been there—the last time he had seen her….

***************

They had just finished a refreshing cup of coffee and were re-boarding the Southern Pacific on the middle leg of their long-anticipated, oft-postponed vacation to New Orleans.

"Marshal Dillon?" the elderly telegrapher hurried up to the big lawman and handed him the message that had just clicked over the wire. Head bent over the slip of paper in his hand, Matt heard Kitty's sharp intake of breath.

He read the message quickly…and then read it again, slower this time—not because he had missed anything in the few terse words, but because doing so gave him a moment's reprieve from the disappointment, or the accusation, he knew he would see in Kitty's blue eyes.

Unable to postpone the inevitable any longer, he pressed his lips together and raised his head.

"Oh, no, Matt…don't you dare…don't say it."

"Kitty, I…" No matter what he said, it couldn't be the right thing. "It's the Johnson brothers' trial. They need me in Hays to testify. I…I'm sorry, Kitty."

"Damn it, Matt—this can't be happening, not again. I swear you plan…"

"Don't be ridiculous, Kitty. I'm every bit as disappointed as you are, but I…I don't have a choice. I have to go to Hays." He thought quickly. "Listen, why don't you go on, spend some time with your cousin, and I'll…I'll come just as soon as this trial is over. We'll still have our vacation--just a couple weeks late." He could see hurt and anger warring in her eyes and he tried to keep his voice as low and gentle as possible. "I'm sorry, Kitty. This isn't the way I want things to be for us, but surely you can understand…"

"What I understand, Matt, is that you're choosing that damned badge over me. Again. Seems like nothing ever changes with you. This time you're leaving me on a train platform instead of at a stage relay, but that's the only thing that's different." Her sapphire eyes flashed fury. "Fine! Do what you have to do, but I'm going on to New Orleans. Alone! And I'm staying there. Alone! If you walk away from me now, you can just stay away. Don't trouble yourself to come later. And don't expect me to come back to Dodge, either. Not this time, Matt. Not again. Not ever again."

"I'm not choosing, damn it. I don't have a choice." His voice was low and controlled as he reached for her, but she turned away. He moved in close behind her, his strong chest just grazing the jacket of her dark green traveling suit. He placed his big hands on her trembling shoulders. "If that's what you want, Kit. I…I love you." His lips brushed the upswept curls that peeked from beneath her feathered hat and he walked away, broad shoulders drooping under the weight in his heart.

That had been two years ago. Or a lifetime.

*************

At long last the train pulled into the station on Rampart Street, and Matt stepped into the sultry air of Kitty's beloved city. For the first time, he realized he had no idea where to find her. She might be at home, not that he had any idea where "home" was, or she might be in a hospital. Uncertain where to turn, but not wanting to waste any time, he waved down a carriage and directed the driver to take him to Dr. John Chapman's office.

As the carriage horse placidly clip clopped her way through the narrow, steamy streets of the Vieux Carré, Matt took his first look at the city that had given birth to the woman he loved. How many times they had dreamed about visiting here together—how many times he had promised her a trip back to this city that care forgot—how many times he had broken those promises, shattered those dreams because he had been too busy, because someone else had needed him.

Well, someone needed him this time, too, damn it! And if it was at all in his power, this was one time he would not let her down.

The carriage turned onto Bienville Street and stopped in front of a narrow white house with a bright blue door and matching trim. The driver spoke to Matt in an accent so thick as to be unintelligible to him, but he could clearly read the wrought iron shingle hanging from the gatepost:

John Chapman

Medical Doctor and Surgeon

Infirmary

Walk-In

Asking the driver to wait, Matt stepped from the carriage and moved quickly up the brick walkway and inside the front door. A little bell tinkled with the opening of the door andsoft, feminine voice called "Un moment, s'il vous plaît." The interior was a stark contrast to the heat and humidity outside and, in spite of the antiseptic odor, it was not unpleasant, and Matt drew in a deep lungful of cool air.

Hat in hand, he stood impatiently in the vestibule, cursing the precious seconds that were ticking by—seconds that were keeping him from reaching Kitty's side. Just as he was about to move in the direction from which the voice had come, a striking creamy-skinned woman of indeterminate age came toward him, drying her hands on her apron as she approached.

"Ah, monsieur…I apologize. I was just finishing with my patient. You wish to see the doctor?"

Matt hesitated. "Yes, I do, but I'm not sick. I mean…I need to ask…he…he sent me a telegram about a week ago…a friend of mine is ill. She's here…in New Orleans, I mean. I need him to tell me where I can find…"

The woman interrupted softly, "Thank the bon dieu. You are Monsieur Dil-lon?" She gave his name the French pronunciation with the accent on the second syllable and led him into a small room with half a dozen straight wooden chairs arranged along one side of the wall. "You have found votre amie…your friend. She is here. She is the patient I was with just now. I am Jestine."

Suddenly fearing that his legs would not support him, Matt sank into the nearest chair and let out a loud sigh of relief. 'She is here. She is the patient…' Surely that meant that Kitty was alive and…dare he hope…waiting for him.

"She's…here? May I see her?"

He heard nothing more as fear again coursed through his big frame. "Warn me about what?" he managed to rasp from a suddenly dry and constricted throat.

"Your amie—she is very ill. We feared we would lose her many times. Dr. John and I marvel each day that she is still with us. Some days are good for her, some not so good. I'm sorry; mais,elle n'est pas si bien aujourd'hui…but, she is not so good today. She is very feverish, very restless…delirious."

Unable to wait any longer, Matt stood. "Please, ma'am…Please…I've come a very long way…" Matt Dillon had never begged for anything in his life, but he was willing to beg now if it would take him to Kitty.

