Yesterday's Fire

Chapter 9

...

He was a grown man, he knew that, but he thought of him as a boy nonetheless. The occasional moan that slipped out whenever Honcho stumbled slightly on the rough terrain tore at him as if he were his own. Maybe it was that caution in his eyes when he'd brought Joe home, or how he held himself apart, kind of skittish, waiting to be dismissed as if he were in the way somehow. Josie had seen the longing in the depth of his blue eyes that day. She had told him the boy reminded her of the stray dog they'd adopted when they first got married, the one afraid whenever one of them reached out a hand to him. She had ranted for a while, as she was prone to do, about the way some people treated their children, sensing somehow that his childhood had been hard, but then she had always had a soft spot for lost boys. They weren't all that rare around these parts. Most of the young men working the ranches were running from something or someone or trying to find someplace to call their own. They had talked about what might have happened to this boy that had him so afraid to even use his real name. He had tentatively suggested that he might be an outlaw on the run, but Josie simply glared at him until he recanted his comment, reminding him that Joe was lying right in front of him, alive, because of the boy he was now carrying home.

"How far?" The girl asked, looking worriedly at the man he held against his chest.

"Won't be long when we reach that creek down below," he replied. "Why don't you ride on ahead and warn my wife, Josie."

He gave her the directions and she looked relieved to have a task to do, or maybe she just wanted to distance herself from the badly wounded man. He seemed to stir strong emotions in her, though she tried to hide it. His low groans and whimpers of pain when they'd got him on the horse had distressed her, as they had him, but she had quickly gotten ahold of herself when she saw him watching her. They weren't that different, these two, both protecting themselves as best they could from anyone trying to get too close. He'd found that out when he'd asked her one too many questions on the long ride home. He was pretty sure Josie was gonna like her.

"Sheila?" The softly rasping voice startled him. "Whatcha do with her?"

The boy began to struggle against him again and he tightened his arm around his chest. He held him until he ran out of strength, which didn't take long, his head dropping to his chest in defeat.

"You takin' me to Thurston?" He asked, his low tone sounding as if he was resigned to his fate and it saddened and angered him at the same time.

"No boy," he replied softly. "I'm George Atwood, remember? I'm takin' you to my ranch. Josie will get you feelin' better in no time."

"Your Joe's father," he finally said and slumped weakly in his arms. "The men who shot him worked for Thurston."

George found it hard to breathe at the confirmation of his belief. Thurston had to be an arrogant man if he thought he could get away with what he'd done. He'd make sure those marshals knew who was responsible, and then that evil son of the devil would get what was coming to him, not just for trying to kill his son, but for this battered young man he'd left for dead.

"We're almost there, son," he said.

"Don't call me that."

He felt the sudden ripple of tension through the young man's body and he knew there was a long story there. He kept silent after that, urging Honcho across the shallow ford and onto the slight trail that led home. His anger surged at the men who had hurt him so badly and he suddenly felt fiercely protective of the young man. As tough as he was, he was wounded more than just physically, he was deeply wounded in spirit, his soul almost as battered as his body. Maybe as they helped his body heal they might be able to give his soul a place to rest. Maybe if he didn't have to fight so hard to survive, he might find the good in himself. The ranch was just the place to do that. It had always been a haven for him, but then he had Josie by his side, and his thoughts turned once again to the young woman he now saw standing with his wife, and he smiled.

As soon as they lowered him to the ground, he hissed in pain, crying out when his feet touched the bare earth. George saw the concern in his wife's eyes, but it was the wide eyed anguish in MacKenzie's that made him struggle to lift the tall young man in his arms and carry him up the stairs to the porch and into the house. They had gotten Joe into his room the night before, so Josie had prepared the daybed next to the fireplace and he quickly laid him down as gently as he could.

"Sweet God!" Josie looked shaken, and he put his arm around her. "Did Thurston do this?"

"'fraid so," George said softly. "Boy never made it to the Muellers."

"That man should be horsewhipped," her considerable anger coloring her cheeks.

"Aren't you gonna help him?" MacKenzie asked abruptly.

