July 1
Chris groaned when he saw the sunlight pouring through the window of his and Buck's room. This was one of the reasons he hated draughts like the doctor had pushed on him last night. He slept too hard for too long. He felt slightly hungover too; a fact that irritated him to no end. Any day that found him waking this late should have found him with a proper hangover, and there should be hazy memories of whiskey and maybe a girl. To wake up feeling like this without having had so much as a drop of alcohol was a travesty.
Pushing himself up, Chris swung his feet to the floor, his attention going to his leg. It was still sore but it wasn't hurting nearly as bad as last night. As much as he disliked medicine, he was sure the time he'd spent sleeping had helped. The fact that he was no longer being attacked by an ornery doctor and his giant needle was probably helping as well. Taking a deep breath, Chris stood up, testing his leg. The burning got a little worse, but it didn't buckle on him like it had last night. Keeping as much weight off his bad leg as he could, Chris limped over to his saddle bags and pulled out a change of clothes. He was still wearing the clothes he'd had on Saturday night during his meeting with that two-bit saddle tramp and his Arkansas Toothpick, and cleaning up was definitely in order.
Hobbling back over to the bed, Chris removed his old clothes tossing his pants on the floor to throw out later. Having been through a bar fight, two trips to the doctor's, and covered in two-day old bloodstains, Chris didn't see the point in trying to salvage them. It would be easier just to pick up a new pair in a few days.
Chris' attempt to make himself look human again didn't work as well as he'd hoped. The brief walk across the room, as well as changing clothes, left the wound on his thigh burning again. When he got his pants buttoned, Chris sank back down on the bed, still shirtless, and stretched his legs out in front of him. Feeling like an invalid did nothing to help his agitation, and Buck picked that moment to walk back in the room.
"Where you been?" Chris snapped.
"I'm sorry, mother," Buck replied feigning chagrin. "You gonna send me to bed without supper again?"
Chris scowled as he tried to rub the ache out of his leg. He had no reason to take his frustration out on Buck. Just because he was stuck in here was no reason for Buck to act like a good boy or worse a married man. If Buck had found something or someone to keep him busy last night, well good for Buck. Of course, night had ended some time ago, but it was Buck.
"How's the leg today?"
Chris sighed. "Sore. Not as bad, though. Least it quit throbbin'."
"Good. I thought about seein' if the doc had any more of that stuff he gave you last night but . . . I thought this might work better." Buck came over to the bed and produced a bottle of whiskey.
That soothed the irritation some. "That'll help."
Buck filled one glass and passed it to Chris and then filled one for himself. Sitting at the foot of the bed, Buck pointed his legs towards the head and silently toasted Chris before taking a drink.
Chris joined in surprised to find it was good whiskey, for a town like this one anyway. Not a fine whiskey to be sure, but definitely a cut above the rot gut most saloons served. Chris took another drink, appreciating the burn of the liquid as it slid down his throat and settled in his stomach.
"Thanks, Buck, I'd rather feel burnin' in my gut than my leg any day."
Buck chuckled. "Glad I could help."
Chris took another drink and dropped his head back against the wall. "Not that I'm complainin' but what's the occasion. You didn't hunt down good whiskey just because I'm stuck up here, did you?"
"Nah." Buck looked down at his glass before giving Chris a half shrug. "Call it . . . call it a birthday present."
Birthday present? Chris lifted his head to look at Buck again. How did Buck know? Chris didn't remember ever having mentioned to Buck when his birthday was. Then again maybe he didn't know, he was off by nearly a whole month. "Again, I'm not complainin', but you're a little early ain't you?"
Buck looked confused. "Early?"
"Yeah. Your timing's off by about thirty days."
Buck's look of confusion never wavered. "Thirty days for your birthday?"
"The thirty-first, yeah."
"Your birthday's the thirty-first?"
"That's what my ma always told me."
"How 'bout that," Buck muttered before he chuckled. "Well, I wasn't talkin' 'bout your birthday, stud. I's talkin' 'bout mine."
