This will just be a short story, based on the Brothers Osborne song It Ain't My Fault.

Chapter 1

Sam's eyes followed her friend's movements across the deck.

Morgan paced another lap before she finally exploded. "This is ridiculous!"

Sam Larabee raised her eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Morgan often accused her of clamming up worse than Sam's older brother Chris. Well, Sam had learned from the best, being raised by the widowed Denver PD sargent.

Morgan whirled around, the determined rebellion in her eyes not giving Sam pause, though most reasonable people would be scared by the look.

"We're not staying here," Morgan declared.

Sam moved her booted foot slightly, adjusting her feet against the railing of Chris' deck and settling more comfortably into the chair that rested back on two legs. "Aren't we?" she asked lazily.

Morgan's lips pursed as she shook her head. "No."

"Alright, Wilmington. Where are we going?" Sam asked gamely.

She knew her friend wouldn't have any idea, but would shoot off the first idea that came to mind. Morgan was alarmingly like her older brother in that way. When she got a full head of steam, there wasn't any reasoning with her.

"The Den," Morgan said.

This time Sam could feel her reaction flaring. "The Den?" she asked skeptically. That was an outlandish suggestion even for Morgan.

But Morgan's face was already settling into resolve. "The Den," she said more firmly.

Sam sighed, wondering if she should put up the illusion of a debate even as she knew that's exactly where she and Morgan would end up. Morgan apparently took the sigh as a sign of resistance and crossed back to Sam.

"Sam, come on. The guys there are hot."

Sam knew she looked unimpressed. That was more of a draw for Morgan than it was for Sam. No matter that, at 17, the men in the disreputable bar would be too old for Morgan.

A small grin played at Morgan's lips. "I've heard they have huge bets on the pool games there."

The first spark of interest lit in Sam and Morgan clearly saw it. Her smile grew. "I heard some guy went in there last week and won over five thousand in one night."

Sam's booted feet dropped to the deck boards. "And what are you going to be doing while I'm playing pool?"

Now Morgan's grin was genuine and full. "Finding guys to buy me drinks."

#

"I feel bad for the girls," Buck said.

Chris made a sound of agreement, but didn't take his eyes off the road.

Buck turned slightly in the passenger seat of their police cruiser. "We should make it up to them. Take 'em out for pizza tomorrow night."

Chris frowned slightly. "You think a pizza's gonna make up for telling them they have to stay in on a Friday night because we got called into work."

Buck sighed. "No." Morgan could be particularly unforgiving when she chose to be. He frowned. "And we didn't tell 'em they had to stay in."

Chris snorted. "You dropped Morgan at my place in the middle of nowhere. And Sam's car is broken. That's as good as house arrest."

"Yeah, well, maybe I wanted one shift where I don't have to worry that every call is about Morgan, ok?"

Chris' lips curved into a smile.

"It ain't funny, Larabee," Buck said. "She's already been suspended twice this year. And there was that whole roulette debacle she was running out of my garage."

"Debacle?" Chris asked.

"Ezra's word," Buck grumbled.

"That CI is getting to you," Chris said.

Buck didn't want to think about his wayward sister or his equally wayward CI. "Let's just focus on our job," he said. "Enjoy our night out with criminals and violent offenders instead of little sisters."

Chris chuckled, but thankfully didn't say anything more.

#

"So are we walking to town?" Sam asked.

Morgan saw her friend eye her shoes. She looked down at her heels and promptly ignored them. She went over to Sam's car and popped the hood.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked.

Morgan didn't answer. It should be obvious.

"Are you going to get my car running?" Sam asked, not bothering to hide the smile in her voice.

Morgan huffed out a sigh. "At least I'm trying Sam," she snapped. "You sitting there laughing at me isn't going to get us anywhere."

"Ok," Sam said, holding her hands up in a sign of peace. "What are you going to do to get it running?"

Morgan stared at the metal, wires, tubes. "I have no idea," she admitted.

Sam let out a laugh and Morgan couldn't hold back her answering smile.

"So what do we do?" Morgan asked.

