Chapter 1
Ten years have passed since the events described in the Prologue
"Hey, Dad, I'm back!" The tall blond teen dismounted from a huge black horse and ground tied it, then went to greet his father.
Robert Turner, sitting in his favorite big chair in front of the house, smiled broadly at his 15-year-old son. "Didn't expect you back this early, everything okay?" He reached out his hand to be met in a firm handshake; the boy's grip was getting stronger every day.
"Yeah, everything's great! They were buying up our mares like fresh baked goods! I rode ahead, the rest of the guys will be here in an hour or two."
At that moment, a stable boy appeared and started to approach the horse cautiously; Chris waved him off, indicating he'd see to his steed himself. Robert chuckled at the relief on the groom's face. "Okay, take care of that devil of yours and shake off your own dust. Then you can tell me about the fair, over dinner, of course."
Chris laughed, grabbed the reins, and headed off towards the barn; Robert followed him with his eyes, feeling a warmth in his heart. He didn't take Chris's laugh or energy for granted; he still remembered, much too well, the empty shell of a child they'd rescued from Four Corners.
It had taken almost a year, and several visits to different doctors all over the country, before Chris had even started talking. He hadn't remembered anything before the execution, and the event itself remained only as a series of vague images… a source of nightmares. Of course, Robert had needed an explanation for them, as well as for Chris's lack of early memories; an explanation he could give both to the doctors and to Chris himself. An explanation which would agree with the cover story about Chris being his own son from a happy marriage. And so Robert had claimed that Chris had witnessed how his mother had been killed in a horrible accident. It had been as close to the truth as he could get, and it had worked. Fortunately, Robert knew enough about Teresa Larabee to create a truthful image for his boy, and Chris hadn't asked too many questions, even when he got older.
When Chris turned nine, the nightmares had almost stopped, and Robert decided it was time to settle down. He bought some land, a weeks ride from Four Corners Valley, and started the Turner Ranch. A ranch which was now flourishing, breeding both cattle and horses. Robert had never known much about animals, but he was a good businessman and had a gift for choosing the right people for any job, and that had been crucial to the ranch's success. That gift had become even more important three years ago when Robert had taken a bad fall, which had rewarded him with a strong limp. He could walk and ride, but tired easily, so now he preferred to rule the Turner Ranch from behind his desk in the Big House, or, if the weather permitted, from his chair out in front of it.
Recently, Chris had started playing a more active role at the ranch; the boy ignored the cattle, but was very good with the horses. He'd broken Black Storm himself, much to the astonishment of other more experienced riders, who'd given up on the devil.
Robert smiled as he watched his son going from the barn to the house, most likely to change. All of his effort spent on Chris's behalf had been repaid tenfold; the boy was a wonderful son, a son who would make any father proud. Of course, there would eventually come a day when Chris would ride off to face his destiny, leaving Robert behind, but they still had many years before that happened . And maybe, during these years, Chris would succeed where Robert had failed.
After years of futile efforts, he'd had to give up his search for the rest of the Larabee survivors. But he still had some hope lurking. One day, when they had been at a carnival, some fortune-teller had read Chris's palm; she'd promised a lot of things, but among the usual bullshit there had been a prediction Robert had chosen to believe. 'The wolf will gather his pack'. Maybe it was foolish, to build his hopes on a gypsy woman's words, but it was better than nothing.
___
Later that evening, after dinner had been eaten and Robert had been told about the trip to the fair in detail, first by Chris, then by the man who'd actually been in charge of the trip, father and son were sitting together in front of the house. Robert was smoking, and Chris was chewing on a long blade of grass.
"So, what are you going to do now?" Robert asked. Chris had been working really hard the last couple of months, he deserved a break.
"Hall and Fisher are going to Eagle Bend tomorrow, they'll be staying in town for several days. Mind if I tag along with them?"
Hall and Fisher were senior cowboys at the ranch, they'd been there since the beginning. Eagle Bend was a large town less than a day's ride to the west; of course, it held much more interest for a teen than the nearest dust bowl.
"Any particular plans?"
"Nah, just want to unwind a little."
Robert nodded. Chris loved the ranch, but sometimes it became too small for him, and that was natural. At least he, unlike most boys his age, asked for permission and wasn't intending to travel that far alone. Yet. And he'd been in Eagle Bend dozens of times before, he knew the town well enough.
