Rated: M

Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just like writing about them

Dead Or Alive

by: Danigirl

Chapter Three

Sam watched her brother and niece enjoying breakfast and tried to contain the small bite of envy at the two of them with their dark haired heads together. An indulgent smile curved Zander's lips, as he lifted Kristina's napkin from her plate and wiped a smear of fruit preserves from her cheek. Kristina giggled as he tickled her gently, and then motioned for her to finish her breakfast. Despite his needless worries, Zander was such a wonderful father.

She could remember that spring evening after Dusty gave the news that she was having a baby and the terrified look on Zander's face. Furious, Dusty had stormed out of the hotel because she thought Zander didn't want the baby. More than a touch angry herself, Sam had dragged her brother out on the step and demanded to know why he had just hurt Dusty that way and he had whispered in a shaky voice what if he ended up like their father.

All this time, she thought she was the only one with those kinds of nightmares. What if she leaned toward the drink like their father or insanity like their mother? It was part of the reason she kept herself so isolated here in Redemption. Men had expressed their interest, but she didn't know how to handle it with the insanity of their pasts. What man would want to marry a woman who had worked in a brothel and whose family had so many dark secrets?

Zander was the one who seemed to be handling everything so well. He loved Dusty, they had married and were happy, but it seemed she wasn't the only one who had fears.

"Have you talked to her about this?" she laid a gentling hand on his arm and watched as he shook his head. "You should, Zander, she won't think less of you for this worry. She probably believes that you don't want a child with her because she used to work at Le Desirez."

"That's ridiculous," he almost shouted. "I love her! Any man would be blessed to find a woman like Dusty." He turned his head slightly but not before she had seen the moonlight hit the tears that swam in his eyes. "I just know that bastard that raised us was no better than he had to be, Sam. The women and the booze, how he always yelled at mother, how he always hit me." He turned back with a flash of fury in his eyes, "And don't think I didn't see the way he was starting to look at you," he growled, "Beneath that refined surface that Isaac McCall was so proud of was a monster."

"So how could you possibly think that you're anything like him, Zander?" She gripped his arms tightly, never realizing that these demons rode him.

Never did she think that Zander saw the disgusting looks their father gave her when he thought no one was looking. She had prayed that it was the drink and losing the family fortune that had driven him just as insane as their mother because otherwise the thought was just too horrific to contemplate.

"That's in our blood Sam," he lowered his head, "How do I pass that along to a child? What if," he started but she covered his mouth.

"Don't you ever say that," sorrow choked her, making her voice raspy soft, "Ever. You are nothing like that man. Or our mother. They were weak, and pitiful. You're the best man that I know."

"I let you work in a brothel. I let the woman I love take other men to her bed so that we could make enough money to run." He chuckled bitterly, "Some kind of man I am, sister. She deserves better."

"Better than the man who loved me in spite of working in Le Desirez?"

The soft clip of boots against wooden planks signaled that they weren't alone. From the shadows, Dusty emerged, her face pale and damp from tears. The soft emerald muslin gown she wore on stage tonight to perform swished lightly as she walked closer to stop in front of Zander, a protective hand over the child they had created together.

"Dusty," he started, his eyes wide, the love naked on his face.

"You didn't force a fourteen year old girl to work in a brothel to pay off your debts Alexander, my father did that," she interrupted him. "All you've ever shown me was respect," a fresh wash of tears glittered in her eyes, "All both of you have done was make me feel as if I was worthy of being more than some whore forced to lay with men to pay my way."

"Don't," Zander gritted.

"Don't what, Alexander? Don't tell the truth? Samantha has been my best friend, despite knowing everything about me. What would a gently bred woman know about the life of a whore? But she didn't treat me like that, she was my friend."

"Of course I was," Sam crossed to her and placed an arm around her, "You're my best friend, my sister, Dusty."

"I know," she gave a trembling smile, "And you Alexander. You who loved me despite my past. You who looked beyond what Madam made and saw me." She took a step forward and placed a hand on his face, "You who waited until we were married before taking me to your bed. Who made love to me for the first time with such tenderness? You who has always treated me like I'm something special."

"You are special," he frowned as a tear spilled over onto his cheek.

