Dry Route to Dodge

A Gunsmoke Story

by MAHC (Amanda)

Epilogue: Greedy

POV: Various

Spoilers: None

Rating: R

Disclaimer: I did not create these characters, but I love them.

Kansas City, Missouri

Early Afternoon, Tuesday

Kitty watched him carefully, noting that he still limped a bit as he walked toward the end of the train to retrieve their luggage, but she was smiling when he turned back to her, an all-too-rare carefree grin on his own face. Doc had told her he might always favor that leg even after the substantial damage to it had healed. He hadn't told her what she knew anyway: that Matt had almost ruined the limb by dragging himself and her across the rough terrain to the stage station. She tried not to feel guilty, tried not to bear some responsibility about the choice. After all, she'd been out of it and not able to protest – as if that would have done any good at all. No, she knew him well enough to realize that he could have done no differently, regardless of her ability to argue about it.

Still, it was impossible to rid herself of the heavy burden when she saw his eyes tighten at an awkward step, or his teeth grit with a sudden turn.

"You ready to check into the hotel?" he asked, hoisting one of the carpetbags over his shoulder.

Pursing her lips, she pretended to consider his question. "Well, I guess so. Not much else to do in this little town."

"I dunno," he countered, the gleam bright in his blue eyes. "Last time I was here, I had quite an eventful evening."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Maybe we could – do what you did then," she suggested, fighting the blush that crept to her cheeks with the memory of just what he had done that night three months before.

The gleam burned brighter. "Maybe we could."

"Buy a girl dinner first?"

He smiled, and his expression told her dessert would be the highlight of the meal.

"I know it's not Delmonico's," he reasoned, "but I hear Kansas City has served a steak or two in its time."

"I'm rather partial to steaks."

"I've noticed."

"Hope they have big ones," she said, then leveled her gaze directly at him. "I like big ones."

Unshaken, he met her look evenly. "I've noticed that, too."

Kitty caught her breath at the heat in his eyes. If she wasn't careful, the folks at the depot would have a rather intimate scene to remember from their trips. Ruefully, she stepped back from him and reminded, "You mentioned something about a steak?"

"I thought that's what we were talking about." Oh, he was evil.

"Yeah." Get out of this one before you embarrass yourself, Kitty, she scolded. Save it for later. Still, she couldn't resist one final effort to best him. "Well, I'm famished." Her eyes smoldered beneath thick lashes. "I think I could just devour one of those big ones whole."

To her satisfaction, he flushed, and she thought she even heard a low groan before he stooped to pick up another bag, positioning it strategically in front of him as he passed a curious porter. Kitty didn't try too hard to suppress her smile.

XXXX

Dodge City, Kansas

Late Afternoon, Tuesday

Festus Haggen propped his boots on the rail outside the jailhouse and surveyed Front Street through squinted eyes. Matthew had left him in charge, and he was dad-blamed if anything was going to go wrong during his watch. So far, in the three days the marshal and Miss Kitty had been gone, the town had cooperated with his desire for peace and quiet. And that was just fine with the deputy, who enjoyed loafing almost as much as he enjoyed a free beer at the Long Branch. And since Miss Kitty wasn't there to spot him, he might as well loaf.

"I might have known."

He peered down the boardwalk and frowned at Doc Adams as he shuffled up to the jail. "Ya might've knowed what, ya ol' scudder?" He was falling right into the doctor's trap, but he knew it, counted on it, in fact.

"I might have known you would be hitched up here, oblivious to the responsibilities of a constable to his constituents."

"Well, I ain't a hitched up to nothin' and I shore hadn't obliberated no constant whatever it wuz you'us a sayin'." At least he didn't think he had.

The doctor sank carefully into the empty chair beside him. "Shouldn't you be out patrolling or something, keeping our fair city safe?"

"Shouldn't you be a fixin' somebody's broke leg or deliverin' a young'un?"

Scrubbing a hand over his mustache, Doc grunted. "Already done and finished," he announced. "It's a boy."

"Well, then I bin done round about on my patrollin', too, see. So's we're both due a settin' spell is the way I reckon it."

"That's the way you reckon it, is it?"

"That's the way I reckon it."

