Overly Lengthy Author's Note: I owe several people thanks for their contributions to this fic. First off, it was inspired by a discussion sparked by my friend Broncomap one evening after the concluding chapter of Growing Old with Kitty was posted. Bronco posed an intriguing question which I won't divulge to you here or else it would spoil the story, but obviously, it sent my imagination into overdrive. In the six long years it took to complete this fic, several beta readers shared with me their inspired ideas for tweaking my story at various points in the writing process, making it all the richer: anotherredhead, gunshy1, moonstonemaiden, Ladybrit, and BigMommaT. I couldn't write these long-haul novellas without their unending encouragement and invaluable advice. I'd also like to thank my Girlz for answering GS trivia questions at the drop of a Stetson. You ladies are the bomb-diggety-dog. And as always, muchas gracias, Ladybrit, for expert technical advice. Ladybrit was my co-writer on a few medical drama chapters, and those are indicated individually.

Lastly, a warning: this is a work of complete and utter fiction, just balderdash, really. It does not represent GS canon in the least. Any resemblance to life in the real world as we know it is completely coincidental. I take facts and twist them to my liking or bastardize science and nature as my plot necessitates. Just relax and go with it. It's all in good fun and I'm not getting paid for this anyhow. My only recompense, dear reader, is your enjoyment. Hope you like it. 😉

Dark Reflection

by Lilyjack

Chapter 1

"Sandstorm"

A choking, blinding storm of dust and sand swirled around Matt Dillon as he led his horse Buck homeward, step by wretched step. His hat brim pulled low over his eyes and his bandana yanked high over his nose and mouth did little to protect his skin from the stinging particles that assailed him seemingly from every direction. This black blizzard had struck out of nowhere, just a couple of miles outside of Dodge City, and he was ill-prepared to face the wrath of Mother Nature, prairie-style. The young lawman held an arm aloft before his face, barely able to make out a thing, eyes streaming tears, coughing, gagging on the vile dust liquefying to sickening mud in his mouth. The horse whinnied shrilly in protest, pawing the ground and shaking his dark mane. Matt attempted to calm him, patting his neck. As the miserable marshal peered through slitted, red-rimmed eyes, he suddenly thought he could make out a few scrubby trees close to the trail just ahead. "Come on, boy," he croaked and urged the buckskin forward to take what little shelter they could against the unrelenting wind.

Matt tied the horse's reins to a tree branch and watched him lower his large head, backing his rump into the trees and against the wind for cover. Then Matt slid down the trunk and huddled miserably, jerking up his shirt collar to protect his neck and face from the caustic airborne grit. He was sweating profusely, had been for most of the two-day trek back from Hays City. Unfortunately, his meeting there with the judge and several key witnesses had ended very badly.

Shivering in spite of the heat, he thought to himself that he probably just had the ague. He'd get over it soon enough. When he got back to Dodge, Doc would mix some mysterious, bitter-tasting powders into a glass of water that would make him feel better. The old codger would fuss and try and make him stay in bed a few days, and Matt would grumble and protest and in the end just ignore him. He could care less about the fever anyway. Right now Matt just wanted to get back home to Kitty.

That's all he could think about as sweat dripped from his thick hair line, ran down his chest and soaked into his clothing until he didn't have a dry stitch left. The punishing summer heat didn't help matters, but right now the sun was completely blotted out by the eerie cloud of airborne earth that seemed hell-bent on punishing Matt for being such a fool, for failing so thoroughly at his job and at his personal life to boot. When the grit and dust hit his wet skin and clothing, it simply caked and turned to mud. He pulled his knees close, curled his arms around them and sheltered his face from the onslaught.

But he was completely unable to prevent the mental onslaught of images tormenting his mind: an innocent victim slaughtered, the guilty criminals escaping scot free. Plus a particular pair of big, beautiful, disappointed blue eyes haunted him-when the hell would he stop letting Kitty down? And it had all been for nothing, dammit!

Yeah, she'd tried not to let on, but he could tell she'd been upset. Nearly a week ago, he'd strode nervously into her room to tell her that he had to cancel their first big fancy trip to St. Louie together. Kitty had fairly recently become a partner in the Long Branch and had worked real hard to save some money on the side for a vacation just for the two of them.

