Chapter 13

Why was it the magazines in waiting rooms were always at least a year old? Buck tossed aside a dog-eared copy of Men's Health and wandered over to the nurses' station, where he gave the sweet young thing behind the counter his most charming smile.

"Well, hey there, Cyndi. You're lookin' mighty pretty today."

She glanced up from the paperwork she was studying. "Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wilmington?"

"Darlin', you're doin' somethin' for me just by brightenin' up the scenery." He leaned in close. "Bet you'd look even finer by candlelight. What would you say to a romantic dinner for two?"

Though she returned her gaze to the chart, her lips twitched in a barely repressed smile. "I'd say I'm on duty."

"And I can see you do your job very well. But you must get time off, right? For all that good behavior?"

Cyndi was openly grinning now, her cheeks dimpling. "Now and then."

"So how 'bout a little food, a little wine--maybe some dancin'. Say…later tonight?"

"Well…I'd have to check my schedule."

Before Buck could press his advantage, Dr. Lorenzo stepped out of the exam room. Buck caught a quick glimpse of Vin gingerly easing into his shirt before the physician pulled the door shut behind him. He looked over at Buck, narrowing his eyes.

"A word please, Mr. Wilmington."

"Hold that thought," Buck said to Cyndi, then followed Lorenzo over to the row of chairs.

"I have one or two questions for you," Lorenzo said as they both took seats.

"Sure, doc. Fire away."

"What in the hell have you been doing to my patient?"

Buck dropped his jaw and gaped. "Huh?"

"His weight is down, his blood pressure's up, and he generally looks like crap--or hadn't you noticed?"

"'Course I noticed. It ain't exactly a surprise, considerin' he doesn't eat enough to keep a fly alive and hasn't been sleepin' much, either."

It was Lorenzo's turn to stare at Buck. "And did it ever cross your mind to, oh, I don't know, do something about it?"

"Now wait just a cotton-pickin' minute." Buck stabbed a finger at Lorenzo's chest. "In case you hadn't noticed, that boy's got a head made of granite, not to mention a stubborn streak a mile wide. Hell yeah, we've tried to do somethin' about it! But right about now it's takin' all six of us just to help him hold it together."

Lorenzo sagged back in the chair, some of the fire leaving his eyes. "Look, I just expected more progress in Vin's physical recovery. In some ways he's actually lost ground." He glanced at the chart in his hands. "You said he's not sleeping?"

"According to Chris--Agent Larabee--the nightmares are still real bad. Vin wakes up four, five times a night."

Lorenzo tightened his lips to a thin line. "And that's why I gave him the prescription for sleeping pills."

"Except the pills don't stop the dreams, they just make it so Vin can't wake up from 'em. Hell, if I were in his shoes, I wouldn't be itchin' to take 'em either."

With a sharp nod Lorenzo pulled out a prescription pad. "I can give him something stronger that will put him so far under he won't dream." He scribbled something and handed the top sheet to Buck. "This is a temporary fix. Pills are no substitution for real sleep. And he's got to regain some of that weight. But I'll be honest with you--what I just heard from him was a whole lot of anger and not much cooperation."

Buck tucked the prescription in his pocket with a sigh. "I hear ya, doc. It's been a rough week for the kid. We found our missing agent, but he wasn't as lucky as Vin."

"Dead?"

Buck nodded. "Vin's takin' it real hard."

"He needs to talk to someone, Mr. Wilmington, and I don't mean a bull session with the six musketeers. I've given him the number of a trusted colleague. Make sure he uses it."

The exam room door opened and Vin emerged, frowning when he saw Buck and Lorenzo with their heads together. "You two havin' a party and I wasn't invited?" The flippant words contained an underlying edge.

"Sorry, but I'm afraid your dance card's going to be pretty empty until you stop looking like shit." Lorenzo stood, tucking the chart against his chest. "Bring him back in a week," he said to Buck. And to Vin, "Remember what I told you."

"How could I forget? You sound like a broken record."

"Hey." Buck laid a hand on Vin's arm, unsettled by the brittle impatience. "Seems to me you're the one who once pointed out the doc here is just doin' his job."

"Yeah, well, everybody's got a real good reason for tellin' me what to do. Don't mean I gotta like it." Vin fumbled with the zipper on his coat, then gave up with a huff of frustration. "I'll wait for you at the car."

"Oh, no you won't! You heard what Chris said. For all we know you could still be in danger."

"Hell, at this point I'd risk a little danger if it buys me a minute to myself. Besides, I'm sure y'all aren't done decidin' what's best for me."

"Vin. Vin, you get your ass back here!" Buck watched, incredulous, as his friend stalked out the door. He turned to Lorenzo, gesturing as he fumbled for words. "I, uh, better… He's not exactly… I gotta go."

"A week," Lorenzo, called. "If he's not looking better I'll kick his ass myself."

"I'll tell him." Buck was halfway to the car before he realized he'd never gotten Cyndi's phone number.

