Prescription for a Chill
The Hostage ATC (B&W Season 11)
by Lilyjack
Kitty waits for Matt to come home after his rescue from desperate prison escapee Lon Gorman & his gang.
Chapter 3
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The familiar knock at Kitty Russell's back door set her heart to pounding. She rushed to open it and there he was, all six feet, seven inches of him, standing unassumingly, thumbs hanging from his well-worn leather belt. His clothes were filthy, his face unshaven, bruised and cut, but he was alive although somewhat the worse for wear. Matt Dillon asked in a weary but ironic voice, "Is this where a man can get a good shot a' whiskey to ward off a chill on a windy night?"
"Oh, Matt..." she breathed, her expression anguished.
Abandoning any pretense of humor, he took a quick step inside and closed the door, shoving his Stetson back on his head. He immediately reached for Kitty and crushed her body to his own. She bit her lip hard to keep from sobbing, wrapping her arms around him, squeezing with all of her might. Her ear pressed to his broad chest, she heard his voice rumble, "I didn't know if I was gonna make it home to you this time, Kitty."
With that frank admission, her face crumpled and she couldn't hold back the tears a minute more. He reached a hand to smooth over her cheek but she cradled it instead in her own hands. His was bruised and skinned from defending himself against his captors during his long, punishing ordeal. She kissed his scraped knuckles and turned his big hand over, pressing her lips to his palm. Then she tiptoed, slipping her arms around his neck and showering his face in tear-stained kisses.
"Kitty..." he murmured in a voice strangled with emotion. Then his hands tangled in her hair, his lips devouring hers hungrily. Finally he stopped long enough to breathe against her mouth, "I missed you. When I was out there, I thought of you and it helped me make it through." He gave a wry twist of his lips. "When I wasn't thinkin' about how to escape those sons of bitches, that is."
She gave a little snicker before she cast a look up at him through her heavy, tear-dampened lashes.
He uttered a sigh of relief, his tired, pale blue eyes twinkling. He was happy to make her laugh. Matt couldn't bear to see his girl cry.
His hands slid under her dressing gown and over the thin material of her nightdress, stroking her slowly and appreciatively. "You feel so good, Kitty." He bent down to nuzzle her neck and inhaled deeply. "I didn't know if I'd ever get to touch you again, honey." With that, he released an enormous yawn and groaned a little when a scabbed-over cut right below his lip cracked and started to bleed.
"Oh, cowboy," she soothed. "Let me help you. It's high time you were in bed anyway." Matt Dillon sighed and did not argue with her in the least. He didn't want to admit it felt good to have someone fussing over him.
First she handed him a clean, damp cloth from the washstand to press against his bleeding skin and then took his hat and hung it on the bedpost. Finally she hurried to straighten the tangled sheets from her sleepless tossing and turning earlier that evening. "Sit down, Matt. Let's get those boots off."
"But I'm filthy, Kitty. I'll get the bed dirty."
"I don't care if you are dirty. You need rest. Now sit down."
He did as he was told. He knew better than to argue with his redhead. She straddled his leg with her back to him as she'd done countless times before and yanked hard. The dusty boot came off with a whoosh and more than a bit of a strong odor.
"Oh my goodness, Matt..." She held a hand delicately below her nose, her eyes watering a mite.
"I told you I was filthy, honey."
"Well, I can't say you didn't warn me." She gave a small cough.
He cleared his throat. "Sorry 'bout that."
"It's to be expected. Your poor feet have been marinatin' in those boots for days. They were bound to be ripe. " She straddled the second leg. Suddenly strong arms were pulling her gently into Matt's lap, warm hands sliding beneath her dressing gown again.
"Oh!"
He pulled her hair aside, kissed her neck, breathed her in. "Mmm... Sorry, I couldn't resist. Seein' you at that angle and all."
"Matt Dillon, you oughta be ashamed," she scolded, mock-sternly, but his hands on her made her belly quiver.
"I'm wore out and beat up, not dead, sweetheart." He slipped the wrapper off her shoulders and down her arms, stroking her through the diaphanous fabric of her sleeve.
"Oh, cowboy..." She turned her head and kissed his stubbly cheek above the damp cloth. She noticed a considerable amount of dirt had been smeared away as well. "Um, Matt, you are pretty filthy."
"I told you so." He scratched his head. "I don't think I need to be sleeping in your bed."
"I won't have you sleeping in anyone else's bed, Marshal Dillon," she said with an arched brow.
"I wasn't suggesting..."
"I know you weren't, but I want you here with me. No excuses." She looked around the room. "It's too late to haul water up for a real bath, so how about I give you a sponge bath, huh?"
It was Matt's turn to raise his shaggy brows.
She placed a hand on one hip. "Come on, cowboy, it will relax you." She wanted to do something for him, take care of him, even if it was something small like a bath.
He sighed. "You're the boss."
He tried to make his remark sound playful, but Kitty thought she detected a hint of nervousness. Did he not want to let her see what they'd done to him? Sometimes he could be so stubborn and hard-headed.