"Of course, girl," Josie said with a kind smile, squeezing the young woman's arm as she held herself tightly. "I'll need your help though."

"I'm not good at this," she said, taking a step back.

"Well, get good at it. You look tough enough," Josie said sharply. "Now, do what I tell you and we'll try and ease some of this boy's suffering."

George smiled as Josie took charge as only she could, ordering the girl around and expecting to be obeyed. Although MacKenzie's eyes flashed ominously a few times, she did as she was told and when they had gathered all the things they needed, Josie cupped her cheek and smiled gently at her.

"Why don't you clean all that dirt off his face," she said kindly. "George? Get the whiskey. He's gonna need it when I see to his feet."

Josie sat down beside him on a low stool and lifted his hand and placed it in her lap, and began to gently clean the blood encrusted dirt from the raw skin encircling his wrist. Both his arms were scored with dirt filled scrapes, the remnants of his sleeves just ribbons, which she cut away before washing his arm. MacKenzie watched her carefully, biting her lip as her eyes brightened with a glaze of tears, blinking them back quickly when Josie looked up at her.

"Do you think he'll be all right?" She choked on the words as she clutched the wet cloth in her fist, catching herself as if embarrassed by her concern.

"We'll do our best, girl," Josie replied. "Now, be careful around his eye."

The girl hesitated and Josie reached out and pulled her down until she was kneeling by Deeks' head.

"Just take it slow," she said quietly. "Be as gentle as you can. We don't want to hurt him anymore than he already is."

The two women worked silently, the only sound an occasional whimper from Deeks when Josie moved him to stripped away his tattered shirt. George hadn't heard her swear much since he'd married her, but when she saw the mottled bruising and torn skin all over his chest and stomach, she used a couple of words he wasn't aware she even knew. George helped them get his pants off, and he struggled against their efforts until MacKenzie snapped at him. He opened his eyes briefly at that, looking confused until he saw her and then he smiled.

"Good dream," he murmured.

"Quit fighting us," she ordered. "We're trying to help you."

"Sheila?" He groaned and George saw MacKenzie draw away from him.

"No one here by that name," she said quietly as she solemnly returned to the task of washing the dirt from the deep scratches on his chest.

"Did they shoot her?" He was becoming agitated and pushed the girl's hand away, his one eye wild as he stared up at George.

"There was a woman with you?" Josie froze and looked quickly at her husband.

"Is Sheila your mare?" George asked softly as he squeezed Josie's shoulder, knowing what she had been thinking.

The boy nodded, his expression so needy and sad. "Did you find her?"

"She's outside, boy," George assured him. "I'll make sure she's tended to, so you just rest and let these lovely ladies take care of you."

"This one's not a lady," he whispered as he closed his eyes. "Not real. A dream maybe."

"How long was he out there?" Josie asked. "Sounds like the sun got to 'im."

"Four or five hours," George replied. "Think that head wound might have addled him some, too."

Deeks began to mumble as they did their best to clean his wounds, none of it making any sense to them. Josie worried that he was feverish and had the girl bring some cold water to try and cool him down. The two women were working in tandem now, determined and focused as they eased him onto his side to get to his back. George helped hold him steady as they made quick work of the dirt and sweat, his low groans tough to listen to when they washed over the dark bruises on his back. His whole body was quivering by the time they were finished and he could see the tension in the two women.

George left them to spend some time with Joe, telling him what had happened and holding him in the bed when he wanted to come out and see the boy. He knew how much his son missed his brother and wondered if the shared pain of surviving Thurston's hatefulness had caused him to feel some kind of bond with Deeks. The man had saved his life, so that made for a strong connection and he was certainly angry at what Thurston had done to both of them.

It felt right to have two boys in the house again. More balanced. But remembering that devastating day when Joe had brought Christopher's dead body home would haunt him all his days. The sadness still hung in the air, the loss never to be filled. He could see it in his son's eyes now as he sat with him. Josie's response when she'd looked at Deeks echoed what they both had been thinking; making him ashamed that they secretly longed for it to be Chris they were tending, and not this stranger. The boy was not their son or Joe's brother and it pained him to be reminded of that.