So had he, since Kitty had become his girl. He'd never had much cause to save money before. He'd just lived from paycheck to paycheck and never worried about finances too awful much. If he had a few greenbacks left over at the end of the month, he'd stuck them in an old cigar box in his office safe. But now he had somebody to spend his money on, and they'd planned on splurging some of it on a nice little holiday. The thought of having Kitty all to himself in a big hotel bed with no interruptions, official or otherwise, had been almost more than the young marshal could handle. He could hardly wait.

Not to mention the shiny newness of their relationship still hadn't quite worn off-Kitty Russell was really his girl. The most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. His girl. She was also whip smart, kind to a fault-although she never let anyone take advantage of her—and she could tell a dirty joke that could make even the crustiest old cowpoke blush.

He didn't give a damn what she'd done in her past. Let people talk. Matt Dillon believed in the here and now. Most of the folks who'd settled out west had come here for a fresh start. Why should she be any different? She was a self-made woman and she'd worked plenty hard, climbing her way up to where she was today, and he admired the hell out of her for that. How many other saloon girls could say she was now half-owner of her very own establishment? He didn't know of any, save one. He was so proud of her he could bust a shirt button.

And Matt had really wanted this trip to be special for her. To celebrate her accomplishments. To celebrate them being together at last. But after all their planning he had unfortunate news to tell her. Feeling like he had a lead weight in his belly, he'd knocked softly on her door, and it swung open.

She'd been surveying herself in the chifforobe mirror and had gaily sung out, "Matt, look what I bought for our..." She'd twirled around with a bright smile and an elegant new, coral-colored silk taffeta dress held in front of her to show him, but her pretty smile quickly faded when she noticed his expression. "Matt, what is it?"

"Kitty, I'm afraid I have bad news." He'd pulled off his hat and swallowed hard to get shed of the sandpaper on his tongue.

"Oh?" She sank down on the bed, her lovely new dress cradled in her lap. She looked so soft and pretty and fretful that he wanted to kiss that worried look right off her face. He ached to unfasten all those tiny little buttons on the back of her dress so he could smooth his hands over what was underneath, soothing her and satisfying his own need to touch her. But Matt knew he had important things he needed to tell her. Things he dreaded telling her. The young lawman wryly admitted sometimes he found it hard to keep his mind on his business when he was with Kitty. He found the beautiful girl with the supple, creamy skin, sapphire blue eyes and flaming hair a little distracting to say the least.

Matt pushed her door closed, hung his hat on the familiar wooden peg on the back of it, his face solemn. An eye nervously twitched as he shoved his hands in his pockets and cleared his throat. "You know Lafe Whitcomb?"

"Yes, I think so. He doesn't come in here very often." Kitty's hands carefully smoothed the cool coral silk as she spoke. "He's, uh, he's not the type to hang out in saloons and drink. A bit young, although he's big, and strong as an ox, too, but kinda quiet. Is that the fella you're talkin' about?"

Lafe was tall, over six feet, with broad shoulders, a shock of unruly strawberry blonde hair and shy brown eyes. His face was round with flushed pink cheeks, his impressive hands were as big as hams and he sometimes seemed not to know his own strength. But the few times she'd heard him actually speak, Kitty recalled his voice being surprisingly low and gentle.

"Yeah, Kitty, that's him. I don't remember if I'd mentioned it but he's been working shotgun at Hawk Freight Company, and I'd asked him to keep his eyes and ears open for me." Matt had taken a step toward the bed, leaned close to her with one hand on the post.

Her ears had perked up at that familiar name. "You've been after Victor Hawk and his cronies for a while now, Matt. Isn't that the company you suspect was settin' up fake robberies of their own freight?" Her brow furrowed and her lips turned down in a frown as she continued with distaste, "Stealin' from their own customers during the deliveries? That's pretty low."

"Yeah, Kitty, and late last night Lafe told me some information that I think might be able to get me a conviction." His jaw clenched tightly and his eyes narrowed. "But now...Lafe's been shot." That part had been difficult for him to tell her.

"Oh, Matt." Kitty had laid a gentle hand on his arm and lowered her voice sympathetically. She'd realized how personally Matt would take the news of the young man's injury. She pulled him to sit down next to her on the bed. "I'm so sorry. Do ya' think one of Hawk's men is responsible?"

"I'm afraid so. It happened sometime after he and I spoke. Someone found him this morning."

