13

Friends

Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Doc, Festus, Newly, Matt, Kitty, and Sam are not my creations but the lovely and spirited Kate is.

Spoilers: Alias Festus Haggen, Dry Well, Old Fool, The Returning, The Choice, Patricia

Doc considered this beat up survivor of a table to be his. It never moved from the street side corner of the Long Branch; never got turned into a pile of splinters during the brawls that erupted occasionally on Saturday night; was always the meeting place for morning coffee or evening drinks that came freely and often; and where conversations flourished among the individuals he deemed his closest friends. The interchanges could be good or bad, happy or sad, one-sided or group, opinionated or not, but the lot of them began and ended at this very table.

Talk wasn't the only thing he remembered sitting at this table. Deep stains stood out from the lighter green of the felt tabletop. Some were the perfectly round of an overfull coffee cup without benefit of a saucer; a fan shaped wash of a spilled drink; the dark stains of someone's blood, dried, and now the color of faded orange; and those greasy inconsistent dots, some large, some mere pin pricks, that made him smile every time he saw them. Festus and his birthday cake.

He was a keen watcher of people and this table allowed him to observe what went on on the main floor of the saloon. He could see the men who elbowed the bar, watch the girls who earned their living getting these men to buy them drinks. He didn't miss the gals who earned extra money by taking the men up the steps, nor how long the couples lingered behind those doors off the balcony.

Kitty always went up those stairs alone.

He regretted being born too soon. If he were twenty years younger he'd make sure Kitty was never alone.

The aroma of fresh coffee and the sharp tang of rye whiskey, ghostly reminders, brought back the number of times he proposed marriage to the bright-eyed red head. He may have passed them off as a jest but Kitty was sharper then that, no dullard. He wondered if, deep down, she knew he was dead serious and the banter between them her way of letting him off with out embarrassment.

There was one exception and he still had dreams about it. He vividly recalled his heart literally stopping the day she proposed to him, offered to support him because he had no money. But worst of all, he turned her down. And with the same face saving banter.

An old man and a vibrant younger woman. Now that would be something for people to talk about.

And speculate.

But reality was one thing that age brought sharply into focus. He could never satisfy that woman. That was, he admitted with a great deal of sorrow, totally within the realm of the U.S. Marshal, Matt Dillon. And that man, he puckered at the sour thought, abused the woman with his lack of attention to her needs and the exultation of his own demands.

And yes, he informed the man about it.

Frequently.

Words didn't have much of an impact on Matt as long as Kitty was there for him. She was.

Always.

But in spite of the way he felt about Kitty and Matt, he was friend to both of them, respected them while not agreeing with some of their actions.

He proved that a couple hours ago when he had words with a very confused Matt Dillon. The man, so decisive when it came to law and order, was at a total loss as to how to proceed in his newfound situation with Kitty and the daughter he never knew he had until this morning.

Kitty. She got Matt good. Doc gave her credit for that. He always knew she was savvy but even he'd never expected anything like this. For once in her long-term relationship with Matt, the woman outfoxed him, gave his well-ordered world a severe blow.

That Kitty.

He convinced the towering man to make a trip up those stairs, the very public stairs for all to see, not those back stairs that cheapened their relationship in his mind. The man needed to talk to Kitty and begin a relationship with Kate.

Matt needed a push.

Push. What Doc really wanted to do was kick the man in the seat of his pants and ask what was taking him so long to make the move.

But, as always, friendship, respect, and decorum won out.

Did he feel sorry for Matt? Not at all. For the first time in his liaison with Kitty Russell he got a taste of the depth of commitment she had for him and better yet, the length she'd go through just to be with him.

Kitty and Kate. Apart for seventeen years. He knew and saw how much the woman fussed over children, knew she wanted a dozen Dillons hanging on to her skirts. Those years spent apart from Kate had to be terrible. Pure hell.

He wished for one thing, that Matt Dillon would learn something from this and not take that beautiful, spirited woman for granted anymore.

If he were only twenty years younger.

He took a congratulatory swig of his flat beer and felt smug. The saloon was full, he was observing, remembering, and better yet, Matt was upstairs with Kitty and Kate. Conversing. Healthy conversation was always a good thing.