Cursing under his breath, he slid behind the wheel and slammed his door. Turning so his arm was braced across the seatback, he glared at Vin. "Who pissed in your cornflakes? You acted like a spoiled brat back there, and that ain't like you."

Vin stared out the windshield, refusing to meet his eyes.

With a grunt of impatience, Buck shook his head. "Lorenzo is just tryin' to get you well. All of us--we just want to see you back to normal."

To his astonishment Vin barked a sharp laugh. "Normal? Y'all are gonna have a long wait."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Forget it." Vin clenched his jaw, his eyes bright. "I just want to go home, to my place, my stuff. Is that too damn much to ask?"

The bitter, world-weary words pierced Buck's heart. "You know I can't do that, Junior." He forced a smile. "Hey. How 'bout we grab a late lunch at that deli you're so fond of before I take you back to the ranch?"

Vin slumped down in his seat, arms folded and face turned toward the window. "Do whatever you want, Buck. I don't really give a shit." He deliberately closed his eyes, cutting off further communication.

His chest tight with frustration, Buck started the truck and headed for the highway. Suddenly he wasn't too hungry either.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Chris eased the door shut and paused, loosening his tie. Except for the soft tick of the wall clock, the house was silent. He wandered through the kitchen, dark except for the light over the stove, and glanced into the empty den before heading toward the bedrooms.

The door to the guestroom was slightly ajar, and he cautiously peered through the opening. A shaft of moonlight illuminated the bed and Vin, sprawled face down, sleeping hard. Fully dressed, he appeared to have crawled onto the mattress and collapsed, never moving a muscle since. Chris listened to the steady whisper of his breath for several minutes before backing quietly down the hallway.

From the corner of his eye he caught movement on the deck. Buck was leaning on the railing, nursing a bottle of beer as he watched the horses in the corral. When Chris joined him, he gave a slanted grin.

"You're lookin' mighty rough around the edges, ol' son. Travis givin' you a hard time?"

"Travis may be a pain in the ass, but he's not the one keeping me up at night--or fueling this fire in my gut." Chris jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "He been sleeping long?"

"Since we got back from the doc. Three, maybe four hours."

"What did Lorenzo have to say?"

"Considerin' what Vin looks like right about now, what do you think he had to say?" When Chris raised an eyebrow at the acid tone, Buck's shoulders curled. "Sorry."

"I take it the doc gave you a rough time?"

Buck snorted. "Lorenzo was a cake walk. Vin, on the other hand, acted like a little shit."

"Vin?"

"He sassed the doc, blew me off when I told him not to go out to the truck alone, and damn it, he ruined my chance to score a date with the woman of my dreams."

"Hell, Buck, anything in a skirt is the woman of your dreams."

"I'm serious, Chris. I don't know what bug crawled up that boy's ass, but I--"

"I'm pretty sure I do." Chris watched Peso do his best to annoy Pony, not really seeing the horses. "Did Lorenzo say anything I should know?"

"'Bout what you'd expect. Kid needs to sleep, to eat. He gave him some stronger sleeping pills that should stop the nightmares altogether. The bottle's on the counter by the sink."

Chris chewed the inside of his cheek. He hated the thought of heavier drugs almost as much as he knew Vin would, but couldn't see an alternative. "Is that why he crashed so hard?"

Buck shook his head. "Nope. He was runnin' on fumes by the time we made it through the door. Stumbled into the bedroom and was out like a light." He huffed. "Guess bein' a pain in the ass wears you out." But his voice held more affection than irritation.

They stood shoulder to shoulder in companionable silence as Buck drank his beer. He followed the final swallow with a satisfied belch and a slap to Chris's back. "Think I'll head on home."

"You sure? There's lasagna in the freezer if you're interested."

"Nah. J.D.'s havin' dinner with Casey so I'll have the place to myself. I may not have the lovely Cyndi's number, but I always got backup."

"Now why does that not surprise me?"

After Buck had climbed into his truck and driven away, Chris locked up and turned off the porch light. Walking into the kitchen, he fingered the new prescription bottle, holding it up to the light and staring at the bright pink caplets. Finally setting it aside, he pulled the foil pan of lasagna from the freezer and popped it into the oven.

Cooking was good, occupying his hands and providing a welcome distraction from his troubled thoughts. He chopped lots of fresh vegetables for the kind of garbage salad Vin adored, sliced and buttered two wedges of garlic bread. When the lasagna was hot and bubbling, he set it atop the stove to cool and went to rouse Vin.

With a gentle push from his fingertips, he nudged the door open. To his surprise, Vin was no longer sleeping. His back to the headboard and his injured hand propped on one upraised knee, he was staring blankly into the darkness. As Chris moved slowly into the room, he took in the sweat-damp hair and rapid rise and fall of his friend's chest. Easing onto the edge of the mattress, he waited for Vin to speak or look at him. When several minutes passed without either, he sighed.

"Dinner's ready. You should eat."

"Not hungry."

"I made a salad. And there's garlic bread."