Sam pulled her cell phone from her pocket and pushed a button. "Hey," she said when someone answered. "I need a ride. You free?" She listened for a minute then smiled and thanked whoever she was talking to, promising to text an address to their newly acquired chauffeur.

Morgan waited impatiently for Sam to text the address before asking. "Who was that?"

Sam put her phone back in the pocket of her leather jacket. "Aren't you cold?" she asked Morgan.

Morgan looked down at her sleeveless top and skinny jeans. "No. Who was that?" she asked again.

"That new guy at school. The one that just moved here from Boston. JD?"

Morgan shook her head.

"Maybe if you made it to class once in awhile you'd see him," Sam said.

Morgan rolled her eyes. "Ugh, you sound just like your brother."

Sam didn't look offended.

Morgan slammed down the hood of Sam's useless car and hopped up on the hood to wait for their ride. "That wasn't a compliment, Sam."

Sam leaned back against the horse fencing that led down towards the barns. Morgan twisted her lips off to the side, thinking of what had been prodding at her for weeks now. Ever since Sam's boyfriend had broken up with her.

"Chris is great," Morgan said sincerely. It didn't take any acting her part to show how much Chris meant to her. Chris and Buck had been inseparable since high school and Morgan thought of Chris as much as a brother as she did Buck.

"But…?" Sam asked, her posture relaxed, as if whatever Morgan said wouldn't matter. But Morgan could see the slight hitch in Sam's shoulders.

"But ever since—"

"Don't say it," Sam warned, her face shuttering.

"Ever since Dylan broke up with you, it's like you're starting to turn into Chris," Morgan plowed ahead, ignoring the warning.

"So what?" Sam asked. Her jaw worked slightly before she caught it, closing off the show of emotion, however so slight.

"So I don't think it's good the way Chris doesn't let anyone see what he's feeling, and I don't think it's good that you're trying to be like him." Morgan tried to temper her words, let the concern she felt for Sam show in them.

Sam looked down the driveway and Morgan wondered if she was willing JD to hurry up and get there.

"I just…" Morgan sighed. "I just don't know if this change is good for you, Sam. I don't think Chris is the best role model of emotional maturity."

Sam snorted. "No kidding."

Even that little bit of sarcasm was new. Morgan frowned.

"So what's your suggestion, Morgan?" Sam asked, a challenge in her voice. "If I'm not supposed to hide the hurt." She met Morgan's eyes and held them.

Morgan didn't back down. "Don't get hurt in the first place," she responded automatically.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "That's your advice?"
"Yeah," Morgan said, warming to the truth of her words. She shook her hair back and didn't back down. "Don't live your life like Chris, trying to hide how much you hurt. Just don't get hurt in the first place. Don't give a guy that kind of power over you."

Sam studied her, a glint of worry breaking her mask of indifference. "And that's what you do," she said softly.

"If you don't care, you don't hurt," Morgan said, the flippant tone she was striving for falling flat in the falling dusk.

The only sound between the two girls was the crickets in the fields around them.

"Buck and Chris have really screwed us up," Sam finally said.

"Worst guardians ever," Morgan agreed, humor not quite covering the melancholy that threatened.

They sat in silence, waiting for JD to show up.

#

"You know what, Larabee?" Buck asked.

"What?"

Buck paused to look at a group of guys on a street corner. Not seeing anything amiss, he spoke again. "I think we haven't done a half bad job raising the girls."

"You just got done telling me what a delinquent Morgan is."

Buck waved a hand, dismissing both Chris' comment and his own observation from earlier. "She's just…spirited."

"She's something," Chris agreed.

"She'll settle down," Buck said, trying to convince himself as much as Chris. "It's been a lot for her, losing our ma and moving up to Denver."

"You've done good, Buck," Chris said in an uncharacteristic softening. "It ain't been easy for you, either."

"Yeah," Buck said quietly.

They both quieted, listening to a call over the radio. It was on the other side of the city and another patrol answered.

"Been lucky with Sam," Chris commented.