"Will he make it?" Joe asked.

"Your mother will see that he will," he answered softly. "You know that."

"He reminded me of Chris," Joe said. "He's a smart aleck like Chris was."

"He said you kept callin' him that," George replied.

"Shoulda been Chris," he whispered. "I miss him, Papa."

"I know," George said as he patted his arm. "Thurston will pay now."

"We can't prove it was him," Joe reminded him.

"Deeks told me Thurston's men shot you," he replied. "And his men raided the Muellers. Almost killed Coot. The marshals know that, and they'll see what the man is capable of when they see what he did to that boy."

"I woulda died out there just like Chris," Joe said quietly. "How do I repay him for saving me, Papa?"

"We're workin' on it, son," he said as he stood. "We owe him and he needs us now."

He might not be family, but that boy had saved them from another loss that would have devastated them both. He reached down and took Joe's hand, needing to feel the warmth of his skin, thankful once again that he was alive and home because a stranger had put himself in harm's way to save him. The boy wasn't blood kin, but he was forever beholden to him for the life of his son, and that made him as close to a blood tie as he needed.

A raw scream sent a chill through him and Joe's hand gripped his in response. The boy needed him and he strode from the room, his heart beating hard in his chest.

"He won't take the whiskey, George," Josie said from the end of the day bed. "I think we might just have to soak all that blood and muck off his feet."

George quickly filled a deep pan with water and brought it to his wife, noticing that the girl was now standing against the back wall, her arms wrapped tightly around herself and her mismatched eyes flashing angrily. She watched silently as they eased his leg over the side and gently lowered his foot into the basin of warm water. He shivered violently and cried out, panting heavily until he exhausted himself. The water was instantly muddied and it took three basins of water until Josie was satisfied with the result. They had to bend his knee to get his other foot in the basin and he screamed when they did. George took his hand and the boy gripped it hard as he rode out the pain, easing up only slightly until they were done.

"That welt behind his knee is almost black," Josie said, as she dried each foot, careful not to touch the seeping wounds, which had her swearing softly under her breath. "Good God, George. What kind of man does this to another human being?"

"Thurston's not human," Deeks whispered.

"I'm gonna have to stitch these cuts," she told him calmly. "And it's gonna hurt like holy hell. Take the whiskey, boy."

"No."

"You try George," Josie ordered. "He don't know what's good for 'im."

"Let me," MacKenzie said quietly, walking quickly up and taking the bottle from George's hand.

She sat down on the cot next to him and brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. He opened his good eye and stared at her and George saw the defiance, but the boy couldn't hold back a soft smile. She lifted his head and he didn't resist until she brought the bottle of whiskey to his lips.

"Not drinkin' that," he said, the smile still on his face.

"I can make you," she warned. "The shape you're in, it'll be easy."

"A lady wouldn't be this mean," he rasped out, his good eye closing.

"Don't try and be tougher than you are," she said.

"Don't think I can take it?" His nostrils flaring in sudden anger.

"No, I don't."

"You're wrong."

"I'm never wrong," she said as she lifted his head once more and tried to pour the fiery liquor into his mouth.

He jerked away from her and grabbed her wrist, his strength surprising them all.

"Just do what you have to do," he gritted out.

"Why are you being so stubborn?" The girl asked as she easily pulled herself free.

"Don't like what it does to a man," he replied softly.

"I could just knock you out," She offered. "It would serve you right for being such a baby."

Josie gripped George's arm at the comment and he was as stunned as she was, considering what the man had gone through. Deeks' response was a soft laugh that surprised him even more.

"You're the damnedest woman I ever met," he whispered.

"And you're a stubborn pain in the ass," she snapped back. "Now, drink this so Josie can stitch up your feet. You're bleeding all over her bed."

He nodded then and MacKenzie lifted his head and helped him drink a few good swallows before he turned his head away.

"Happy now?" He coughed out.

Josie gave him a bit of time as she gathered what she would need, and George thought he had slipped into sleep, but as soon as Josie sat at the end of the bed and lifted his foot into her lap, he became rigid, biting his lip, his face and chest glistening with sweat.