"Come with me." She moved ahead of him through the doorway and led him down the cool, dark corridor past a series of closed doors to one that was ajar at the very end of the hall. She pushed the door open a few more inches and slipped inside. Matt pushed it wider and followed, fear pounding in his chest. He stared over Jestine's glossy dark head into the simply furnished room. The focal point of the room was the bed and in the bed, her always shining red hair now limp and straggled across the pillow, lay… His eyes refused to believe the wasted figure on the bed could be the only woman he had ever loved, but the sudden lurch of his heart told him it was so. "Kitty," he breathed and moved to the edge of the bed.

He bent over and lifted a frail hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss into the palm. "Kitty," he whispered again.

Jestine spoke from the foot of the bed. "She's not conscious right now, monsieur. It comes and goes. She…in the morning she sometimes knows us, but the afternoons and evenings…they are not so good."

Still holding Kitty's hand, Matt turned to the woman he assumed was a nurse. "What's wrong with her?"

"The yellow fever."

Matt started and terror again gripped his chest. "But that's…that's fa—fatal, isn't it?"

"Dr. John does not think it has to be," she replied quietly. "He is at hospital now, but he will be here in a few hours. You can talk with him then. Now, if you will excuse me, I must prepare some medicine for Miss Russell."

Jestine again slipped through the doorway, only to return a moment later. "Please, monsieur, the calèche driver…he wants to know…should he continue to wait?"

"Hunh?" He had completely forgotten about the man who had brought him here. He handed a gold coin to Jestine. "Please give him this and tell him I won't be needing him again…not today anyway." Matt had no idea what he was going to do in the long term, but for the afternoon and evening, he knew he was not leaving Kitty's bedside.

And through the long afternoon he sat, on a straight-backed wooden chair next to the bed—holding her hand, smoothing her brow, talking quietly about their early days together—the picnics at Spring Creek, the Ford County Sociables they had attended—and the ones he had missed. He talked about Doc and Festus—anything he could think of that might send a small signal of recognition to the far reaches of her subconscious and bring her back to him.

Eventually growing hoarse and having no indication that his soft monologue was reaching her anyway, Matt stopped talking and started thinking…about the relationship between the beautiful red-haired woman he loved and the respected physician. She was in a bed in his house, after all. Logic told him that the sign out front did say "Infirmary" and on any given day Kitty might not be the only patient.

Still…he ruefully remembered another time their vacation plans had gone awry and the unsettling chain of events that had transpired when she had gone on without him. And this time she had been gone for two years, not just several days. There was so much he needed to say, so much she needed to hear. He rested his tired head against their joined hands. Please, God, give me one more chance.

Outside the window, daylight turned to twilight, and Jestine slipped in to administer the medicine and to turn up the lamps in the small bedroom. "Monsieur, Dr. John just came home. He will be with you soon."

*************

Dr. John Chapman entered the room, white linen suit crisp and professional in spite of the oppressive heat and humidity. He extended his hand. "Marshal…it's good to see you again, in spite of the circumstances."

Matt gently laid Kitty's hand back on the bed and stood. "Doctor." Not wasting any time, Matt continued, "Tell me what happened."

Chapman's slow southern drawl nearly drove the worried and impatient lawman crazy. "That's hard to say. We've been having a lot of cases of yellow fever this summer—see it every year down here…stagnant water, mosquitoes. It seems to pass through certain neighborhoods or families and completely misses others."

"How long has she had it? And how'd she get it?"

The doctor held up his hand. "Slow down, Matt. I'll explain it all to you as best I can. There are still a lot of things we don't know about disease—and the cause of yellow fever's just one of them. It's always been thought that it's contagious—passed from person to person, but there's a new school of thought—scientist in Cuba, name of Finlay—who suspects it is not transmitted by human contact, but rather by mosquitoes who pass it from person to person. And I'm inclined to agree with him."

"You're saying Kitty got like this..." He nodded toward the frail form on the bed. "from a mosquito bite?" Matt was incredulous.

Chapman shrugged. "I can't say for sure, but I think so. She most likely didn't even notice anything except maybe a slight headache the first few days. When she finally mentioned it to me—well, by then she was experiencing fever, chills, severe back pain…" His voice dropped off and he walked to the bed and felt the thready pulse at her wrist. "I just wish she had said something sooner."

"How long until she's better?"

The doctor shrugged again. "I wish I knew, Matt. I started her on high doses of quinine and calomel immediately, but I don't know. Some days she seems alert and improving, then others..." His voice trailed off and then picked up again. "Her physical condition is serious, but I'm concerned about her mental state, too. I'm inclined to think she doesn't really care if she recovers or not."

But Kitty never gave up, not ever. "Why wouldn't she…?"

John Chapman tilted his head back and looked Matt Dillon square in the eye. "Matt, I'm not passing judgment here, but I think you know the answer to that question."

Matt flushed, "She told you...?" And then he quickly changed the subject. "Look, I'm not questioning your medical skill, but shouldn't she be in a real hospital instead of here?"

If the situation hadn't been so serious, Chapman would have laughed at the tinge of jealousy in the big man's voice. He shook his head. "No, I don't think so, Matt. The 'real' hospitals are filled with cases such as this. Here she gets our undivided attention. As for care, Jestine is a skilled nurse—trained her myself years ago." There was a hint of pride in his soft voice. "Believe me, Kitty will get better care right here than at the best hospital in this city."

Matt flexed his jaw and looked slightly suspicious, but nodded. The nurse had seemed kind and competent, and Kitty appeared clean and well-cared for. He knew Chapman to be an honorable man who would certainly have Kitty's best interest at heart. And most likely a hospital wouldn't allow him to sit with her day and night as he planned to do, so maybe…

As if reading Dillon's mind, Chapman added, "You'll stay here, of course. I've asked Gladiola, my housekeeper, to prepare a room for you upstairs."