"I know," she chuckled lightly through her own tears, "Because you helped me to realize that I was. How could I not love you? How could I not want such a wonderful man to be the father of my child?"

"I just don't want to let you down," he whispered shakily.

"Never," Dusty shook her head, and drew him into her arms, "Never."

Sam watched Zander wrap his arms around Dusty tight, as he squeezed his eyes shut, ran a hand up to her hair. When he pulled back, he pressed a kiss to her mouth, making Dusty giggle like the young girl who had been lost. "Well, now that we've talked some sense into my brother here," Sam laughed as she wiped her own tears away, "I'd say that a new baby is cause for celebration."

Zander set Dusty back down on the porch, and an awed smile touched his lips. She took his hand and placed it over her stomach and they looked at each other and smiled again. "I'd say that it does," Zander murmured.

Sam pressed a kiss to Dusty's cheek, and whispered, "Thank you." The look of understanding passed between them as they walked back inside.

Now look at her brother, a wonderful father, a devoted husband, and downright domestic, she smiled to herself. Was it any wonder she wanted that for herself? It was certainly the reason why she had allowed things to go on so long with Lucky.

Perhaps things would work with them, if she didn't have the feeling that Lucky wouldn't be able to accept her past if he knew the truth. No she hadn't been forced to have sex with the men that visited le Desirez, but would he understand that? Would he understand her fears about being like her mother?

Lucky had so many hang-ups about his own father, of being the perfect son, the perfect Marshall, that how could he tolerate anything less in the woman he wanted to marry. The unavoidable truth was she didn't trust Lucky enough to tell him about her past. So if that trust wasn't there, how could she in good faith marry him?

And if she didn't trust him, then she certainly couldn't love him, because those two things went hand in hand.

So it was better to continue to tell him no. No matter how much she longed for a family of her own. Because it wouldn't be fair to Lucky or to herself to try to make a life with a man under false pretenses. She chanced another look at her Zander and Kristina, and placed a hand over her own flat stomach wistfully, but how she wanted a child of her own. A man to love her.

Releasing a deep breath, she pushed the longing aside, she had a restaurant to run. She would settle for the knowledge that she could fend for herself for the time being. Never would she have to do anything she hated to survive. Never again. The hotel and restaurant were her reassurances in this bleak world that wasn't kind to women on their own.

"The morning coach just came in," Dusty spoke up at her shoulder, and they turned to the window to watch passengers depart and step into the lobby of the Sundown, "I can cover for you if you want to make sure Georgie is working out."

Georgie Jones had arrived in Redemption three weeks ago, stepping off the stage with all of her wide eyed innocence and both she and Dusty had known she was running from something. All that Easterner refinery, and those quiet manners, meant she came from money and would have no defenses out here. Sam had been reminded of her life, the gilded cage she had lived in back in New Orleans before their family went to ruin and taken pity on the young woman.

Georgie had been grateful, for both the room and board as well as the job working to sign in customers for the hotel. "She'll be fine, now that she's worked through those nerves," Sam sighed, "But I'll go take a peak, so she won't feel overwhelmed. The morning coaches are always the busiest. Give my niece a kiss for me."

Sam walked through the swinging doors that connected the restaurant and the hotel, and made her way over to the front desk. A frown of concern touched her brows, as she could hear the loud voices of complaint increasing as she grew closer. Georgie had a look of fear and exasperation and when she caught Sam's eyes, utter gratitude.

That's when Sam saw her, the blonde, elegant in a dove grey traveling suit with a neat little hat perched on her head. She screamed wealth with all the luggage and attitude to match. A shorter woman dressed neatly in a dark blue suit stood at her side, looking nervous. Judging from her expression and the way she cowered at the woman's rising voice, Sam would guess that she was accustomed to the woman's behavior.

Well not in her hotel. Sam barely refrained from groaning and turning away. It never failed, a woman with more money than sense stepped off the coach, making demands and expecting everyone to bow to them.

"Good morning and welcome to Redemption," Sam placed a bright smile on her face as she stepped behind the desk, "Is there something I can help you with."

"Yes," the blonde answered sharply, "I was just telling this woman here, that I require a room that connected with my companion's."