"Okay, if Hall and Fisher don't mind company, go and have fun. And bring me back a couple of new books…"
"…or a bottle of real brandy," Chris finished and they both chuckled. "I will, Dad."
___
Chris, Hall, and Fisher had left at first light, so by midday they'd covered most of the ground they needed to and had decided to take a short halt, to outwait the worst of the heat. The adults started to make things comfortable under the protection of a small group of trees, and Chris went down to the creek to fill the canteens.
He had just filled the last one and was drawing himself up, when he heard a familiar and very unwelcome sound. A rattler. He froze mid-movement, squinted in the direction of the sound and saw the snake, poised for an attack. Not a moment later a shot rang out, and the reptile jerked in place, dead. Chris let out the breath he'd been holding, dropped the canteen from numb fingers and looked up, expecting to see Hall or Fisher. He saw a stranger instead, standing on the opposite bank of the creek; a teen no older than himself.
"Sorry to interrupt your date, pard," the dark haired teen smiled broadly. "But the lady sure seemed pissed."
Chris found himself smiling, too. "Yeah, she was. Thanks."
At that moment the cowboys, alerted by the shot, appeared behind Chris's back with guns drawn and aimed at the stranger.
"Chris, you okay?" Hall asked worriedly.
"Yeah, I'm all right. That guy there shot a rattler, saved my butt," he pointed at the creature.
The men continued to shift their looks between Chris, the other teen and the snake, until Chris said, calmly and with a ghost of irony: "Guys, the rattler is dead."
"Oh, right." They re-holstered their weapons, but stayed in place, so Chris had to add: "I'll be up there as soon as I finish with the canteens."
With that reassurance, they finally headed back to the horses, and Chris's savior made his way over.
"Buck Wilmington," he said, reaching out his hand.
"Chris Turner," the blond shook it.
"Turner?" Buck whistled. "From the Turner Ranch?"
Chris nodded. "Don't mind Hall and Fisher, they're good men, just still sometimes think I need a babysitter."
Buck grinned. "Yeah, I know how that feels. Where are you heading too?"
"Eagle Bend."
"I'm returning there myself, mind some company?"
"Not at all," Chris bent over to pick up the canteens, and the rattler's body came into his sight again. He had to suppress a shudder; the blond had never cared much for snakes. "In fact, I could use someone to watch my back."
"Thought you hated babysitting?"
"There's a difference."
The boys laughed and started climbing up to join the men.
___
The small company arrived at Eagle Bend early that evening, Chris and Buck already being fast friends. And that really amazed Hall and Fisher; they'd known Chris for some years, and he'd never been so quick to make friends with his peers.
The cowboys were headed to the nearest livery and hotel, but Chris had other destinations in mind, even if he didn't exactly know what they were yet. But Buck was sure to know some interesting places; so Chris asked him to wait a little, while he discussed with his traveling companions a time and place to meet up to head for home.
All appointments having been made, Chris came back to see a stand-off between Buck and three huge guys; it looked like they would come to blows at any minute. Chris hastened his strides and heard the central guy sniping:
"I've told you before, Wilmington, we don't need the likes of you here. Get off to your hole and don't spoil our streets!"
"Go to hell, Mackenzie," Buck spat back, and the guy threw the first punch.
Or at least tried to, because Buck ducked and headbutted him, and they both went down. The guy to the left, probably another Mackenzie by the look of him, tried to hit Buck from behind, but his fist met Chris's palm instead, and a second later he was lying on the ground, seeing stars. (There were some Chinese men working at the ranch, and Chris had always been eager to learn new things.) The third attacker, seeing that both his brothers were down, reached for his gun, but Chris was faster.
"I wouldn't," he said calmly, aiming his own gun at the man's groin.
The bully gulped, looked at the gun, then into Chris's eyes – and decided to back off. He cautiously helped his brothers up, not taking his eyes off Chris, and they slowly retreated.
"Thanks, pard." Buck said, still sitting on the ground. "Guess we're even now."
Chris shrugged. "No big deal." He holstered his gun and helped Buck up. "What was that about?"