Matt shook his head. "I'm fine right here."

The doctor smiled. "I figured as much. Suit yourself. But come on up to the table and have dinner with us."

Matt pressed his lips together and again shook his head. "Not hungry."

"Now that I don't believe. When was the last time you ate a square meal?"

A prolonged silence gave him the answer he already suspected. "Have it your way, Matt. Jestine will bring a tray in to you and I'll be back later."

**********

Each subsequent day passed the same as the first, with Matt talking himself hoarse to an unresponsive Kitty and leaving the room for only the briefest of moments when absolutely necessary. If the days seemed long, the nights were interminable. Matt would doze off in the chair for a few minutes at a time, only to wake when his head would loll to one side or he would imagine he heard Kitty stir. The ugly white metal hospital bed was high, presumably to make it easier for those tending the patients, and eventually he found that by pulling the chair tight against the side of the bed, he could rest his head on the edge of the crisp white sheet and sleep—not too uncomfortably.

In the early dawn of the fourth day since his arrival, Kitty roused to a slight pressure against her upper arm and a feeling that Matt was with her. She whimpered slightly. She'd had this dream so many times before, always to no avail. But this time the feeling was more intense. He seemed so close—so real. Tears burned beneath her closed eyes and she took a shallow breath in an effort to calm herself. It was then that she caught a familiar scent—saddle leather and soap mingled with a hint of the outdoors—sun-baked prairie and pine.

Coming more fully awake, she realized that her right hand was clasped loosely in another. She turned her aching head and peered through slitted eyes. A familiar shaggy head, grayer than she remembered, was pressed against her right arm.

Tentatively, she reached out with her free hand and tugged weakly on the tousled curls. Instantly awake, Matt raised his head and, in the dim morning light, her fevered blue eyes focused and pierced straight into his soul. He held his breath.

"You're real." Her voice was a raspy whisper.

"Yes, I'm real, honey. I'm very real. And I'm right here." He lifted the hand he had held throughout the long daysand nights to his lips.

She tried to reach for him again but her body was already exhausted by the slight exertion, and her arm fell weakly back against the sheet. "Please…Cowboy…"

He was positive he shouldn't lift her into his arms, probably shouldn't move her, maybe shouldn't touch her at all, but… Making a quick decision, he looped one long arm around her and slid her carefully across the sheet to the very edge of the bed. Summoning the last of her strength, she rolled onto her right side and burrowed her face into his chest, her frail fingers curled on his shirt front.

*************

The morning sun was slanting through the narrow window as John Chapman and Jestine paused in the doorway of the small room. Kitty and Matt were both sound asleep, he in the chair and she at the edge of the bed, her face nestled against his chest, his gray head bent protectively over her auburn one.

"It's time for the quinine. Should I wake them?" Jestine asked quietly.

John Chapman smiled, his own heart lighter than it had been in weeks. "No, let them sleep a while longer. I have a feeling she has the only medicine she needs right now."

The next time Chapman opened the door to the small room, Kitty was still cuddled in Matt's arms, his large hand practically covering her entire back. At the sound of the door opening, he looked up and pursed his lips. "Shhhh…"

The doctor shook his head. "Wake her for me. It's time for her medicine…past time, really, but I thought…"

For once not caring who was watching, Matt brushed his lips against her cheek. "Kitty…I need you to wake up." He stroked the tangled curls back from her pale face. "Come on, Kit; you need to take your medicine."

She stirred and stretched. "Don't want to wake up," she mumbled. "You might disappear if I do."

He couldn't help but chuckle. "Not a chance. I'm not going anywhere."

Kitty twisted in Matt's arms and obediently opened both her eyes and her mouth as Chapman spooned the liquid and held it to her lips. "Ewwww…"

"I know; it's pretty bad, but if you're up to it, I'll allow my favorite patient to have a few sips of weak tea to wash it down. Think you can handle that?"

Kitty nodded and Matt settled her back into the pillows.

Shortly, Jestine appeared with the tea for Kitty and a tray with scrambled eggs, sausage, grits, biscuits and strong coffee for Matt. They ate in silence for a while, with Kitty occasionally taking a tiny bite of his eggs or a nibble of biscuit. When the plate was empty and the tray pushed aside, she lay back on the pillows and looked at him. "What are you doing here, Matt? Are you sure Dodge can survive without you?"

He thought he detected a slight edge to her voice, and he sat down on the chair again and reached for her hand. "Kitty, Chapman sent a telegram…told me to come. So when Newly found me and gave me the message, I….I didn't stop to think how you might feel about it. I just got on the next train. Last night, or earlier this morning, I…I thought you were kind of glad to see me. You called me 'cowboy' and I thought maybe...but I guess I was wrong. All I want is for you to get better, Kitty. If you don't want me here, I…I'll leave. Just promise me you'll get well."

"I didn't mean it that way, Matt. I am glad to see you, really I am. And, of course, I don't want you to leave." She wrinkled her brow. "Newly found you…where were you?"

"Not sure it has a name…some place between Fort Lyon and Pueblo."

That was a surprise. "What on earth were you doing there?"

He grinned down at her. "Uh, takin' a bath in the stream."

Weak as she was, that image brought a faint smile to her lips. "Is there a drought in Dodge again?"

"Not that I know of. Fact is…I…I haven't been in Dodge for about six months now."

"Matt?" Her puzzled eyes sought his face.

"I…I retired…just before Christmas…last year." Oddly, giving voice to that act was less difficult than he had expected.

"Matt…I had no idea. No one told me." Her voice turned sad. "I guess no one thought I cared." And then concern immediately colored her tone. "Are you all right? You weren't hurt or anything, were you?"