And there were no such rooms in her hotel, Sam immediately thought, "Well, unfortunately, we can't supply you with that. However, we can offer you rooms next door to each other, Mrs.," she offered.

"It's Ms. Matthews, Ms. Courtney Matthews, from Boston," she supplied as if that meant something. "I'm here visiting family and no that will not be acceptable." She frowned in disgust, "Is there some other establishment perhaps," she glanced around.

"No," Sam shot back in a much less tolerant voice, "There isn't." And lucky her, she had to deal with Ms. Matthews of Boston who was looking down on her hotel as if the floors were dirty and the stench of manure filled the air. She had nothing but pity for who ever called this woman family. "Now, Georgie," Sam turned to the harried woman, "I'll just help Ms. Matthews here, why don't you tend to the other customers who have been waiting so patiently."

The gentle but quite obvious snub toward the blonde, high and mighty, temperamental, Ms Matthews made several of the waiting customers smile.

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His son.

The words had been echoing in his head all during the breakfast that he no longer had the taste for. He settled for nursing the cup of coffee that his mother kept refilling as he tried to wrap his brain around the knowledge that he had a son that he had known nothing about.

His son.

The boy, Wyatt, had shaken his hand like a polite stranger and said his hello's before going back to the table to sit next to Luke and pick over his own breakfast. Stunned he could only stare at his mother, who had a look of sympathy and frustration in her eyes. All kinds of questions assaulted him, because the possibility of a son was just too farfetched to comprehend.

It wasn't a lie, because all he had to do was look at the boy and know that Wyatt came from him.

The number one question however was who the hell was his mother?

"Wyatt," Luke took mercy on them all, ending the uncomfortable silence, "Why don't you go on out to the barn and tell Harley that I'll be out to talk about selling those steers to the McHenry's in a few minutes."

Wyatt rolled his eyes, obviously understanding that he was being sent out of the kitchen so they could discuss him, but he just dropped his fork allowing it to clatter noisily to his plate and pushed back from the table. "Yes, sir," he mumbled, picking up his plate and reaching over to press a kiss to his grandmother's cheek. He cut one final look in his direction, and while Jason could see the anger, there was something else that the boy probably didn't want to admit to.

Longing.

They waited until he walked out of the back door allowing the screen to slam behind him. The boy had his attitude, that much was certain.

Jason set his cup down and folded his hands neatly, the movement unnerving his parents in its stillness. Inside he wanted to rage, rage at all he had so stupidly lost, the years he had lost with a son who probably wanted nothing to do with him.

Outwardly he showed nothing.

"So, I guess it's true then," Luke began, disappointment clear in his voice, "You are just as cold and unfeeling as the rumors say you are."

"Luke," his mother whispered.

"Look at him, Maggie May," he gestured with a disgusted hand, "Sitting there as if we had just said, look at the new dog we bought, instead of just introducing him to the son he couldn't be bothered with."

He wanted to claim it wasn't true, that he had known nothing about Wyatt, but it was his fault. He had made no attempt to come home over these past ten years, why should either of them accept anything he said as truth. Why should Wyatt not hate the man who had fathered him but played no role in his life?

"Who is his mother?"

Luke frowned at the question, so did his mother, as they looked at him as if he had sprung another head. "You don't even remember the woman you made a child with? Picked that up from your father did you?" Luke muttered bitterly, and his mother's face drained of color.

"Don't ever speak of that bastard again," his voice was so soft, so deadly that it made his mother gasp and Luke blink as if he were a stranger. "Don't ever compare me to that bastard again."

"Jason," Maggie May murmured but Luke cut him off.

"Or what," he questioned, "You'll shoot me, like you did all the other people you've killed over the years. You don't scare me boy," his curt voice lashed out, "Better men than you have tried. I'm certainly not going to cower over some boy whose hide I tanned when he was being disobedient."

Anger poured off Luke in waves, as he pushed himself to a standing position his hand planted on the wooden table, "You tell me how I'm wrong, Jason. You sit there and tell me that you don't even know who the mother of your son is. You sit there after ten years of abandoning that boy and tell me how you're different."

And he couldn't. No amount of anger could change the fact that he had done the exact same thing to his own son that his father had done to him. Worse, considering he didn't even remember making the boy, or the woman whose bed he had shared.