"Let's get you undressed and put clean towels on the bed for you to lie on. I promise it won't take long and you'll be sleeping like a baby in no time."
"You know, usually when we do this sort of thing, sleeping is not what follows." He squinted at her meaningfully.
"Yeah, well, this time it will be. You're too tired to do anything else," she stated matter-of-factly.
"You sure about that?" He gave her his best Matt Dillon leer, but those exhausted features weren't fooling anybody, least of all her.
"How 'bout I ask you again in about fifteen minutes? Deal?" She pursed her lips as she gathered soap, towels and a sponge.
"Deal," he stated, but none too convincingly because he gave another enormous yawn immediately afterwards.
"Good. Take off those duds and make yourself comfortable because you're gonna be sound asleep before you know it, Marshal. I'm afraid we may hafta burn the clothes, actually. They're so dirty they could probably stand up and walk off by themselves."
She heard Matt chuckling to himself as he undressed. She busied herself pulling the covers back all the way and spreading several fluffy towels out on top of the sheet that would accommodate his large frame. She pushed her nightgown sleeves up to her elbows and set the washbasin on the nightstand. Turning to face him, she began, "I hope you don't mind that the water isn't hot..." but the rest of her sentence died in her throat. Matt walked stiffly, sorely toward the bed, his bare body riddled with bruises and lacerations. Kitty swallowed hard to choke back the tears. She had to be strong for him. She simply said, "They really did a number on you, huh, cowboy?"
"Yeah..." He slid onto the bed and back against the pillows, sighing with relief.
She gingerly sat next to him and wrung the water from her sponge, applying soap. She leaned forward and gave him a soft, gentle kiss on his rough cheek. "You just lie back and relax and close your eyes. Let Kitty take care of you."
She started on his face, making sure to clean the cut that had been bleeding. He peeped at her accusingly with one eye. "That stings. You're as bad as Doc."
"Do you want it to get infected?"
"No."
"Then lie still. Your face looks like you've been playing in a mud wallow. I'm going to have to change the water in my basin after I wash your face alone."
"Can I give you a sponge bath next?"
"You're going to be sound asleep ten minutes from now. Besides, I've had my bath."
"I can tell. You smell good."
"Thanks. Now hush up so I don't get soap in your mouth."
"Yes, ma'am...oh, that feels real nice..."
"Now close your eyes. Oh, wait just a minute." Kitty dried her hands and returned to the bed moments later with a sizeable glass of amber liquid. "Here you go, sir. For charitable purposes only, mind you. Some good whiskey to ward off a chill."
Matt grinned at her and remarked, "I've never been called 'sir' while I was nekkid before."
"There's a first time for everything. Drink up, cowboy. I've been waitin' a long time to serve that to you." Downing it quickly, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. She leaned over him, giving him a slow, deep kiss that tasted like aged Kentucky bourbon. She finally broke away and smiled, licking her lips as she set his glass on the table.
Matt sighed and settled deeper into the pillows, agreeing, "Yeah, honey, that drink was long overdue. I'm sorry."
She sat beside him, retrieving her sponge, and began work on his chest. "Matt, I'll hear no apologies from you. Nothing about that bad business was your fault."
"But..."
"No. You have no control over other people's actions. Don't feel guilty because of what they did to you."
Matt remained strangely silent after that. Perhaps he was contemplating what she had said. Maybe he was enjoying his bath. Perhaps it was the strong whiskey and the exhaustion taking him down at last. Most likely it was a combination of all of those factors. But she was able to clean him up reasonably well, taking care not to aggravate his injuries, only eliciting occasional moans and sighs of contentment and satisfaction from her patient. The small snores coming from him after a short while made her realize that she'd won their bet, but she was too tired to worry about collecting at that particular point in time. Maybe tomorrow.
Only after drying him off and putting away her bath things did Kitty realize she'd lost her second wind. The burst of energy that had seen her through Matt's return suddenly deserted her wholly and profoundly, and she felt like something the cat had dragged in. She went to blow out the lamp and stood by Matt's bedside for a moment, placing her hand on his bare chest, just to feel it rise and fall, rise and fall, with each breath he took. She suddenly shivered at the thought of how close she had come to losing to him. He'd admitted it himself.
Life was precious, she thought. You couldn't take it for granted, not ever. You never knew when it might be snatched away at a moment's notice. She had some things she needed to tell Matt before it was too late. She'd shared them with Doc, but it was Matt who really needed to hear them.
Suddenly, Matt sighed and shifted in the bed. He held the covers up, stretched an arm out to encircle her waist, and pulled her down on the mattress next to him. His big body was always hot, like a blast furnace, but she felt cold in her bone-deep weariness, and he felt so good-vital and strong and alive. She could feel his heart beating against her back with his long arms wrapped around her like a living cocoon, one that she loved with all her heart and soul. His regular breathing lulled her quickly to sleep, a deep, healing sleep that she hadn't experienced since that fateful windy night her lover had been captured by Lon Gorman's gang. But he was back now, back in her bed where he belonged. And so they slept.
tbc
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