"No." Matt bowed his head and hesitated a moment. "No, I wasn't hurt…" And then he decided he might as well tell her the truth…bare his soul to her. "I…my heart just wasn't in it any more. Fact is, my heart hasn't been in anything since the day you left." He raised sad, weary eyes to her face.

"I didn't…" But she didn't yet have the strength to argue. She squeezed his hand. "We need to talk, Matt."

He nodded. "Yeah, we do. And we will. Later." He pressed a kiss against the fingers wrapped around his hand. "Right now you need to sleep. And while you do, I'm going to leave you for a little while. I need to buy some clothes and other things. I didn't bring anything with me except an extra shirt that was in my saddlebag. The housekeeper—Gladiola?—has been washing things out for me and I've been borrowing John's shaving gear."

"You'll come back?" It was as much a plea as a question.

"Of course, I'll come back. You'll be fine with Jestine. Now where should I go…you have any shops in this city that can fit a guy my size?"

She did smile this time. "I'm not sure…most of the Creole men are kind of slight, but try Godchaux over on Canal. They should be able to fix you up. And, Matt, you can tell them to put it on my account."

After getting directions from Jestine, Matt stepped into the sultry outdoors, rounded the corner and walked the short block to Canal, certainly the biggest street he had ever seen--wider than anything in even Topeka or St. Louis. It felt good to stretch his legs after the long days and nights in that little room and he walked the few blocks toward the popular department store, enjoying the sunshine and tipping his head back to look at the huge buildings lining both sides of the street. One in particular caught his eye—a massive four-story structure that covered nearly an entire block of land all by itself. Squinting in the sunlight, his eyes followed the huge marble columns to the top of the portico where the words U.S. CUSTOM HOUSE could clearly be seen carved into the front façade.

He recalled reading somewhere that this was the largest building in the entire United States, bigger even than the Capitol building in Washington, D.C. Slightly curious, he gave it a second glance and then quickly continued on toward the department store.

***********

Returning a few hours later, Matt found Kitty awake, refreshed and looking much better than when he had last seen her. Her hair had been washed and brushed and her blue eyes were clear and sparkling as she turned her face up to him.

"You're looking much better this afternoon. How do you feel?"

"Human. For the first time in weeks I feel almost like myself again. It's a good feeling. Were you able to get everything you needed?"

"Yeah; it was kind of mind-boggling at first without you there to steer me through it. All those departments and choices…colors, materials, styles. I've never seen so many clothes in my life." He grinned.

"On the way back here, I passed a little shop that sounded familiar, so I stopped in and," he blushed, "look what I found." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small package wrapped in shiny white paper and tied with a bright blue ribbon. Kitty's eyes danced with delight at the surprise, and she carefully untied the ribbon and opened the package to reveal a large cake of her favorite lemon verbena soap and a matching container of talcum powder. "Oh, Matt…you remembered! I love it...and I love that you remembered and…I Io..." She stopped and dropped the package onto the bed. She reached for his hand. "I guess…I guess we need to have that talk." She pulled him down on the edge of the bed. "What happened that day in Memphis, Matt? One minute we were laughing and drinking coffee and the next…the next you were walking away and I…oh, God, I'm so sorry, Matt. So very, very sorry. The train hadn't even pulled out of the station before I knew I had made the biggest mistake of my life."

He wanted to say it was all right, that it didn't matter, but that wound was still too raw. "You could have gotten off at the next stop…taken the first train back to Dodge. Why didn't you, if you felt that way? Why'd you leave me, Kitty?"

"I didn't leave you, Matt. You left me standing on that train platform because some low life needed you to save his sorry neck."

Patient as always, he began, "I didn't leave you. You chose to stay… to go on to New Orleans…I still remember your exact words, Kitty." And he quoted the words that had ripped at his heart two years before. 'I'm going on to New Orleans. Alone. And I'm staying there. Alone.'

She remembered those words, too…only too well. "You could have come to get me…later, after the trial was over."

"You told me not to. I remember those exact words, too. 'Don't trouble yourself to come later. And don't expect me to come back to Dodge, either. Not this time, Matt. Not again. Not ever again.'

"Oh, Matt…I…I never meant…you know I didn't mean it. You know how I can get, but then…then we're always okay again. Or at least we always were." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Before."

Matt's voice was low. "It certainly sounded to me like you meant it…and it sounded awfully final. And then you didn't come back…didn't even write. I wouldn't have known you had gotten here safely if you hadn't sent the wire to Doc. Thank God you had sense enough to do that and he had the decency to tell me."

She let the remark about her good sense pass. "I was sure he would, but just in case I…I asked him to tell you."

"And that was it? You never sent me any more messages through Doc? He never said another word, you know."

"I asked him not to. And I asked him not to tell me anything about you, either. I thought if I could cut all ties…never hear or say or see your name again…I could forget about you. I was furious, Matt—first with you and later with myself. And then, after a while, I was too embarrassed to write to you…or to go back. I didn't have the nerve to…to face you again after so long. So…" She gave him the weakest of smiles. "I settled in here and made a new life for myself. Things have been pretty good. Ira--you remember--my cousin's husband. He and I are co-owners of The New Orleans Lady, the finest gambling palace on the Mississippi."

He couldn't help but grin with pride. "Always the business woman. I knew you'd be all right."

"But Matt, I'm n…"

The bedroom door opened and Jestine entered with an icy pitcher of tea and a bowl of fresh strawberries. As she arranged the late afternoon treat on a small table near the bed, she raised smiling chocolate brown eyes to Matt. "She is looking much better this afternoon, n'est-ce pas, monsieur?"

Matt smiled back, "She certainly is…and she says she's feeling much better, too."