The idea of a family was exciting. He thought of Matt as the son he never had, and Kitty…well, in those sane moments, she was the daughter he never had. He was plumb tickled when the two hit it off so many years ago. Those two kids couldn't contain the sparks that flashed between them. They'd matured into a discreet couple over the years. And now he was a grandfather. That still brought a few drops of moisture to his eyes that he couldn't blame on the dust and dirt of Dodge City.

That Kate. The spitting image of her mother. He looked forward to getting to know that young woman who also demonstrated a knack for originality.

A young woman dressed as a man and getting away with it, but even better, being the daughter of Matt and Kitty, the two people he loved more than anything else in the world.

He shook his old gray head and awaited more lively moments at this old table with Kate.

He'd have more memories.

The jingle of spurs and the scuffing of boot heels broke his pleasant train of thought.

"Ev'nin, Doc." Festus settled himself in a wooden chair with worn, varnish free arms and a few glued together pieces. He eyed Doc's half full beer.

"Not enough crime on the streets for you, gotta sit in a saloon?" Intentionally gruff, Doc didn't like being pulled from his genial cogitation.

Festus got up sharply and upset the chair. It rocked precariously on two back legs before settling down on all fours again. "Mangy old scutter," Festus pointed a grimy finger at the indignant old man, "must o been takin some o them thar ornery pills again." He took off his sweat stained hat and beat it against his knee. Dust flew.

"Festus!"

"And fer yer information, yes," Festus one-eyed the Doc, "the streets is quiet. They's also dusty. I was jist a hopin ta ketch up with Matthew, is all."

"He's busy." Doc drew his hand quickly over his bushy mustache and looked away from Festus.

"And how would chu know?" Still standing, Festus leaned over Doc and snarled, "less en ya chased him outa here like yer a doin me."

Galen pulled his fleshy earlobe as he took a moment to feign a thought. "Cause I know and he doesn't want to be disturbed. Now why don't you take your dusty old hat and get out o here and let me drink in peace." Doc set his washed out blue eyes on the deputy and challenged, "Go save somebody!"

Festus pulled his lip up in a sneer. A second later the twinkle of an idea brightened his eyes. He beat his hat on the table raising more dust and took great pleasure in watching the good doctor use his two hands to cover his beer.

"Feeble minded old catawomp." Festus turned heel and stalked out of the saloon.

Three swallows later Newly O'Brian pulled up the same chair, gave a discreet nod to Sam, and sat down. A frothy beer arrived seconds later.

"You got Festus all upset." Newly winked.

"Ask me if I care," Doc swiped his hand over his mouth, catching the bristle that was his mustache and looked toward the opposite corner of the large room.

"I met a real pretty gal in Matt's office this morning." The deputy took a deep swig then wiped the foam from his clean-shaven upper lip. "Said her name was Kate DuPris."

The younger man seemed to be waiting on a response from Doc but when he didn't get one he moved on.

"Haven't seen her on the street. You seen her, Doc?"

Doc jerked a nod. "You spent enough time grieving for Patricia. Glad to see you're at least looking again."

"I'll never forget Patricia."

Doc watched Newly bend his head so low no one could see the welling of tears that filled his eyes.

"I know, son," gentleness returned to Doc's gravely voice, "and you shouldn't."

Grief. It was such a personal thing. He'd seen people give up at the death of a loved one; he'd seen people simply take it in stride and move on as if nothing much had happened; and others kept what ever they felt buried so deep within themselves he never knew how they took it.

Being a doctor didn't make him immune to death, didn't numb his own feelings. He allowed a time for quiet, for Newly and himself, to reflect on the memory of the lovely young woman and the ache they each felt even amidst this saloon full of oblivious merry makers.

"That gal, Kate," Doc said calmly, "she's staying upstairs in Kitty's spare room."

A deep furrow creased the spot between the young man's extremely thick and black eyebrows. "Didn't seem like a…a."

A saloon gal. A painted cat. A daughter of joy. A sporting woman. Galen silently finished the man's undisguised thought.

"She's not. Just needed a place to stay and Kitty offered."

There was another lull in the conversation while Newly investigated every bubble of the froth topping his beer.

"Those two," Newly started with a bit of hesitation, "Miss Kitty and Kate, I mean, look a lot like sisters, Doc."

"Well, I don't know about that," he lied.

"She's just beautiful, Kitty."