"Hold him still, George," Josie said softly. "I'm gonna pour some of the whiskey over these cuts."

His scream was heartrending, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he panted, grabbing onto MacKenzie's hand as George held him down.

"Now the other one, son," Josie said gently.

"I'm not your fuckin' son," he screamed out as the fiery liquid filled the open wounds.

"If you were, I'd wash your mouth out with soap, boy," she warned, and George could hear how shaken she was by his screams.

"Sorry, ma'am," he whispered, his head dropping back on the pillow as he passed out.

"You need a break, Josie?" George asked, taking a deep breath. "It ain't gonna get any easier."

"At least he's unconscious," she replied with a sigh, brushing the hair off her forehead with the back of her hand. "You okay MacKenzie?"

"Makes me want to shoot the man who did this," her voice was cold and low and made George take a long look at her.

"Before you do that, come hold his leg still," Josie said calmly. "Might as well see how many cuts I can sew up before he wakes up."

He remained unconscious for most of her work, but awoke with a shout just as Josie started on the last wound, taking a swing at George as he cursed. He grabbed the boy's wrists and pressed his arms down to his chest and held him as his icy blue eye locked with his, bravely gritting his teeth until she was finished. George let him go and MacKenzie turned away and walked into the kitchen. Deeks watched Josie as she gently bandaged each foot, sudden tears welling in his eyes when she patted his ankle and stood up to look him over.

"You get some sleep now," she said softly as she pulled a blanket over him, tucking it in around him, his eyes never leaving her face.

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered.

"Call me Josie," she replied, feeling his forehead for fever.

"I'm Marty," he murmured. "Thanks for your kindness, ma'am."

His last words could barely be heard, but George could see they had touched his wife. She lingered over him, one hand clutched to her mouth as she wiped at the tears she could no longer hold back. He went to her and wrapped his arm around her and tugged her away. He knew she was emotionally exhausted, but was fighting it, just as the girl was fighting her feelings. Now that he was here and safe, George felt a deep weariness, saddened by the events of the day, and angered by the knowledge that it could have all turned out so differently if the battered boy laying by his fireplace had not intervened. He was a strong man. A good man. And he hoped he would come to realize that after today.

...

George woke to the eerie sound of coyotes and reached for Josie, but felt only cool bedding where she'd slept. He wasn't really surprised. She was a light sleeper normally, but with another injured man in the house, he knew exactly where he would find her. She had managed to get food on the table last night in spite of her weariness and had argued briefly with the girl when she tried to leave. He was the one she had finally listened to, agreeing that trying to make her way back to town in the dark would be too dangerous for her horse.

They had all taken turns sitting with Deeks as his fever rose and he knew his wife was there now, tending to the young man she was determined to make well. She'd always had a thing for strays, once even raising a coyote pup she'd found hurt and abandoned behind the barn. She eventually had the little thing following her all over the house, and he wouldn't be surprised if the same thing happened when the wounded man got back on his feet. He'd seen that look in his eye when she'd gently wiped the sweat from his face. It held such deep longing; an empty sadness there that let him know that he was bereft of a family that would care for him. He knew the look of loss and it was plain on the boy's face, and it made him wonder just how long he'd had been on his own.

It wasn't that long till daylight, so he dressed and stepped out into the front room, taking a moment to look in on Joe, who was snoring loudly, making him smile. Then the fevered murmuring of the boy made him turn, and he sighed with contentment when he saw his wife bathed in the muted glow of the small fire she'd stoked to life. She wrung a cloth out into the basin of water at her feet, then tenderly pressed it to the young man's forehead and then to his cheek and throat as he tossed unknowing in the soft light.

"Didn't notice the rope burn around his neck until just now," she said.

"He's a strong man to survive all that Thurston musta done to 'im," he replied as he placed a chair by the boy's head and sat down to watch her. "He's gonna be alright, Josie."

"Will Thurston really he held to account for this and the Muellers and for Joe?" She asked. "He has powerful friends."