Kitty laughed, "Hey, you two, I'm conscious now, ya know. Stop talking about me like I'm not here."

Jestine switched to rapid French and, while Matt watched and listened in amazement, Kitty matched her word for word in her response. They giggled and laughed like school girls and, although he had no idea what they were saying, the smirk on Kitty's face, the twinkle in her eyes, and Jestine's surreptitious glances made him uncomfortably sure the conversation concerned him.

The nurse finished laying the tea table and took Kitty's thin wrist in her fingers. Deciding her racing pulse and flushed face had nothing to do with fever, Jestine moved to the door, cast one last look in Matt's direction and said, "Mais alors, Kitty, comment est-ce que vous pourriez jamais le quitter, lui?"

Kitty's smile was wistful. So many times she had asked herself the same question—how could she ever have left him? Softly she answered, "Je ne sais pas, Jessie. I don't know."

Matt waited for the door to close and popped a plump strawberry into Kitty's mouth. "What were you two saying about me?"

Kitty savored the juicy berry before responding, "Um, Jestine was just saying that you are very handsome."

"Oh. Seems like it took an awful lot of words and giggles to say just that."

"Wellll, maybe we said a little more than that. But it was all good, Matt. Trust me, it was very good."

"Kitty, what...never mind. I don't think I want to know." It felt so good, so right to tease each other again.

But Kitty turned suddenly serious and again took his hand. "Before Jessie came in, we were talking about…about what happened."

He nodded. "You were saying you and Ira run a gambling palace on the river and you're rich and happy."

"The Lady is a success and I'm not exactly a pauper, but…" Her hand caressed the sleeve of his blue shirt. "I'm…I'm not all that happy, Matt. I…I've missed you. A lot."

Encouraged, he leaned over and lightly brushed his lips against her cheek. "Me, too, Kitty. I've missed you, too." It was a start, at least.

**********

Uncharacteristically tentative and unsure with each other, the former lovers passed the week talking, carefully piecing together the shattered fragments of their relationship.

When it became obvious to Kitty that Matt's back was causing him great pain after all the nights in the straight chair, she tried to persuade him to move into her house on St. Ann Street. He refused even to consider it, but did agree to sleep in the empty hospital bed across the hall so long as their doors remained open, and he slept each night with one ear attuned to her slightest sound.

On nice days, he would carry her into the little brick courtyard, overflowing with bougainvillea and hibiscus, for the mid-morning sun and fresh air. While Kitty napped in the afternoons, Matt would go for walks around the French Quarter, exploring the alleyways and streets, stopping in the quaint shops so different from anything he had ever known and often bringing back a surprise in the form of a tasty treat he had bought from the market or street vendor.

During the evenings they read aloud to each other and played checkers or cards. And they talked. Endlessly. They had so much to say to each other…so much lost time to recover, so much damage to repair.

Late one night, Kitty gave voice to the thought that had been foremost in her mind for days. "Matt, when I'm better you'll be leaving, won't you?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess so."

"I…I'd like to go with you." Her voice was soft, but sure.

He hadn't been expecting that. "Kitty, how could you possibly give up all that you have here for Colorado…or even Dodge?"

She took a deep breath. "But the only thing I want isn't here." Her sapphire eyes left no doubt as to her meaning.

He flexed his jaw and answered, "Kitty, I…I don't know what to say. Seeing the world you live in, the world you left, I have no idea how you managed in Dodge all those years. I guess I never understood all you gave up to stay there…to stay with me. And now you're saying you want to go back, or to some place even less civilized that you've never even seen—because of me?"

She nodded. "That's what I'm saying."

"But what about your house here--and your gambling palace?"

"I can sell the house, and Ira is completely capable of running the New Orleans Lady. I'll talk to him, of course, but I don't think there'd be a problem with my being an absent partner."

"Kitty, I…of course, I'd love to have you near me again. I know it'll take time, but maybe you could learn to…to care…for me again? Maybe, eventually, we could even…well, you know." He looked so pathetically hopeful that she almost laughed.

She reached her hand up to caress his cheek. "Oh, Matt. I do care for you—so very, very much. I've never stopped. Even when I tried to hate you, I still cared."

He caught her hand and pressed his lips into her soft palm for a long moment. When he raised his head, his eyes reflected pain and remorse. "Kitty, that day…if it had been just a matter of making a choice, I'd have chosen you. Surely you know that. But I didn't have a choice. I've never had a choice, damn it. I'm sorry I hurt you, Kitty—not just that day, but all the other times, too."

She twined her fingers around his and when she spoke her voice was sad. "I'm sorry, too, Matt. I swear I never meant for things to turn out the way they did. I'm sorry for hurting you, and I'm sorry for all the time we've lost." She brightened and smoothed her thumb along the back of his hand. "We'll have a fresh start in Colorado. Tomorrow I'll ask John how soon I'll be ready to travel." Her eyelids fluttered shut. "But right now I think I need to say good night."

She was asleep before the words had left her lips, and he leaned over to seal them with a soft kiss.

John Chapman, returning from a late evening engagement, heard the words 'Tomorrow I'll ask John how soon I'll be ready to travel' echo down the hallway.

The physician stood for a moment reflecting on the almost legendary romance between the cowtown marshal and the stunning saloon owner. I took an oath, he thought to himself. But I have to tell him. He has a right to know.

**********

As Matt crossed the hall to his room, the doctor whispered his name and beckoned him toward the small office at the front of the building. He got right to the point. "Matt, I couldn't help but hear…Kitty's intending to travel?"

"That's what she says, wants to go back west with me."

"I was afraid of that." John opened the bottom desk drawer and pulled out a bottle and two glasses. "We need to talk, Matt. There's something you need to know."