Kitty looked across the oval table, over the smattering of blue and white porcelain plates and serving dishes, to Matt Dillon.

"So you approve of your offspring, do you?"

Not one minute before, Kate pushed her chair back from the table and excused herself. Fatigue, the young woman claimed. But it wasn't difficult to see the twinkle of mischief directed toward her father as she left the two alone.

"She got the good looks from you, I'll say that." Matt pushed away from the table.

"Maybe." Kitty kept her husky voice quiet. "But you did have your part in it." She could feign a girlish shyness but it wasn't her way.

Matt took the fork in his right hand and made parallel four-tracks in the remnants of the potatoes and gravy on his plate.

More serious now, Kitty wondered what was going through Matt's mind. Whatever it was wouldn't be put into words until he worked out the what and the how. She knew from experience they would be worth the wait. And she was an extremely patient person.

Patient. An understatement.

"I can't," he studied the perfectly straight lines, "imagine what you went through."

Silence and patience were her friends now and she welcomed them with open arms.

Matt took his attention off the potatoes and gravy and looked across the table to Kitty. Those sun faded blue eyes weren't shining.

"That you felt you couldn't tell me."

This survivor of fist fights, showdowns, and death threats took on the manner of a weak old man bent with the agonizing weight of remorse.

It was her intimate silence that caused it. Eighteen years ago.

"All those years. Lost."

She hated to see him this way. Hated even more that it was her fault.

"It had to be, Matt."

She saw more questions, more hurt, but she needed to continue in spite of it.

"You didn't want a wife," she heard herself say, thankful that the words held no hint of an accusation. "You said it so many times. And I really didn't think you needed a child to worry about, whether we married or not."

He expelled the air pent up inside him; Kitty wished his guilt could leave as easily.

"I made you go through this alone."

Matt let loose of the fork, it dropped on the plate with the force of a gunshot. He lowered his head again, either unwilling or unable to look across the table.

"I can't believe I made you do this."

Kitty wanted to say it was all right, wanted to spare the man any more pain.

"There just was no other way, Matt. I made the choice to stay with you. But I could never put our child through the stigma of being the bastard child of a whore."

"Kitty!"

Matt did have some fight left in him. The force of that word was an assault that took her back.

"You're not a whore, don't ever say that."

Such a sweet man. But once a whore, always a whore. Whether he liked it or not the world judged differently; and the world could label a child for the sins of her mother.

"And Kate."

He put his hands on either side of his head and gasped.

She saw him, saw the suffering he was going through, wanted even more to make it better. But eighteen years couldn't be erased simply because she wanted it that way.

Instead of words, Kitty felt compelled to go to him, to hold his head between her soft hands, to bring his face up so she could look into those sorryish sky blue eyes.

His hands covered hers for an instant before he rested his head on her belly.

"I never understood just how much you gave up to stay with me."

She put her arms around him and held him.

"I don't know why you stay with me, woman."

"If you don't know that by now, cowboy, there's no hope for you at all."

"You said I didn't want a wife."

Timid words from a strong man.

"I wanted you more than anything else in the world."

She kept silent, kept holding him. Waiting.

"I didn't want you to be alone because some gunman got lucky, didn't want my children growing up knowing their father was killed by some worthless no-account."

And, he said often to her, he didn't want that reality to cloud his judgment, hold him back from what needed to be done. The mighty Matt Dillon couldn't have familial responsibility getting in the way of his line of duty. He was ready and fully expected, to die any time.

It wasn't any easier his way. She still watched and prayed while Doc dug the bullets out of his flesh; cringed each time she saw the slug violate his body. Worse yet, the unknown. Was he alive or dead, lying rotting in the sun, a feast for two and four legged scavengers. Those long periods of time away from him were pure hell.

More than once she mourned his passing, mentally wore the black of a grieving wife. But she was never that, a wife, in the legal sense of the word. But her heart made the commitment and that was as strong as any piece of paper. Even more of a bond. That was what really mattered.

"I'm so sorry."

"I wouldn't do it any other way, even now, Matt."

The words were true. She hoped he didn't take them to be cruel, to make him feel more ashamed.

"I know what's important to you."

She felt the warmth of a satisfied smile spread across her face at the memory of Kate's birth. "I had the child of the man I loved. I was happy."

The words were meant to ease the turmoil in his soul.

"But you left her with someone else."