"Your birthday's today?"
Buck grinned. "That's what my mama always told me."
Chris laughed. "In that case," he lifted is glass in a toast this time. "Happy birthday."
"Thank you."
"How old are you?" Chris asked realizing that for all the months they'd been riding together he really didn't know much about the man beside him, not personal things like that.
"Twenty-five today."
"So, you always have a celebration this exciting?"
Buck didn't respond right away. He got the bottle and topped off both their glasses, he then studied the amber liquid in his glass for a minute. "No," he finally said. "Actually, it's been a while since I've done much celebrating. The last few years there hasn't been anyone around to really care."
Chris understood that. The last two years he'd been with Ella during his birthday, and of course, she had made a big deal out of the day. The years in between the time he'd left home and the day he met Ella, though, his birthday had come and gone without much thought. He'd assumed this year would be the same.
Buck chuckled again, a nervous kind of sound to Chris' ears. "Well, I thought it might be nice for today to be a little different."
Chris wasn't one for heartfelt speeches or a lot of sentimentalities, but he understood what his friend had just said. Buck saw him as someone who would care that it was his birthday, someone who would allow him to relax a little and acknowledge that this day was different than every other day. It was nice to know someone like that. Chris had spent several years ignoring his birthday, and when Ella had first wanted to celebrate he'd resisted, verbally anyway. Although honestly, he'd liked knowing someone cared.
Life out here, particularly when one was drifting, was hard. If a man could find someone he could count on to ride the river with, he was a fortunate man indeed. Chris didn't really know why he and Buck had ridden out of town together that day, or why they had stayed together all these months. What he did know was that even though they mixed about as well as oil and water at times, Buck had become a friend, and a man Chris would trust with his life. A man he had trusted with his life. If he was reading Buck correctly right now, the dark haired man felt the same way, and Chris was honored.
"Kinda figured mine would pass pretty quiet this year too," Chris said simply not about to give Buck an emotionally-driven speech concerning friendship.
Buck suddenly grinned. "Oh, no. I know about it now. At the very least we'll have to find another bottle of above average bad liquor to drink. And I got thirty days to find one."
Chris chuckled. He wouldn't admit it to a lot of people, but it might be nice for the day to have some acknowledgment. "If you want a little somethin' extra and feel like gettin' up there's some cigars in my saddlebags. They're in a pouch in the left one."
Buck jumped up. "Ain't gonna turn that down." He returned a minute later with the cigars and passed one over to Chris. "Thanks," he said after lighting up and taking a long draw off of his. "It's good. These ain't your regular cheroots."
Chris shook his head. "I figure since it's your birthday, we needed above average bad cigars to go with our above average bad whiskey."
"Thanks again."
Chris took a draw off his cigar and blew out the smoke before speaking again. "You know somethin', Buck. This ain't the kind of celebration we need. It shouldn't be just the two of us in a grimy hotel room. There should be whiskey, women, and more whiskey, and we should both wake up so hungover we won't even feel like moving until sundown."
"Well, you're not hearin' any arguments from me. When you start and end a month like we do, I think that deserves somethin' special. It's gonna be kinda hard for you to do much celebratin' with that bum leg, though."
Chris grimaced; he hadn't needed a reminder of why he was stuck here to start with.
"And I'll tell you," Buck went on. "You pop those stitches again and I'm not draggin' your tail back to that doctor."
Chris scoffed. "I wouldn't let you drag me back to that doctor. I tell you what, though, after my leg gets a little better, and we get outta here, the next town we come to, we're gonna celebrate and we're gonna do it right. We're gonna make up for all those birthdays we been ignoring." That Larabee grin slowly spread across his face. "What do you say?" he asked raising his glass.
Buck seemed to consider Chris' words a moment before a grin of his own appeared. He raised his glass meeting Chris' in a proper toast. "I say that I will drink to that."
A/N: Thanks to all who have read, reviewed, followed, or added this story to their favorites.