Ready to do battle for the woman he loved, the big lawman was thrown off guard by the physician's next words. "Kitty tells me she was shot—about twenty years ago—bullet caused some injury to her lung."

"Uh, yeah. What does…?"

John took a swallow of bourbon and held up his hand. "Patience, Matt. What I'm going to tell you might sound strange after all these years, but this is my best guess as to what's been happening since then."

Matt took a healthy swallow from his own glass and nodded. "Go on."

"We know that Galen successfully removed the bullet. There was some infection, but sulphur took care of that and, for all intents and purposes, Kitty recovered."

Matt felt his heart begin to pound. "For all intents and purposes?"

Chapman nodded. "This is where things get a little nebulous since, of course, I can't see into Kitty's lung. So I'm surmising here, Matt. I think the bullet nicked or penetrated the lung—maybe even sheared off a piece. The injury healed and a scar formed. Over the years, that scar tissue has grown." He paused and pointed to the former marshal. "Look at your own scars. Some of them are bigger and thicker than they originally were. Others are smooth and nearly invisible now. That happens on the inside, too. Sometimes excess tissue builds up; other times it doesn't. In Kitty's case, I think, and I stress the word think, that the scar tissue in her lung has keloided—grown---over the years."

Matt was certain Chapman would never reveal confidential information to him if it weren't somehow significant. "What's this mean?"

"It means her lung is no longer functioning at full capacity. So far, she has very few symptoms—just a little shortness of breath from time to time—like when she goes up a flight of stairs or carries a heavy object."

"But she…she's all right, isn't she—I mean she will be as soon as she recovers from this yellow fever—right?"

"That's why I'm telling you this, Matt. I think so—as long as she continues to live in a warm, moist climate. But I don't think her lungs can take the thin air of those mountains or the dust in Dodge—windiest, dustiest damn place I've ever seen." He paused briefly and then continued, "I'm sorry, Matt, but I can't in good conscience allow Kitty to travel if that's where she intends to go."

Matt drained his glass. "Does Kitty know this—about her lung, I mean?"

The doctor nodded. "She does."

Matt pushed himself out of the chair, and with a solitary "Thanks," left the room.

Lying awake in the narrow, too-short bed, he reviewed the evening again. And again. Kitty's confession. Chapman's revelation. And his own desire.

He heard his own words. I didn't have a choice. I've never had a choice, damn it.

**********

The next afternoon, while Kitty napped, instead of winding his way through the quaint old streets of the Quarter, Matt rounded the corner onto Canal Street, and walked the several blocks to the building marked U.S. CUSTOM HOUSE. He stood outside for a long moment. Then he climbed the marble steps and entered the cool interior of the building that had once housed captured Confederate troops and had served as Benjamin Butler's headquarters during the war.

His business completed, he walked another two blocks to the telegraph office. Then he bought a small bouquet of yellow and white daisies from a street vendor and walked back to John Chapman's Office-Infirmary.

**********

A week later, Matt lifted his lady from the carriage seat and carefully led her into the little shotgun house on St. Ann that Bridey, the elderly Irish woman who lived nearby and often helped with housekeeping chores, had aired and scrubbed to pristine perfection.

He settled her into a comfortable chair in the front parlor. "Don't you dare move," he admonished with a smile. "I'll get the bags and be back in a minute."

Tossing a coin to the driver, he retrieved his own few belongings and Kitty's small carpet bag from the carriage and quickly strode back into the house. "Where should I put these?"

Kitty pointed toward the doorway that led directly into the next room. "Through that room, and one more." She grinned. "I'm sure you'll recognize my room when you get there."

Matt passed through the doorway and then through another, noting the lack of hallway and the precise alignment of the doorways. As he entered the third room, he couldn't help but chuckle to himself. This room had "Kitty" written all over it from the brass bed—smaller, he noted, than the one they had shared for so many years above the Long Branch—to the dark red wallpaper flocked with gold, to the sparkling chandelier overhead.

He dropped the paisley carpetbag next to the bed and paused. Uncertain, he walked through one more doorway and found himself in another bedroom, less ornate than the first, but still a comfortable looking room. Assuming it to be a guest room, he dropped his own bag there, noting the pocket door that could be pulled shut between the two rooms.

Late that night, Matt was awakened by the slight scrape of the door sliding open. He spoke into the darkness. "You shouldn't be out of bed, Kitty. What do you need?"

She paused at the threshold and gathered a bracing breath. "You, Matt. I need you."

Taking a deep breath of his own, he responded, "Kitty, please, for your own good, go back through that door and close it---tight." His voice sounded strained. "I don't trust myself to stay in control with you so close…and so desirable."

"I didn't slide this door open for you to stay in control. I need you, Matt...and I…I want you. Don't make me do this all by myself, Cowboy. Meet me halfway…please?"

Admitting to himself that he had neither the will power nor the inclination to resist her, he swung his long legs over the edge of the bed. "Are you sure, Kitty?"

"Very sure." It was a plaintive whisper in the dark.

He pushed himself off the bed and crossed the small room in two long strides, the front of his long johns already straining against his instant arousal. He bent over her and lowered his face into the familiar, soft curve of her neck. "Kitty..." It was as much a plea as a groan.

He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed, lowering her gently onto the cool white sheets and covering her body with his own as he surrendered to her nearness and his own need. He bent his head down to hers and covered her mouth with a warm, slow kiss that quickly gave way to the passion each had so long been denied. He devoured her lips and kissed her throat and eyelids while his large, incredibly gentle hands moved with tantalizing slowness over the thin fabric covering her breasts and stomach.

He worked to relax his breathing, and when he finally spoke, his voice was ragged with desire. "I have missed you so much…and I want with all my heart to make love to you right now." Using his last vestige of control, he pushed himself up on his forearms and looked down at her. "But...I can't do that. Not yet…you're not strong enough."