Kitty couldn't hold back the painful groan that escaped her body.

"I never wanted to put you through any of this."

Matt put one of his big hands on her belly, gently massaged the nurturing place of his daughter so many years before.

"I know you didn't."

"You've given up so much for me." Matt stood and put his arms around Kitty's slender waist and his lips found the bare flesh under her chin.

"Are you making rounds tonight, cowboy?"

"Well," pulled her even closer to himself, "I just might follow the orders I got from my daughter instead."

Kitty molded her body to Matt's.

"And are you going to let me in on what those orders might be?"

"Nope. Gonna show you."

The saloon was packed, again. Kitty was making money, or so Kate thought as she peered over the balcony railing.

Doc and Newly were in the far corner, the only two at a table big enough for eight, nursing beers with their heads together in conversation.

The piano player had a cluster of old cowboys and perky beer maids singing along on Jimmy Crack Corn. Half were nowhere close to the correct melody but they sang all the louder to make up for it.

Three tables of poker, each chair filled, were going on with plenty of loud shouts, backslapping, and swearing. A few belches added tonal variety.

The room buzzed with a life of its own.

Kate's attention was drawn to the poker games. She wanted to join in, realized she hadn't run across her stash of money as yet; and then decided it was better if she didn't. She wasn't dressed for it nor did she want to draw attention to herself.

Halfway down the stairs she noticed Doc and Newly watching her with appreciative smiles and nods to come their way. Others were grinning at her but there was a hunger of something else behind those looks. They made her uncomfortable because they never took their eyes off her chest.

"Still don't want to wear shoes?" Newly challenged her for an answer.

"Nope."

"You look tired, Kate." Doc added.

"I am," she complied with a weak shrug, "but I wanted to check on Lilith."

"Lilith?!" Doc exploded with something resembling a cough and a sneeze.

"My horse," she answered calmly.

"Lilith?" Newly considered the word as he stroked his chin. "You named a horse after Adam's first wife?"

Kate had a wonderful new appreciation for the good-looking young man. He was educated as well as handsome. She sat down next to him and put her elbows on the table.

"And maybe," Newly parked his elbows on the table, the right one next to Kate's and leaned close as if telling a bit of juicy gossip, "that bit of information is better left unknown, Lilith being a man hater and a stealer of children."

"Mr. O'Brien."

Newly swizzled half his beer while Kate watched. "My friends call me Newly."

"Newly," Kate smiled sweetly, "would you walk me to the livery stable? It's late and…"

"It would be my pleasure, Miss Kate."

"Where's Matt and Kitty?" Doc asked as Kate moved past him.

She bent and whispered into Doc's hairy ear. "Upstairs. My Daddy is doing what I told him to do." She rubbed her nose to get rid of the itch. "Think it's gona be a long night."

Bushy salt and pepper eyebrows rose, and then came the wink.

She knew the doctor was pleased.

"Your horse, Miss Kate, sure gets a lot o looks." Hank held the pitchfork in hand, complete with a fragrant pile of fresh nuggets and straw lying on the tines.

"What do you mean?"

"Man wearin best bib and tucker came in here earlier this evening, took a shine to this here Lilith. Asked questions bout the owner."

Kate shivered in spite of the moist August heat.

"Course," Hank eyeballed her, "I don't feel right bout giving out that kind o information."

"What did he look like?" Kate asked, hardly waiting for the slender beanpole of a man to finish his sentence.

"Black hair, handle bar mustache, nice and waxed. Real dark eyes, hardly any whites to em. Not used to hard work, his hands was soft." Hank put a quart of oats and a pile of yellowed grass hay into Lilith's manger. "But it was the way he talked. Fancy like. As if I didn't have a brain in my head."

Two months of running and he'd caught up with her again.

"Kate," Newly touched her shoulder, "you look like you just saw a ghost."

Not a ghost. A devil. In a man's body.

"If you're in some kind of trouble…"

"No, no," she lied as she considered her options. Run. Face the situation. Run. Stay.

Only one seemed right. Stay and end it once and for all.

Her newfound parents would be so disappointed when they learned the truth.

A risk. Perhaps she could handle this on her own. They need never know.

That young gunfighter would just have to make another appearance. Slaughter didn't know anything about Sandy Catton, but Sandy sure knew an awful lot about Zach Slaughter.