There was no reproach in Chris's voice, only curiosity, but Buck's face fell. Damn it, he knew they should have parted ways the minute they entered town. He really liked Turner, but he should have known better than to go and try to befriend the son of the main land-owner in the area. Well, better now than later, and better to say it himself than have someone like the Mackenzie brothers shout it all over the street.
"My Mom runs a brothel in the bad part of town." There, he'd said it. Buck looked at Chris's face, waiting for the usual reaction, but instead of a grimace of disgust or contempt, a little smile appeared.
"Must be a good place then."
Buck gasped. "You… You mean you're okay with that?"
"Why shouldn't I be? Just because my father has money doesn't mean I'm an idiot."
"Chris…"
"In fact, I think I'd like to meet the woman who managed to raise someone like you."
"You serious?"
"Absolutely."
Buck smiled tentatively, still not quite believing what was going on. "Then I reckon you won't need a hotel tonight."
Chris grinned. "Lead the way."
___
The two teens entered an establishment called 'The Brocade Delights' through the back door and started walking up the hidden stairs. According to the sounds, which were heard through the walls and which Buck ignored, 'The Delights' were prospering.
Soon they reached the third floor and entered a corridor; all at once Buck was hit by a small dark-headed whirlwind, who immediately started to chatter:
"Buck! You're back, it's great! Miss Lizzy has a new dress, and she bought me candy! And Miss Blossom caught a cold, but Doc says she'll be okay! And…"
"JD," Buck interrupted. "Breathe." He turned to Chris and added: "Chris, this little tornado is my baby brother, JD. JD, this is my friend Chris. Now, what do you need to say?"
"Hello, Mr. Chris," the boy said obligingly.
"Hello, JD. Glad to meet you."
The boy tilted his head and looked Chris over from head to toe. His eyes lit up when he saw the gun belt, and Buck chuckled, realizing his little brother had just found himself a new hero to worship.
"Okay, squirt, why aren't you in bed at this hour, anyway?"
"I'm going there, honest! You'll come to tell me a story, right? Please?"
"I will, squirt, but I need to talk with Mom first."
"She's in her room. Good night, Mr. Chris!" And the kid ran off, disappearing behind one of the doors.
Buck looked at Chris with some defiance; he wasn't ashamed of the fact that he loved his little brother and spent time with him, and if someone thought it was sissy… but there was no mockery in Chris's smile.
"How old is he?"
"Six."
"Always like that?"
"Not always, but often enough. But he is fun to have around."
"I bet."
For a moment, Buck thought he heard envy in Chris's voice, but he shook that thought away quickly.
Chris did feel a little envy, he'd always wanted a brother, better yet, two or three. He'd often tried to tell Robert it would be absolutely okay with him if the man remarried, but no woman had captured Robert's interest for long enough, and after the accident Chris had stopped hinting. Besides, sometimes he thought he'd had a brother once, one that most likely had been killed with their mother. Maybe one day he would ask his Dad about that.
Buck's knocking at a door stopped Chris's musings.
"Come in," a deep woman's voice answered, and they entered.
Chris saw a small and modest bedroom; a tall woman stood in the middle of it, in a simple gown, with long, fair hair, which she wore loose. Considering she was Buck's mother, she definitely looked younger than her age, and she seemed more elegant than most of the 'decent women' Chris had met.
"Hey, Mom. This is Chris Turner from the Turner Ranch. I met him on the trail and rode back into town with him; he helped me today with the Mackenzie brothers."
The woman nodded, but continued to stare at Chris with a very strange expression on her face. Chris began feeling uncomfortable under her scrutiny, and said:
"Merely repaying a favor, Ma'am."
Smiling, she came closer. "Don't 'Ma'am' me, son," she said softly.
Something about her voice, or the way she moved, or her smell was vaguely familiar, awaking the very few memories Chris had of his early childhood and his mother. The woman reached her hand out and without a second thought Chris bent to kiss it.
"Buck's friends are my friends, Chris, and my friends call me Joanne," she said, running her other hand through his hair. A gesture even Chris's own father hadn't tried in the last couple of years, but coming from her it felt natural.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Joanne," he answered, drawing himself up. There was this strange feeling in his heart, he couldn't name it, but… Joanne might be a mistress of a brothel, but if anyone ever mistreated her – then Buck wasn't the only one they would have to deal with.
To be continued…