"I'm fine, Matt. It'll be all right. Honest." She slid her hand along the hard planes of his chest and stomach and he trembled at her touch.

"Kitty..." He wanted to do the right thing, but she was making it awfully difficult. "We really shouldn't. It's all right to change your mind. I'll understand."

Her lips moved against his bare chest. "Matt, I've spent two very long years wishing for one more night in your arms. No way am I going to change my mind now."

Her words were his undoing. He gathered the hem of her nightgown in his hand and drew it up her body. She lifted her arms for him to pull it over her head. He wriggled out of his long johns and again lowered his still powerful frame to her fragile one, kissing her lips and suckling her breasts. His mouth moved down her stomach and then he tenderly brushed his lips against the inside of first one knee and then the other as he parted them. "Dear God, Kitty. I love you so much." His breath scorched her tender skin.

Then, as slowly and gently as possible, he entered her, pausing to look into her eyes when she gasped. But her smile urged him on. Her hands caught his shoulders and her legs wrapped around his back to pull him closer. And his long-denied body responded rapidly to her deep, warm recesses as he thrust into her again and again. "Kitty...I...I'm sorry, but it's…been…so damned long."

"It's all right, Matt. It's been just as long for me." Her soft hands stroked his long back as he spilled inside of her, and he worked his thumb over the throbbing bundle of nerves hidden beneath her soft folds, pressing and circling, squeezing and teasing until wave after wave of her own release washed over her, ebbing and flowing as a tide of love and longing overtook them both and they rode the crest to sweet satisfaction in each other's arms.

There was not much sleep in the little shotgun house that night as two years of longing and separation melted away in the heat of their passion, and time after time their aching hearts and bodies came together in an age-old dance of overwhelming need and desire and love--always the love.

**********

The rising sun was slanting through the window when Kitty stretched and shifted beneath the warm body of the man in her arms, the man she had adored for nearly all of her life.

Matt stirred, "Hey." His voice was rich and low and his breath tickled her breast.

"Hey, yourself," she whispered back.

He pushed himself up to look at her, "You all right?"

Sapphire blue eyes smiled up into sky blue eyes smiling down. "I'm fine, Matt. I feel wonderful." Her face flushed. "Last night was...magical."

His own face reddened. "I was kinda nervous, you know…didn't want to disappoint my best girl." His voice dropped another octave. "My only girl."

"You've never disappointed me, Matt. Not ever." She nuzzled his stubbled face.

"Not true. I've disappointed you plenty of times, and you know it."

"Never when we were lying down."

"Oh." The hint of a smile crossed his weathered face and he ducked his head and looked up at her with the same little boy grin that had won her heart so many years before. "You sure you're all right? You're not very strong yet, and I got kind of, uh…" His mind searched for the right word. "Enthusiastic."

"I'm fine. And I loved your, uh, enthusiasm."

"Yeah, well, your doctor will have my hide if he finds out about it."

"He's not going to find out. Anyway, he said I could come home so long as I stay in bed and you take care of me."

"Just guessing here, but I don't think last night's activity is exactly what he meant by 'take care' of you."

She laughed and pushed at his chest. "Sit up; I want to say something to you and I need to see your face when I do."

"Yes, ma'am." Leaving a kiss on her breast, he obediently settled himself against the headboard and pulled her into his arms. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, but I know you, Matt, and I know what's been going on in that handsome head of yours. And I know you'd never ask, so I'll just say it—in the past two years John and I have become..."

His body tensed and he interrupted, "Kitty, I…you don't have to explain…"

It was Kitty's turn to interrupt. "I think I do. I was about to say John and I have become the very best of friends. He's smart and funny and kind and he makes me laugh and he watches out for me. And, yes, we do see each other socially. We have a lot of the same friends and he escorts me to their parties and dinners. But that's all. I'm no more in love with John than I am with…well, with Festus. So, you see, you've been chewing on that bone for nothing, sweetheart."

"Kitty, I…" The big man looked sheepish. "How'd ya know?"

She laughed. "Oh, maybe from the way you've been watching him with the same suspicious eye you always kept on the new gambler in town. And you've been careful to make sure I'm never alone with him. You're so seldom jealous, Matt, but you're adorable when you are."

"All right…all right. But just for the record, Chapman's the one I don't trust, not you."

"Believe me, Matt, John has no more romantic interest in me than I have in him. Jessie's the only woman he loves."

"Jessie?"

"Jestine."

Matt's eyes widened. "The nurse?"

She nodded against his chest. "By day she's his nurse. But she's John's lover by night. They've been together for years—almost as long as you and I have. He trained her as his nurse a long time ago and they fell in love. Not much they could do about it, though, what with Jessie being a quadroon. That's why he's been escorting me to social events since I've been here…and that's why…"

"Quadroon? That's a person of mixed blood, right?"

She nodded again. "Down here it has historic significance beyond just having mixed blood. But the fact remains that in the social strata of New Orleans, he and Jestine can't advertise their relationship. So she works here as his nurse during the day, and at night they…well…I assume they do the same things you and I do. And I believe they are every bit as much in love as we are, too. He's given her an adorable little house on Toulouse Street, but I don't think she goes there very often. Jessie's real home is above the infirmary with John."

He stared at her. "How do you know all this? About their relationship, I mean?"

She turned her head and brushed her lips against his chest. "Oh, Matt, I figured it out the first time I ever saw them together at the infirmary…the being in love part, I mean. All I had to do was watch them. Then later, John told me all about it and how long they've been together. In fact, he almost didn't take the job in Dodge because he didn't want to leave her for so long. And you remember how he disappeared in the night without ever saying good-bye to us? Well, that was so he could get back here a day sooner. I've had dinner upstairs with them many times, and Jestine's my friend same as he is. She's not only beautiful, but she's also an intelligent and wonderful person and they love each other very much. It's kind of sad, really, that they can't marry and have a normal life together."