"Is he gonna be alright?"

"I don't know, Kitty. He's over at Doc's right now."

"Don't worry, Matt," she'd said earnestly, giving his arm a gentle caress. "If anyone can help him, you know Doc can."

"Sure he can, Kitty. But right now I need to head toward Hays City and check out the scene where the latest robbery took place, just last night. That's what Lafe was discussing with me. I've got to investigate the wagon tracks—see where they head to-and talk to Hawk's latest customers in Hays, too. I have all the customers who've been robbed so far lined up as possible witnesses." Matt frowned, running his fingers through his hair. "This bad business can't continue. Victor Hawk's a dangerous man. He's gotta be stopped now. Why, Lafe Whitcomb's just a kid."

"I know, Matt..."

He'd glanced up at her then, a look of chagrin on his face. "Kitty, that's why I really hate to tell you I can't make it to..."

"I understand, Matt." She had smiled at him just then, but the smile hadn't quite reached her eyes. He wondered if she was remembering all the other engagements he'd had to break because of last minute official duties. It did seem to happen pretty regular. But she'd squeezed his hands reassuringly.

His heart had thumped, partly in relief because his fiery redhead hadn't hauled off and thrown things at him when he'd given her the bad news, but maybe also a little in worriment for the great disappointment he'd caused her. Leaning over, he'd brushed his lips across the tender, warm skin of her forehead and asked, "Would you mind checking in on Lafe for me at Doc's?"

"Course, I will. I don't see 'im around much, but from what I do know of Lafe he seems like a good-natured kid. Such a shame..."

"He is a good kid, Kitty. I just hope he's gonna be okay. I'll need to get a statement out of him as soon as he's awake and able. Can you take care of that for me?"

"Sure, Matt. What exactly do I need t' do?"

"Barney at the telegraph office is a notary public. He can make it official. Go get him to witness when Lafe wakes up and can talk."

"Sure, Matt. I'll let Doc know."

Matt sighed and took both her hands in his. "Kitty, I'm awful sorry."

"I know you are, Matt. There'll be other trips."

"You can count on it, honey." He had kissed her soft, peach-colored lips and wished once again that he could have taken off all her pretty clothes and lain her down on the bed then and there to show her how much he cared for her and how sorry he was. Instead he sighed longingly and claimed, "I'm gonna get this guy behind bars. He's robbed a lot of innocent people, and he's hurt Lafe Whitcomb. He needs to pay for what he did."

Her voice was low and sincere as she gazed up at him, replying, "Go get 'em, Matt."

He had kissed her again, longer this time, and she had tasted of smoky bourbon and salty pretzels. He couldn't help but notice her blue eyes had glanced longingly down at the lovely crumpled dress in her lap.

That had been six long days ago. Since then, he had been caught in a violent rainstorm that had washed away all the wagon tracks and other evidence of the freight robbery and the criminals' subsequent escape. When Matt had wired Doc from Hays City, he received a return telegram that announced, regretfully, that young Lafe had died from the bullet wound to the chest only hours before and had never regained consciousness long enough to give a legal statement. When Matt had attempted to contact the businessmen again whose shipments had been robbed, he'd been met with stony stares and grim expressions. Evidently, Victor Hawk had gotten to them first, and had threatened them or paid them for their silence. Matt had gone to the judge in Hays, who regretfully told him that without any other proof there was nothing the law could do. There was no physical evidence of a crime, no witnesses would come forward...and now poor Lafe was dead.

So Matt Dillon was returning to Dodge a beaten man. He crouched against the dust storm contemplating his failures. (And how in blue blazes could there be such a fierce dust storm when only days ago they'd experienced a gully washer the likes of which the Kansas prairie rarely saw, he stewed angrily.) He'd let down poor Lafe Whitcomb resulting in the slaying of the young man. Lafe's whole life had been laid out before him, fresh and new like a young spring colt, and it had been snuffed out in a bloody instant, all because the brave young man had attempted to help the marshal out. Matt had let down the community he served as a lawman, allowing thieves and murderers go free. And he'd let down Kitty, all for nothing. What the hell was the use in even trying? You struggle to do the right thing, and it just bites you in the ass in the end, he brooded. With the blinding whirlwind raging around him, Matt Dillon's feverish, aching body and troubled mind fell into a fitful slumber.

tbc

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