"Even they can't go along with this kind of brutality," he reasoned.

"You always see the best in people," she said, shaking her head. "You really think those greedy men will care a kettle of beans about what Thurston did to this boy? Well, they won't."

"They can't overlook his attempt to kill the Muellers," he said earnestly. "They're landowners and U.S. Marshals were there. They have a witness."

"A hired gun," she spit out angrily. "Not someone the territorial governor would give the time of day, and neither will those overstuffed, greedy friends of his in the Stock Growers Association."

"Your big brother fill your head with all that political stuff from Cheyenne when he was here?"

"Don't treat me like I don't have a mind of my own, George Atwood," she said pointedly.

"Yes ma'am," he laughed softly at her vehemence. "It's why I married you."

"You married me because I told you to," she replied, smiling a little.

"And because you're beautiful," he said, reaching out to take her hand. "And because I wasn't that dumb of a cowboy."

"Well you're dumb if you think this boy and ours will get any justice," she said solemnly.

They sat quietly together after that, listening to the tortured ramblings of the feverish young man, bathing his face and chest in cool water to soothe him. Josie had wrapped a bandage around his head to cover his swollen eye and it was now soaked in sweat, his dirty hair leaving a mark on the pillow as he fought the demons in his dreams. Chris had been prone to nightmares as a child and George felt that same need to ease this boy's fear as he had his son's.

"Leave her be," Deeks suddenly cried out with the first words they could understand.

Josie took one of his hands in both of hers and softly shushed him and began to hum a lullaby she used to sing to the boys when they were little. It had always touched him, that haunting sound floating in the darkness that would send two little boys back to the safety of sweet dreams. He thought there must be some magic in its lilting melody, because Deeks slowly became calm, turning his face toward the sound and sighing in his sleep.

"I won't let 'im hurt you again, Mama," he whispered. "I promise..."

Josie gripped his arm when they heard that, and they searched each other's faces, knowing this boy had been troubled most of his life and George felt the same heartache he saw in Josie's eyes. She laid her hand against the boy's cheek and he leaned into her touch and George held his breath as he caught the reflected firelight in her sudden shimmering tears.

"You sleep now, Marty," she said softly. "You're safe."

"Okay Mama," he said and a small smile softened his battered features as his body settled.

Josie got up and turned away, and walked slowly over to the window, placing the palm of her hand against it as she stared outside. George followed her, resting his big hands on her shoulders to let her know he understood.

"I should be angry, but I'm just sad for him," she whispered. "He needs us, George."

He heard the determination in those last few words, and he knew she had made up her mind to keep the young man here as long as she could. She might not be his mama, but she had surely adopted him as her own and George wouldn't argue with her about that.

...

She listened to the Atwoods talking from her makeshift bed on the too small sofa, keeping still for fear they would realize she was awake. Gentry had woken her early with his murmurings, but she had resisted her impulse to comfort him, trying to keep her distance from the turbulent emotions that had assailed her ever since she'd seen that raider wearing his buckskin jacket. She had thought him dead in that stunning moment and raw rage had erupted in the pit of her stomach, surprising her. She'd only met him once and he had been aggravating as hell, a cocksure man that had somehow held her attention. She was angry that he did. She was angry that she was attracted to him, wanting to ignore those uncomfortable feelings. That had ended when she thought they'd killed him. Then her anger turned towards them.

Tracking his ordeal over miles of rugged terrain had brought out deep emotions she wasn't sure she even understood. She never expected to find him alive. She had tried to prepare herself for a grisly discovery and she was pretty sure George Atwood had tried to do the same. When she saw him standing on the edge of that gully, she had felt relief, but also pure joy that he was alive and it had scared her badly. Why would she feel that? Why did she rush to his side when she saw him collapse? Why did she suddenly care for a stranger she'd just met? It was confusing then and confounding now that she had touched his bare skin and fought back bewildering tears at the pain he was suffering.