The doctor shook his head, but didn't reply, and the two of them sat watching the citizens of Dodge come and go with their usual business. Festus let his gaze shift to his companion now and again, just to see if he needed to be on guard for another round of banter, but the older man remained silent. Finally, the deputy decided it might be time to stir things up a bit, seeing as how nothing much was going on in town to entertain them.

"Oh, I plumb near fergot."

"What?"

"This here telee-gram 'at come a whilst ago."

"Telegram!" As expected, the doctor bristled, dropping his feet from the rail and turning to Festus. "Well, I'll bet it's from Matt. And you've been sittin' on it all afternoon, having no idea what's in it. They could need help. They could – "

"Jest hold onto yer cowbells, thar now, Doc. Ain't from Matthew a'tall."

"It's not?"

"Naw."

"Well, then, who's it from?"

"It's from Miz Kitty."

The doctor stared at him and ran his hand over his face. "Kitty?"

"'At's right."

After a moment, he sighed in defeat. "Well, give it to me so we can see what it says."

"I done knowed what it sez arreddy."

"How could you know – "

"I got my ways."

"Festus – " It was warning enough to tell the deputy to give a tad.

Peering up into the sky, he quoted from memory what Sam had read to him earlier. "Arrived Kansas City STOP All's well STOP Don't wait up STOP Kitty."

The doctor smiled slightly and grumbled something Festus couldn't hear.

"Doc, what d'yer reckon she a meant by 'don't wait up.'?"

He turned. "Well, she meant – you mean you don't know?"

"Know what?"

He shook his head and sighed. "Some people are just thick-headed, that's all." He pushed up and balanced himself before turning back down the boardwalk.

Festus wasn't sure what Miss Kitty meant, but he could agree with the doctor's opinion. His spurs clanked as he stood and followed the older man. "Ya know, that's a absaloot fact. Jest t'other day, ol' Jeremiah Weaver wuz down to the stables an' he wuz a tryin' to back his mule right into one of them stalls. I told him he wuzn't gonna git nowheres a'tall, but he wuz as hardheaded – "

As they stepped out into the street to cross over to the Long Branch, Festus continued to relate the story of stubborn Jeremiah Weaver. Doc sure was right. Some folks were just thick-headed.

XXXX

Dry Route Stage Stop between Larned and Dodge City

Dusk, Tuesday

Angus Skinner watched as dust from the Larned stage cleared and his time of solitude returned. After a check of his father's watch, he nodded in satisfaction that he had helped keep them on schedule. They would arrive in Dodge only a few minutes late, and that was just about the same as being slap on time.

As it had for the past three months, any thoughts of Dodge brought the big marshal to mind. Skinner still thought of him as Wayne Russell, even though he knew now who the man really was. That revelation had answered more than a few questions – the main one being how he had downed a gunfighter even when he was feverish and unable to stand on his own.

But Matt Dillon remained an enigma in Skinner's mind, the image of the strong, stoic lawman strangely incongruous with the tender deference he showed to his wife. Of course, now the stage manager knew she wasn't really his wife, was actually the owner of the Long Branch Saloon in Dodge. Didn't matter, though. After considering it, Skinner stuck with his original impression of the two. Anybody who watched them for more than a few minutes could see that the only thing that stood between them and matrimony was the "pronouncing."

He had learned another thing during those few days. If he was ever in a fight, he'd sure want to be on Marshal Dillon's side and not against him. The man was formidable, that was certain. He thought back to that day when he had been outside looking toward the horizon to see if any help was on its way to them. The shots startled him, and he had raced back to the station, falling against the door and squinting into the darker room, heart throbbing in anticipation of what he might see. The big man lay on the floor and Smith stood over him. To his horror, he first thought Smith had killed both Russell and his wife, and he was damning himself for leaving them alone, already having suspicions about the man in black. But then the gunman tumbled backwards and lay out flat on the floor, stone dead. Skinner remembered the shock that bloomed into admiration as he stared at Russell.

Events clipped by after that. Russell – or Dillon – collapsed, having to contend with The Grippe on top of his other considerable ailments. Fortunately, the doctor and deputy from Dodge arrived within an hour. Skinner and Festus Haggen, who seemed to be a good sort, buried Smith – or Deke Crocker, as Skinner later found out. Miss Russell was able to get up and about by the next morning, and the marshal regained enough strength by the end of the week to return to Dodge.