The irony wasn't lost on Matt. He squirmed a bit and gnawed at the inside of his cheek. "Any other interesting New Orleans traditions I should know about since I'm going to be living here?"

"Well, you won't be here much longer. I've been badgering John to let me go back with you—SOON!"

He tightened his arms around her. "Uh, I've been meaning to talk to you about that. You're not going back with me, Kitty."

"Of course I am! Just as soon as John says it's safe for me to travel."

"You know it will never be safe for you to go back there. Not to Colorado…or to Dodge. You're staying right here."

She stiffened in his arms and sat up straight. "What are you talking about, Matt?"

"John told me about the scar on your lung. And about what could happen if you live in that thin mountain air and cold winter wind—or the dust in Dodge."

"He had no right to tell you. What about that oath he took? Doc would never reveal information about his patients to someone else. I thought John was my friend as well as my doctor."

He tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear and caressed his thumb along her cheek. "Doc would reveal information about a patient if he thought it was for the patient's own good. Remember when he told us about Patricia? John didn't intend to betray you. But he knows you pretty well. He knew you wouldn't tell me that living in the mountains could be dangerous for you. So when he heard us making plans to go back, he pulled me aside and told me." He paused and looked embarrassed. "Although I'll admit at the time I suspected that he just wanted to keep you here for more personal reasons."

She shot him an exasperated glance and continued. "But, Matt, I'm fine…really. He doesn't know anything for sure, and he wouldn't even suspect those scars are on my lung if I hadn't gotten so sick with the yellow fever. Breathing's hardly ever a problem. All this just because I got shot all those years ago! I almost don't even remember--it's been so long. And now you're telling me I can't live where I want to because of it!" Her voice shook and he could see tears of anger and frustration pooling in those incredible blue eyes.

"Shhh..." He rubbed the back of his index finger along her jawline. "Now that I know what could happen, there's no way on this earth I'm going to allow you to do something that might cause you harm."

"And no way am I going to watch you walk away again! I'm going with you, Matt. You can't stop me! I can't…" She buried her face against his warm chest. "I can't be separated from you—not again."

"I'm not going to walk away. I can't be separated from you, either." His lips brushed the top of her head. "That's what I started to tell you, Kit. I'm not going back to the mountains. I'm staying right here…with you."

She sighed and shook her head. "You can't live here, Matt. You'd be miserable—all these buildings, the people…"

He took a deep breath and pulled her up so he could watch her face as he spoke. "Let me try to explain something to you. Time was when I believed that, too—thought I couldn't live in so much civilization. I've lived all over the west, in more cities and towns and territories than I can even remember. I didn't stay very long in most of them…always got restless and wanted to move on. Dodge was different, and I stayed for a lot of years."

"Then you went away, and I didn't want to be in Dodge any more. So I headed into the high country." He shook his head. "Even that didn't help. I was still restless and, yeah…miserable. And I realized I hadn't stayed in Dodge all those years because of the place. I stayed because you were there." And at last his lips spoke the words his heart had always known. "It's not the place that makes me happy, Kitty, it's you. Wherever you are is where I want to be. That is…if you still want me."

Her smile was wide and genuine. "Matt, after last night, do you really have any doubt?" Her finger traced his lips. "Of course, I still want you…I love you. But what about you, are you sure…are you absolutely sure?"

He nodded. "I'm sure." Then he smiled. "I told you before that I never had a choice where you were concerned. This time I do have a choice, and I've made it. I've had a few days to think about this, and I have it all worked out. I'm staying in New Orleans. I've already wired Newly asking him to take care of things for me. He'll send my strongbox and papers; that's all I need. I've gotten a job and I'll get a room some place—maybe not too far from here—and we can be together just as much as you want."

"You don't need to get a room, Matt. You can stay here. Right here, I mean…with me."

He didn't argue. "I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

"And you don't need to get a job. I can…"

"I know you can, Kitty, but that answer is absolutely not. I'll live in your house, but I positively will not allow you to support me. What kind of a man would I be if I did that?"

She rubbed her cheek against his. "The same wonderful, honorable man you've always been. Only you wouldn't see it that way, would you? Okay, have it your way…tell me about this job. What is it?"

"Well, I'll still be in law enforcement."

She drew back to look at him. "Oh, Matt, don't you dare tell me you joined the police force! You couldn't—you wouldn't!"

He shook his head. "No, I didn't join the police force. I don't know the city well enough for that."

She looked suspicious. "What will you be doing?"

He told her about his visit to the building on Canal Street. "…U.S. customs agent. Mostly I'll be boarding ships and inspecting cargo as it comes into port, checking manifests, looking for contraband…things like that."

"How dangerous is it?" She had to voice the fear that always had been foremost in her mind.

Even though she owned a riverboat gambling establishment, he wondered how much she knew of the shadier side of life on the New Orleans waterfront. He wouldn't lie to her, but… He pulled her closer and grinned. "I assure you, Kitty, no one's ever been shot at by a renegade case of whiskey."

She swatted his shoulder. "Don't laugh at me."

"Sorry. All right if I do this instead?" He bent his head and caught her lips in a deep, warm kiss.

When the need to breathe became acute, she pulled away, her eyes shining with joy and love. "That is most definitely all right. Oh, Matt…there's so much for me to show you, so much for you to discover. We're going to have such fun! You're not going to regret this, Matt. I promise!"

"I never thought I would, honey." He kissed her again. "I never thought I would."

###