As savagely scarred as his body was, his half nakedness had stirred a deep need in her and she was embarrassed by the impure thoughts she'd had as she cleaned his wounds. She'd felt a surge of want she had rarely experienced, and had felt her cheeks redden, which she desperately tried to hide it from the Atwoods. Her fingers had trembled when she'd run them over the bare skin of his chest and stomach, his muscles rippling beneath the thin cloth as she washed away the bloody grime. She couldn't help but admire his slender body, even in this state. She had to admit he was a handsome man, and strong to have survived and she found she admired him for that strength. He was still annoyingly stubborn, even while badly wounded and she wondered what he would be like when he was well again. She liked his smile, and was sorry she could only see one blue eye.

"Stop it," she whispered to herself, feeling a disturbing heat deep in her belly.

"You awake, MacKenzie?" Josie asked from behind her. "George is seeing to the stock. The coffee will be ready in a minute."

"Thank you, ma'am," she said as she sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"I have a brush you can use for your hair if you like," the woman said kindly. "And you're welcome to clean up in my room. I put out some fresh linen for you and I can heat up some water for you to wash with."

"I appreciate that, ma'am," she said shyly.

"I think you better start callin' me Josie after last night," she said. "Check on him if you like."

"He tossed and turned a lot," she said as she stood, straightening her clothes as she walked over to warm herself by the fire. "Still feverish."

"No surprise there," Josie commented, and MacKenzie could hear the anger in her voice.

She brought her a cup of coffee and took another into the bedroom and she could hear her talking to someone, so she followed, trying to distract herself from Gentry.

"When were you gonna tell me about her, Ma?" Joe asked, his smile brilliant in the dim light.

"Didn't have time," Josie laughed. "This is my son Joe, MacKenzie. She helped your father find Deeks."

"Really?"

"You think cause I'm a woman I can't track?" She suddenly bristled.

"Steady little lady..."

"I'm not a little lady, I'm a bounty hunter," she snapped. "You're almost as annoying as Gentry was the first time I met him."

"You're worried about him too," he replied, and she could hear the caring in his voice. "How is he? Those screams last night nearly did me in."

"Thurston took a knife to the bottom of his feet," Josie said softly, taking her son's hand in hers.

"That son of a bitch," he said slowly, and then looked strangely at MacKenzie. "You saw him out there. What did that bastard do to him?"

"Dragged him behind a horse and then tied his hands behind his back and left him for dead," she said, gasping at the starkness of her own words.

"Your father said he walked a fair distance after they left him," Josie said sadly. "Don't know how he did that with his feet all cut up."

"I'm gonna kill that bastard," Joe said plainly. "We know he killed Chris and tried to have me killed. Now he does this to the man I owe my life to. I have to kill him, Ma."

"Wait till you get well, son," Josie said gently as she checked the wound in his shoulder. "Your father's gonna talk to the marshals to see what the law might do."

"Men like him own the lawmen," he said bitterly.

"Not these marshals," MacKenzie said.

"You know 'em?" Joe asked.

"Rode with 'em for a few weeks," she replied. "They're good honest men. They'll be coming by here sometime today to see if we found Gentry alive. They'll want to hear what he knows about Thurston."

"I owe you for findin' him," Joe said. "Gives me a chance to repay him. Surprised the hell outa me when he started shootin' those rustlers off their horses. Thought he was another rustler till he came back to help me. Talked to his horse most of the way home. Was kinda annoying."

She warmed to him as he smiled at her, but she could see he was tiring fast and turned to go check on Gentry.

"His real name's Deeks," he called to her.

"I know," she said.

"He talked to his horse about you," he told her, making her turn to see if he was joking. "I think he likes you."

"Why? Because he discusses me with his horse?"

"Horse didn't say much," he answered. "But Deeks thinks your real pretty."

"He said that?"

"To his horse, so he's probably crazy," he replied. "Thought he might have been embellishing a bit till now."

His compliment caught her off guard and she blushed, feeling a little flustered by his comments about what Deeks had said. She didn't think he would lie to his own horse, and she smiled shyly, making Joe Atwood laugh.

"You like him too," he said.

"I didn't say that," she snapped, leaving as fast as she could, flustered once again.