Buck raised his eyebrows in question.

"She's got a good head on her shoulders. None of that teenage foolishness. Has the good sense to keep her emotions in check and just go about her business."

Buck stared at his partner.

Chris slid his eyes over to him. "What?"

"You realize you just described yourself, right? You turned that gal into a carbon copy of yourself."

Chris' brow wrinkled slightly in thought, then he shook his head, clearly dismissing Buck's comment. "She's just a good kid. Couldn't ask for better."

"She is," Buck agreed. "They both are."

#

"Thanks for the ride, JD," Sam said, opening her car door in front of the bar on the outskirts of Denver. She looked at the mix of jacked up pick ups and oversized motorcycles and had a moment of hesitation. But then she thought of the challenge of the pool table and the lure of the money.

Morgan didn't have any hesitancy, getting out of the car. She leaned back down through the open door and gave JD a wink, blowing him a kiss. The senior blushed and mumbled something. Morgan gave Sam a grin. "Come on," she said.

Sam looked back at JD. "You sure you don't want to come in?" she asked.

JD shook his head. "I got plans with Casey," he said, blushing more profusely.

Sam gave him a nod. "Alright then." She hid her smile at the thought of the tomboy with the new kid. "Thanks again."

She left JD and hurried to catch up with Morgan.

Morgan was sashaying toward the bar.

Sam eyed the bouncer at the door. He was huge and bald. Like a living boulder.

Morgan pulled her ID from her purse and discreetly handed one to Sam.

Sam looked at it. "Where did you get this? Some art class project?" She eyed the picture that looked only vaguely like what she saw in the mirror. "Anya Desveroyitchkiev?" she asked.

"Just say 'da, comrade,'" Morgan instructed, approaching the bouncer and settling her full lips into a mildly amused look.

Sam caught a glimpse of a picture of a slightly elderly Asian woman on the ID Morgan handed over to the bouncer.

Morgan leaned in towards the rock of a man when he started to look at the ID, drawing his attention from the picture for a minute. He gave Morgan a quick appraisal with his eyes before turning his attention back to the license.

"Hey," Sam said. He looked up at her. "What's going on with those yokels over there?" she asked. "They stripping that truck for parts?"

She had clocked the pair of men earlier, but was glad now that she hadn't said anything before this opportune moment. The human boulder's heavy brows lowered and he distractedly handed Morgan's ID back to her before striding across the dimly lit parking lot, yelling at the men as he went.

Morgan's lips curved. "Nice," she complimented Sam.

Sam stuck her horrible forgery of an ID into her pocket, snatching Morgan's before she put it away.

"Mrs. Wu?" she asked with a snort.

"Whatever. I didn't want to blow all my money on these. We just need them to get through the door." Morgan took back her ID and slipped it back into her purse.

Sam glanced over her shoulder with satisfaction at the distracted bouncer before following Morgan through the door.

#

Ezra Standish eyed the pool balls. He adjusted his cue slightly before deliberately striking the ball slightly off center. Just enough to send the intended ball to the left of the pocket. He straightened up, letting out a disappointed sigh and careful to hide the calculating gleam that might make it into his eyes and ruin his entire evening.

"Better luck next time, pal," a redneck with more muscles than teeth said. His friends guffawed along with him as Ezra pulled out a few hundred dollar bills and handed it over.

"Awful close to winning that time," the man said. He picked up the beer he had set on the edge of the pool table, taking a long pull.

"Unfortunately it wasn't my night," Ezra said frowning. He surreptitiously watched the men's body language, gauging how quickly to push his con. Fortunately he had an easy mark tonight. His youth, at 19 years old, was to his benefit, adding to his aura of inexperience.

"I'm a fair man," his opponent said, grinning at his friends. "I'll go double or nothing with ya."

Ezra pretended to think it over. He looked over the pool table he had just thrown two games in a row. His eyes landed on a young woman seated at a table near them, sipping a glass of something.

Her green eyes looked at him knowingly. Ezra paused, waiting to see if she was going to say anything. She sat back in her chair, watching him.

