A/N I think I've finally got my canon issues sorted out. Main characters' names are now spelled correctly. Also, for those of you who read chapter one when I first posted it, I've altered it to be more in line with the events of "Obsession." The changes were minor, mostly timeline juggling, so no rereading is necessary.

Disclaimer Don't tell MGM, but Vin and I are eloping to Vegas.

Larabee's 7

Chapter 2

Tony Carboni was a distinguished looking man in his fifties—his jet black hair streaked with silver, and his lined face haughty. Outside of his own family, he respected few men and feared none. When his trusted lieutenant Marco brought word that two men were asking to see him, he smiled—a smile that had turned the blood of many men to ice because they knew it was the last thing they would ever see.

"Show them in. I have been expecting this visit."

Marco glanced around the luxurious office with the massive safe dominating one wall and frowned. "Are you sure that is wise? By all accounts, these are unusually dangerous men."

"Marco, Marco." Carboni shook his head reprovingly. "To invite an enemy into your stronghold is the surest way to show him you do not fear him. Once he has entered as a guest, he knows he will not survive if he returns uninvited."

"I did not mean to question you, Mr. Carboni. You know I have only your best interests at heart."

"I know, my boy." Carboni placed a hand on Marco's shoulder and looked earnestly into his face. "Learn the value of fear, and you learn the secret of men's hearts. Now, send in our guests, but first send my sons to me. They should learn the face of my new enemy."

When the two strangers were at last ushered into the office, Carboni was flanked by his sons Carlo and Luigi. With a deep sense of satisfaction, he admired their strong bodies and handsome faces. And they had proved their devotion to the family. He was proud of the ruthlessness they had exhibited in the service of loyalty. They would be worthy successors to his empire. All my sons are worthy.

Carboni took his time looking over his two guests. One man wore his tawny hair long, its color blending with that of his buckskin jacket. His stance was relaxed, his blue eyes steady. Carboni, noting the sawed-off carbine in its holster and the comfortable way the stranger cradled his rifle, judged him to be a dangerous man. But not a leader. He lacked the charisma—that indefinable power to turn men's hearts and command their loyalty.

Carboni dismissed him and focused his attention on the other man. This one wore a long black duster and hat to match. The coat covered his guns, but Carboni knew they would betray a history of hard use, just as his own ivory handled revolver recorded the story of his fight for dominance here in Albuquerque. And there was something in the man's quiet face—a submerged fire, and the power to inspire loyalty. Carboni prided himself on his ability to read men, and this one was everything he expected. Except … except for the faint smell of alcohol.

"Have a seat, Mr. Larabee."

The man in black dropped with careless grace into the chair Carboni offered.

The most powerful man in Albuquerque laid his well manicured hands on the desk before him. "What can I do for you?"

Larabee's eyes flicked involuntarily toward the safe. "I think you already know that."

Carboni smiled. "I do. You come to claim something that does not belong to you, something that is the rightful property of my professional acquaintance, Mr. Searles."

"He stole that deed."

Carboni waved a dismissive hand. "Legal technicalities are for the court to decide. When a man who has done me a favor in the past finds himself in need, I am happy to help. That is the nature of business."

Larabee stretched out his legs and slouched in the chair, his hat shadowing his face. "Sometimes you've got to choose between one business partner and another."

"Are you suggesting that we could be partners?"

"You said the exchange of favors was the nature of business. My business is doing favors. Maybe there's something I could do for you. We could be friends."

From a man like Chris Larabee, it was a valuable offer. But Carboni didn't hesitate. Mercenaries could turn and strike the hand that paid them instead of carrying out their assigned job. Besides, a relationship with a territorial governor was worth more than one with a gunslinger, no matter how fast.

Carboni leaned forward. "Mr. Larabee, you are still young. Allow me to share the wisdom that has come to me after many hard years of struggle. In the life of a man, there are only three things of importance. First, the number of enemies he kills to clear his path, to prove his worth and his ability to lead. Second, the number of sons he fathers to carry on his legacy." He couldn't resist a proud look at his boys before continuing, "Third, the number of true friends who fall at his side, who prove their loyalty and must never be forgotten. Real friendship is not about favors, but about sacrifice. And you and I, Mr. Larabee, will never be friends."

"Pity you can't know who your true friends are until they're dead," Larabee drawled.

"Life is brutal. But you know that. I understand you have no son to carry on your legacy."

Larabee snapped out of his relaxed pose, his trembling hands betraying his rage. "Don't you ever mention my family again."

Carboni smiled. "I understand the boy fell while you were far away. Too bad he couldn't count his own father among his true friends."

Larabee lunged across the desk, scattering papers, tipping over the inkwell. But before he could wrap his hands around Carboni's neck, Carlo had him by the collar and had thrown him to the floor, while Luigi drew his gun to back up his brother. Marco kept a wary eye and a revolver trained on Larabee's companion, who slowly raised his hands to show he didn't want to fight the odds.

Carboni, who hadn't moved during the entire episode, laughed. "Get them out of here. This conversation is over."

Buck leaned against one of the trees bordering the cemetery, his hat pulled low against the morning sun. If his information was right, Juanita Mendez, Carboni's mistress, would arrive any minute to lay flowers on the graves, as she did every Friday.

He watched as a pretty yellow surrey pulled up by the entrance. A woman, her face swathed in a black veil, stepped down, her hands full of flowers. She was escorted by a tall young man who was expensively dressed and wore his six-shooters tied low. The woman entered the cemetery, her escort two steps behind, and stopped in front of one of the graves. She laid a small bouquet from her bunch at the foot of the cross, and remained kneeling as if in prayer.