She was halfway to the kitchen when she heard Gentry groan, and turned to see him trying to get up. He rolled onto his side and pushed himself up on his elbow, his arm wrapped protectively around his ribs. She got to him before he could swing his legs over the edge of the bed, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him back down.

"Where do you think you're going?" Scolding him as she sat down next to him.

"Need to feed Sheila," he whispered as he pulled at the bandage covering his eye.

"George is taking care of her," she said firmly, still holding onto his upper arm. "Now leave that bandage alone."

He looked up at her then, scrutinizing her as if he couldn't remember who she was. He was breathing heavily from his failed attempt to get up, and she felt a warm flush of excitement at their closeness. When he smiled at her, she quickly let go of his arm and scooted back a bit.

"You're the 'lady' who likes sweets," he said. "Those caramels were good, yeah?"

"Yes they were," she said, offering a brief smile of agreement.

"You have a funny name," he said, frowning as if trying to remember again.

"MacKenzie," she said softly, suddenly frightened his mind might have been affected.

"Don't sound like a girl's name," he smiled with a teasing look on his face.

"It was my mother's maiden name," she said, fighting her sudden annoyance.

"Too long," he said, his voice growing weaker. "Not sweet enough."

"I'm more tough than sweet," she pronounced proudly.

"Kenzie sounds better," he mumbled. "Easier to say."

"That's not my name," she said, getting exasperated with him. "My God...you are one irritating cowboy."

"Don't even like cows," he whispered. "'cept to eat. Hungry..."

"When'd you last eat?"

"Breakfast the day I met you," he said, blinking slowly as he looked at her.

"That was two days ago," wondering how he'd had the energy to fight Thurston.

"Can you fix me somethin'?" He asked, as his tongue darted out to wet his cracked lips, making her take in a quick breath.

"I don't cook," she stated, gladly looking away. "I'll ask Josie."

"How about water?" He asked with that cocky grin. "I'm thirsty too."

"You're a lot of trouble is what you are," she said, trying to make a joke.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to be a burden," he said in a low voice and turned his face to the wall.

She reached out and laid her hand on his shoulder, stunned at his reaction. She ran her hand lightly down his arm, skipping over the raw rope burns on his wrist, until she took his hand in hers, and gripped it solidly, tugging on it until he looked at her.

"You're not a burden," she said earnestly. "I'm just glad we found you alive."

"I thought I was dreamin' when I saw you out there," he croaked out, his emotions getting the better of him. "Thought you'd come to shoot me. Put me out of my misery."

"You really thought that?"

"You gave me no reason not to after the last time we met," he said quietly, his eye now a piercing blue and making her sorry for her hurtful words that day.

"I don't think I would have found you without her," George's voice seemed to cut between them and she let go of his hand. "You owe her some thanks, boy."

"I owe all of you," he whispered, his voice breaking at the end. "I don't think a simple thank you will be enough."

"Then you can buy me some more caramels," she said as she stood up.

"I'll do that, Kenzie," a slight smile gracing his weary face.

She was surprised by the warmth she felt when he called her by that name, her exasperation gone, replaced by a desire to comfort him. She moved to the side table and poured a cup of water from the pitcher, and George nodded to her as he walked into his son's room. Gentry's eye opened when she sat down beside him, and she could see the pain he'd been trying to hide. He reached up to take the cup from her, but his hand was trembling and the water spilled, and he hissed out a curse under his breath.

"Let me help you," she said quietly, noticing some embarrassment as he agreed.

She lifted his head, resting it in the crook of her arm and brought the cup to his lips. Once he tasted the water, he became almost desperate for it, cupping her hand with both of his, drawing in the cool water as if it were a lifeline. She felt the heat of his body as she held him, and it was all she could do to breathe normally. She tried to back away, but his hands held her close until he was finished. He looked up at her as they lowered the cup together, and her heart seemed to flutter, so she eased her arm free and stood, wanting to get away from him, yet not. She could see the fatigue on his face, and he watched her until he began to blink slowly and his breathing became even. She made sure he was asleep before she pulled the blanket up over his chest, her fingers ghosting lightly over his arm, allowing herself to wonder.

...

...