2.

Kitty's bedroom in her father's house - after the arrival of her birthday stockings.

She was crying. Her silent tears, a mixture of regret, exhaustion and loneliness. Her father was a difficult patient. He demanded her constant vigilance. A self-centered man all his life, he was even more so now. He was by turn, stubborn, moody, and repentant and slipped from mood to mood at the blink of an eye. She catered to his whims, for by her own choosing, he was all she had in the world. She didn't mind being busy; activity kept memories at bay. It was the long nights, as she sat by his bedside, that memories got the better of her. They seemed to have a will of their own, traveling with lighting speed from year to year, decade to decade, good times and bad.

Like a little girl Kitty Russell backhanded her tears away. She sniffled and then pulled a lace-edged hanky from the bodice of her gown's sweetheart neckline, to dab away the moisture. "Oh Matt." She mouthed the words and heaved a shaky sigh.

The birthday stockings and note, which had initiated the emotional outburst still lay in her lap.

He had remembered! This was perhaps, the singularly most surprisingly sweet present, she could ever recall from Matt Dillon. He had remembered and had gifted her, with no hints or gentle nudges on her part. It could have been due to the fact the previous year, he had completely forgotten the date. His omission had been forgivable because he was off tracking the Belling Gang, down along the border area between Kansas and Indian Territory, known as the Cimarron Strip. He'd returned to Dodge two weeks later with an infected knife wound inflicted in service to the Badge, while apprehending gang leader, Frank Belling. After his return, she had been too consumed by worry, to guilt him into recalling the occasion. A month later, he, healed and handsome came in the crowded saloon with a box of store bought candy, tied with a blue ribbon bow. Finding her working at the far end of the bar, he called her over and presented it to her.

"What's this for?" She'd asked. She wore a red sequined gown and her hair was piled upon her head in fanciful ringlets

"Your birthday." He wore a freshly laundered blue shirt and smelled of barbershop bay rum. The scent on the man, was intoxicating to her.

She smiled, "You remembered! A little late, but still you remembered."

"Doc told me." He admitted.

"Oh." They'd been together for nearly twenty years, and her birthdays were becoming a more sensitive topic with each one passing. She'd be happy not to acknowledge her advancing years, but still the fact he had to be reminded of the day was a blow to her esteem.

Business was good that night, every table was full and the air was rife with stale cigar smoke, spilled beer and dusty cowpokes. Amidst the rowdy customers, who were more concerned with games of chance, whiskey and flirty saloon gals, they attracted little attention.

He grinned at her, that special smile reserved for her alone, the one that reminded her of a naughty little boy, charming his way out of a spanking. "I've got another present for you."

"You have?"

He glanced around the saloon, just to make sure they were not being observed and then leaned down and whispered in her ear. His breath was hot and steamy and the titillating promises he made caused her cheeks to flush. She gave him a gentle shove and bit her lip, wanting to scold him, but wanting more, to throw back her head and laugh with lustful anticipation.

He bent his head again. She didn't push him away, but waited in wanton eagerness, hoping he would elaborate. It wasn't words that came from his mouth, but his tongue. Just a quick sensuous flicker on the sensitive lobe of her ear, to serve as reminder of one of his many talents in the bedroom.

That night he had fulfilled his promise, not once or twice, but three times.

The memory, though a year old was still fresh enough in her mind to provide a small aftershock of pleasure. She gave herself a mental shake. Memories like that came with a price, and she was no longer willing to pay.

She sat back in the chair in her father's house and examined the gift in her hands. These stockings could not have been completed on short notice, they were a planned present, ordered well before the desired date. On sudden impulse, she slipped off her shoes, removed her stockings and then pulled on the new ones in the floral redwork design, first the one and then the other. As she did another memory formed from the shadows. She had been slow to recover from the injuries of body and soul at the hands of Jude Bonner's men. When after twenty-five days of convalescence, she finally convinced Doc she was ready to return to her suite at the Long Branch, it had been Matt, who had helped her finish dressing. Coming to escort her home, he found her sitting in a chair, pallid faced and alone in the office. Doc had been called out on an emergency. She had managed to put on her underclothes , skirt and blouse, but her legs and feet were still bare, for the effort to bend her weak and tender body, too much to accomplish. He hadn't scolded her as she feared he might, for attempting to dress without help, instead, he kneeled on the floor in front of her, working the stockings up her leg. He had administered the feat with loving gentleness. Talking as he did, of a trip they had made to St Louis some years earlier, taking away the self conscious helplessness she felt at not being able to perform the task herself. The simple gesture, more than any words of love showed her how precious she was to him and served as a balm to her healing.

She could escape Dodge, but the memories could never be outrun. She picked up the note he'd sent with the gift, reading it again, holding it closer to the flame of the kerosine lamp, so she could study each stroke of his handwriting. He had made no comment regarding the letter she'd left for him, other than the return admonition, to take care of herself too. She'd said some harsh words and hard truths. He had contested neither but instead bade her the wise adage, 'distance doesn't change what's in the heart'.

Well, she was proof of that wasn't she?