The knowing look on her face held his attention just as much as her natural beauty. She cocked her head to the side, an almost silent dare to see his con through, her brown hair that had been sunwashed to an almost blonde shade falling over one shoulder when she did.

"What? You getting' yellow all a' sudden?" the muscle bound man asked.

Ezra forced his attention from the woman, to the mark that was suddenly more than accommodating.

Ezra drew himself up into some sort of show of false bravado, keeping any sign of his real confidence covered, and challenged the man. "Six thousand," he said, as if trying to salvage his damaged pride. "I was close that last game."

From the corner of his eye, he saw the woman set down her drink, a slight smile on her face.

He mentally shook himself. He was about to lose six thousand dollars if he couldn't get his mind fully committed to the task at hand. He needed to keep his attention away from the alluring young lady.

"Six thousand," the man said, grinning eagerly at Ezra.

"Six thousand," said a low feminine voice.

Ezra snapped his head around to look at her. She gave Ezra a challenging look, daring him to admit his scam.

Ezra settled his expression into a self-assured smile. "Are you offering to double my winnings?" he asked.

She reached around him, brushing entirely too close for his equilibrium, the soft scent of her hair at odds with the leather and jacket and jeans she wore. She took the cue he had been using. "I'm offering to take your money," she said.

Ezra wanted more than her money. The thought unsettled him. He didn't have time, or space, in his life for anything like that. She was looking him square in the eye, waiting for his answer.

"Yeah," Ezra said, forgetting the question.

"So we're in agreement?" she quipped. "I'll take your money?"

"What? No," Ezra said. Hating the feeling of fluster, he quickly went to the stand that held the cues and grabbed a new one. He gathered himself before turning back to her. "I'll be collecting," he said confidently, forgetting to inject a bit of bravado or insecurity in for the sake of the man he had been intent on fleecing.

"Sure you will," the young woman said. She gave him a light elbow. But the movement brought her close to his side and she faltered slightly, looking up at Ezra, a soft pink flush coming to her cheeks, ruining any swagger she had.

Ezra held her gaze.

"We playin' or what?" their forgotten opponent broke in.

Ezra stepped back quickly. The young lady quickly looked away from him, but Ezra didn't miss the way she dragged in a shaky breath.

"Yes. We most certainly are starting the game," Ezra said. He couldn't force his attention fully away from her.

#

Vin sat at a table in the corner of the bar, hidden in the shadows. He liked having the wall at his back. In the foster homes he had bounced between for most of his seventeen years, he had found it was safer with his back covered. There wouldn't be anyone to watch his back and there were too many beatings that could find you if you let your guard down.

That was the draw of the seedy establishment. Somewhere the bouncer and bartender didn't look too closely at his ID, where most of the patrons minded their own business, and he could let his guard down.

A commotion at the bar caught his attention and he looked to see what caused the stir.

A lean auburn haired girl turned to lean her elbows on the bar, her long legs stretching casually in front of her.

Vin watched as she said something to one of the men near her with an unimpressed look. The other two men laughed heartily. One of them motioned the bartender over with a yell and ordered a drink for the girl. Vin figured she didn't have to buy herself a drink all year. He thought of the few bills in his jeans pocket, knowing it wasn't enough to entertain a girl like her for the night.

He dropped his eyes down to his drink and kept them there, intending to push thoughts of her aside. He had learned not to dream, not to think of things he would never have, and that girl definitely counted as a dream. He couldn't help one more look at the way her face was expressed her every thought, even as she clearly worked to keep nothing more than a detached amusement in place.

She turned away from the men to take the drink the bartender handed her. And that was when Vin saw it. An emptiness under it all. He recognized the hurt because it was what he spent most of his days running from.

#

So many thanks to MusesOwnMyMind for letting me borrow her OC Sam Larabee for this story. Sam's story is 'Burning Bridges'(and it's FANTASTIC! I highly recommend it! Really, all her Magnificent Seven stories are so great and the best to read!) Morgan is my OC from my Magnificent Seven story 'Runaway'.