"Her name was Cassandra. Cassie Matthews," Maggie May supplied but the name meant absolutely nothing to him.

"Was?"

"She died in childbirth, Jason," his mother answered. She inclined her head, wrinkling her nose slightly, "You still don't remember?"

"Bastard," Luke growled and Jason closed his eyes to hold on to his temper.

"How old is he?" he managed through gritted teeth.

"He'll be ten in the spring," Maggie May sighed heavily and picked up her cup of coffee to take a sip. Damn it. Ten years. Ten damned years. Which meant that he had slept with this woman sometime after Robin.

After they buried Robin, he had spent weeks drunk, raging at the loss of the gentlest woman he'd ever known. Wallowing in his failure to protect the woman he loved. At some point during that drunken desolation he had crawled into this Cassie Matthew's bed and made a child.

Misery boiled, crawled down his spine to take up residence along side the guilt that festered there for the past decade. "When Cassie realized she was pregnant she came to the ranch to tell you, but you'd already gone. We let her stay with us, because we thought you'd come back at some point."

Only he hadn't. Finally the rage had set in, and the determination to find the men who had killed Robin. It had taken him two years to track down them down. Two years of doing things that would have shamed the woman who sat across from him, but in the end he had found them holed up in Louisiana in some brothel called Le Desirez.

He hadn't called the law, not willing to trust that they would somehow escape before they could face punishment. Instead he had killed them both, then dragged them in, ready and accepting the punishment he faced for taking the law into his own hands.

Imagine his surprise when he had been handed the five hundred dollar reward for their capture.

It seemed that the two Cajun boys, Tom and Hank Snyder, had a bounty on their heads for committing over twenty bank robberies throughout Texas, Wyoming, Colorado and Kansas.

And that had formed the man he was today. The local Marshall had led him to the nearest saloon, bought him a shot of whiskey and pointed him in the direction of the next bounty. With nothing left, and unable to go home after the things he had done, Jason had left for Missouri the next morning.

Now he was faced with the consequences of his selfish actions in the son he could have watched grow up. Been the father that his own hadn't been for him.

"Still not ringing any bells," Luke said in the same cool tone. "I'm ashamed of you Jason."

Exhaling a deep breath, Jason pushed back from his chair to stand, "I guess that's supposed to mean something to me," he answered with staid calmness and began to walk away. His mother grabbed his hand, and everything in him wanted to jerk back from that touch, but never would he hurt her that way.

"Does Wyatt mean something to you?" she whispered in a tear smothered voice.

Carefully he pulled free, as gently as possible, when he spoke there was a bitter edge of cynicism in his voice, "Just that I've managed to fail one more person."

"You didn't fail Robin," the love strong in her voice, made his heart ache. "You didn't shoot Robin."

"I didn't do anything to stop it either."

"Lord save us," Luke ground the words out, "How long are you going to carry that around? Robin went to the bank that day to get the money that you promised for her wedding dress. She was happy, proud that the two of you were going to be married and you dishonor her memory by dragging that guilt along."

"I was too busy," the words seemed worn, thin and hallow, useless when faced with what had happened. "I was too busy for her, because I wanted to tend to my damned horses." A sharp bitter laugh barked harsh and cruel. "I told her I would take the money out later on that afternoon because I didn't want to leave the foal alone because he had colic."

"And she went instead," Luke's voice softened, considerably. Painfully reminding him how much Luke had loved Robin like she was another daughter.

"If I had looked beyond what I wanted, she would still be alive," he managed no more than the harsh whisper as the memory of rushing into the bank filled his head. Seeing Robin laying on the floor surrounded by everyone and the deathlike silence as he wrapped her in his arms after her eyes had fluttered shut.

"Being concerned about the foal didn't mean that you didn't love Robin," Maggie May, placed her hands on his shoulders, "No one blamed you for what happened, Jason."

He blamed himself, and that was enough, because he knew that his mother was wrong. If he had loved Robin enough, she wouldn't be dead. If he hadn't been such a bastard, he wouldn't have a son that he didn't know.

If he was a better man, he wouldn't be a killer more comfortable with death than the living.