Buck ambled in her direction, and when she rose to move on, he tipped his hat and said, "Good mornin', ma'am. If you don't mind my askin', why is a lovely flower like yourself wanderin' among the dead?"

"You are too bold, stranger," her escort said, starting forward, but Juanita stopped him with a raised hand. "Peace, Marco. This man means me no harm."

"No, ma'am, I ain't in the business of hurtin' ladies," Buck answered. Now that he was close enough to see through the veil, her beauty took his breath away. She must have been at least forty years old, but her skin remained clear and unlined; her eyes flashed with a proud knowledge of their own splendor.

Juanita smiled kindly. "In answer to your question, it is a mark of respect to lay a flower upon a grave, is it not?"

"Ma'am, I just hope that when I'm in that cold ground, such a flower will come to weep over me."

Juanita laughed. "What charming words! I did not expect them from a man who works for Chris Larabee."

Buck blinked at her. "Ma'am?"

"You do work for him? Tony told me I might receive a visit from you."

"Chris and I ride together," Buck admitted.

"And now you want to ask me about Tony Carboni, because you have heard that we are good friends."

Buck said boldly, "Intendin' no disrespect ma'am, but a woman such as yourself deserves to be more than a … close friend."

Marco gave an angry exclamation and stepped toward Buck, but Juanita again stopped him with a lifted hand. "I am not offended, Marco." She took Buck's arm. "Walk with me, señor. You wish to know why I remain with Tony when he cannot marry me? It is very simple. His wife has his name, but I have his love." She lifted her chin proudly. "Does he ask her to honor the friends who fell beside him as he fought for a place in this city? It is I who have that privilege. And see what good care he takes of me, sending his best man to escort me whenever I wish." She smiled at Marco over her shoulder.

"I think I understand, ma'am," Buck said, then respectfully removed his hat as she knelt next to another grave.

When she had finished, he helped her to her feet and Juanita said, "Tell me what you wish to know."

"Well, ma'am, it's like this. Tony Carboni's got somethin' we need real bad. And we'd like to have somethin' he wants just as bad to trade. Can you tell me of anything we could get that would be worth his while?"

Another silence as Juanita laid her third bouquet. Then she said, "I am sorry, but what you ask is impossible."

Buck sighed. "I understand, ma'am."

"No, I don't think you do." She gave him a pitying smile. "If you understood the kind of man Tony is, you would not have asked. There are seventeen notches carved on his gun. Seventeen enemies he has killed. Not ordered others to shoot, you understand, but killed himself. When something is important, Tony send no other man. He goes himself, or he sends one of his sons, whom he considers to be an extension of himself. Now do you understand?"

"I'm afraid I do."

"Then, if you will excuse me, I have five more graves to visit, and the morning is nearly gone."

Buck tipped his hat and let her go.

"This is not what I agreed to."

The seven were gathered around a table in a run-down saloon on the outskirts of Albuquerque. Aside from their group and the rabbit-faced bartender asleep on his stool, the room was deserted, possibly because of the watered down whiskey and the bedbugs Ezra had been complaining about since they had taken rooms there. Now he was objecting again, and the hard expression on his handsome face made it clear he was serious.

"The plan was to find something that Carboni wants and trade him for the deed."

"Carboni turned us down and he ain't gonna reconsider. He don't need us," Vin said.

"Or, maybe he turned us down because Chris lost his temper," Ezra shot back.

Chris slammed his glass down on the table. "You got a problem with me, Ezra?"

"Yes, my problem is that you haven't been completely sober since we failed to find Ella's trail. My problem is that you're too drunk and angry to play this smart, and you're going to get us all killed." Ignoring the dangerous expression on Chris's face, he continued, "We had a plan, and that was to find something Carboni needs so bad that he'll give us the deed and let us walk away."

Trying to keep the peace, Vin interposed, "You heard what Buck told us about what Juanita Mendez said. We don't have time to keep on with a plan that won't work."

Ezra turned to him. "Mrs. Travis is a nice lady, but I am not goin' to be slaughtered for the sake of some two-bit newspaper. And if you all are goin' through with this suicidal scheme, then I'm done."

Chris stood up so fast his chair tipped over. "I warned you about walkin' out on me, Ezra."

Ezra held his empty hands out. "You want to shoot me, Chris? Then it'll have to be in the back, because that's all you're goin' to see." He spun on his heel and pushed through the swinging doors.

J.D. started forward, but Buck caught his arm. "Let him go, kid. Better he run now than in the middle of the fight."

Chris stared at the still quivering doors for a long moment, hand on his Colt. Then he shook his head and sat back down. "We grab Searles tonight and ride out of town to hide him in the desert. Then we explain how the vultures will pick out his eyes if he doesn't send word for Carboni to turn the deed over to us. Anybody else got objections to the plan?"

An uneasy silence fell over the group until J.D. said brightly. "It sure is more our style."

"Damn right, kid," Chris said, and poured himself a drink.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Vin asked.

Chris jerked around to face him, knocking the glass over. "You got a problem with me, too, Vin?"

Vin didn't flinch. "Just want to make sure you'll shoot straight tonight."

"Oh, I'll shoot straight," Chris promised.

To Be Continued

A/N Thanks so much for reading! I got three reviews for chapter one, and I'd love to get four reviews for chapter two ;)