Vin drew his brows together, mouth turning down in a scowl as he looked at Chris for the first time. "Did you suddenly go deaf, Larabee? I said I ain't hungry."

So Buck wasn't exaggerating. Chris returned the glare. "Well frankly, Vin, I don't give a rat's ass whether you're hungry. Doc said you need to start eating, and I'm damn well going to make sure you do."

His face flushed with anger, Vin leaned in close. "No one makes me do anything. So unless you got handcuffs and a few of the boys with you, I'd say you're outta luck."

"What the hell is your problem?"

"My problem? My problem is you--all of you." He gestured wildly, his jaw clenched. "Tellin' me what to do, what to think, what to feel, who to talk to... I don't need you pokin' your nose in my business, tryin' to help. I've taken care of myself my whole life, and you know what? It's a damn sight better that way."

Now Chris could hear it, the open wound beneath Vin's tirade. "This isn't about me, or the boys, or even Dr. Lorenzo." He calmly regarded his friend. "Say it, Vin."

"Fuck you." Vin slid off the bed and flicked on the light. He tugged open the bureau drawer.

"Not exactly what I had in mind." He watched Vin pull out a stack of tee shirts. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Goin' home. I've had more than enough of this shit."

"Like hell." Chris rounded the bed and slammed the drawer, placing his body in front of it.

Vin curled his fingers into a fist. "Get outta my way, Chris."

"Or what? You're gonna hit me? Who are you really mad at, Vin?" When Vin tried to move around him, he blocked him again. "Say it."

"Get the hell outta my way!"

"You can pull this 'I don't need anybody' crap all you want, I'm not buying it. Only one person screwed you over, and it wasn't the boys or me. Why won't you just fuckin' admit it's Sean you're pissed at?"

"Because I can't!"

Silence punctuated Vin's anguished howl. They stared at each other, chests heaving, until Vin shuffled over and folded onto the side of the bed, head cradled in his uninjured hand. Chris sat down beside his friend, absorbing the fine tremors racing through the hunched form.

"Don't you get it?" Vin asked, his voice muffled. "I trusted him, and he set me up, handed me over to those bastards and made me think... And I can't even... I want to hate the sonuvabitch, I want it so bad, but--"

"It's hard to hate a man who was trying to protect his wife and unborn child."

Vin's hunched shoulders confirmed his words.

"Does it help to know that if the little shit walked through the door right now I'd probably take him apart him with my bare hands? Or that there'd be five men in line right behind me?"

It startled a weak puff of laughter and lifted Vin's head, though it didn't drive the shadows from his eyes.

"Sean screwed up," Chris continued, holding Vin's gaze. "He made a boatload of stupid mistakes. And as if that wasn't bad enough, he chose to betray a friend rather than admit he was in too deep and ask for help. I'm sorry for his wife, and for that baby. But don't cheat yourself, Cowboy. You've got a right to be madder than hell."

Vin was quiet, chin tucked to his chest as he picked at his bandaged fingers. Chris waited him out, encouraged by the release of tension when Vin stopped holding himself stiffly upright and leaned comfortably into his side.

"Did Jeannie have any luck with the mug books?"

"Yeah. She did." Chris didn't try to mask the smug satisfaction in his voice, and Vin immediately picked up on it.

"Who?"

"Benito Aguilar."

Vin's head snapped around. "Benny? I thought he was just a third-rate bookie."

"Evidently he's moved up through the ranks. Malone's had him overseeing a chunk of the illegal gambling he's got going. Including the action from Sharkey's Pub." Chris studied Vin's face, saw the connection made.

"Wait a minute. Sharkey's... Didn't I just see somethin' in the news about the cops bustin' that place?"

"Yep. Nailed them for gambling, drugs, and prostitution. A triple play." Chris grinned. "Guess who's sitting in lock-up right now, ripe for a deal?"

"You really think you can get him to talk?"

"It's his only chance to avoid a long prison stretch. I'm guessing he'll be receptive. Josiah and Ezra are going to talk to him first thing in the morning."

"Good. That's good. Maybe he'll actually be able to tell us why Big Daddy Malone is suddenly so all-fired interested in me." Vin knuckled the skin above his right eye and cleared his throat. "I, uh... I was a real shit to Buck and the doc."

"Really? He never mentioned it."

Vin chuffed. "Yer a lousy liar."

"You can apologize next time you see him, but I wouldn't lose any sleep over it. Buck's had plenty of experience as a punching bag. He'll be sure you make it up to him."

"I guess I got that comin'."

Chris stood and faced him. "Now are you gonna come eat some of that salad and bread? Or do I need to hunt up my handcuffs and call the boys?"

"Reckon I'll spare you the trouble." Vin rose from the bed and followed him to the door. "Think the doc will be as forgivin' as Buck?"

With a snort, Chris shook his head. "You better hope so, Cowboy. Considering it's Lorenzo we're talking about, I'm guessing paybacks really would be a bitch."

Vin sighed. "Was afraid you were gonna say that."

Continued in Chapter 14