All in all, it had been quite the experience, one he would most certainly share with any and all who would listen as they paused at the Dry Route Stop between Larned and Dodge. As he allowed his gaze to track the setting sun toward the west, he glanced again at the timepiece, pondering what might have happened if Charlie Skinner had made it to his destination all those years ago.

One thing, he knew for certain, he would never have met Matt Dillon, and just for that reason – if none other – he was a might glad things had turned out as they did.

XXXX

Kansas City

Evening, Tuesday

Matt Dillon had always thought Kitty Russell was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and nothing had happened through the years to change his mind. He knew he didn't tell her often enough, or eloquently enough, but he tried to show her with a look or with a touch.

It was the touching he was best at, he thought, as he let his long fingers trail down her side and glide over the swell of her hip. At least, her enthusiastic responses seemed to indicate he held some talent in that area. Of course, she ought to know when it came to talent. His body had never felt such sensations as she brought to it, and he sometimes wondered at the height of their passion, if he would survive the experience. But if he didn't, he figured it was a much better way to go than from a gunman's bullet.

He shifted a bit, his jaw tightening against the stab of pain in his leg. Kitty looked up at him, questioning silently, but he just smiled back. Doc had told him it might always bother him. Not that chronic pain was something he hadn't already lived with for several years, a result of more injuries than he could count. But he knew Kitty felt somewhat responsible for this latest addition, since it was her sickness that prompted him to stagger across five miles carrying her both weight and his on an already-torn up knee. He didn't want her to hold that guilt. He would have done it ten times over if it meant saving her life – and it did.

"Hey," she whispered, running sharp fingernails lightly down his chest. "You here with me or somewhere else?"

Flattening his hand over her smooth buttocks, he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. "No where else but here, Red," he assured her.

"I was beginning to think I had lost your attention." Her fingers left his chest to rub lightly against the stiff knee, still a little swollen. "Maybe you were distracted."

With something between a grimace and a smile, he caught her hand and drew it away form his leg. "You're my only distraction," he said, kissing her again.

She accepted his caress, but when he pulled back, he saw that his strategy had been a bit short of successful.

"It still hurts," she observed, not a question.

"It's fine."

"Doc said –"

"Forget what Doc said," he murmured, pressing his lips to her throat.

Giving in to a delicious moan, she arched her neck to give him better access, but didn't let go of the subject. "You have to take care of it. It's still not completely – "

"Kitty." Sighing, he withdrew, his sober tone dropping his voice a register.

She looked at him expectantly.

"It's not your fault."

Her expression let him know he had hit a nerve. Dropping her gaze, she sniffed humorlessly. "Yeah."

His palm cupped her jaw, fingers sliding up into her silken hair, nudging her face back up to look at him. "Kitty, let this go."

But she shook her head. "Matt, this isn't just another scrape. Don't you understand this is something you'll have to live with for – for the rest of your life? If you hadn't carried me – "

Matt Dillon wasn't normally a man of eloquence, but the next words spilled directly from his heart before his brain even had a chance to consider them. "If I hadn't carried you, you would be dead. Don't you think I'd live with ten times the pain before I'd live without you?"

He had surprised them both. She froze, eyes widening, tears pooling, then falling, as she stared, unable to say anything. He felt his throat close, his chest tighten at the double bombardment of her emotion and his own feelings. His heartbeat pounded in his ears; he lay on his side, waiting for her to speak, to move. Finally, her fingers lifted to his cheek and brushed gently, and it was only then that he felt the moisture on his own face, realized she wasn't the only one crying.

He also realized they had passed the time when words were sufficient to express what they felt. Slowly, he slid an arm around her waist and tugged her closer, letting his mouth close over hers in a kiss that began with tenderness, but almost immediately exploded into a conflagration that left them both panting when they finally let go. Their eyes held, blue fires burning together, souls communicating wordlessly.

Matt ached for her with his heart as well as his body. Any physical pain forgotten under the strength of his desire, he eased her onto her back and knelt over her, using his mouth and his tongue and his hands – and his other talents – to bring her writhing to the edge again and again.

And she gave as much pleasure as she received, hands caressing, rubbing, squeezing, so that he finally had to stop her before it was too late. He had no idea how long they spent in such pleasure before she groaned his name and clutched at his shoulders to coax him up her body so that he was poised, hard and eager, at her entrance.

"Kitty?" he asked, even though he knew she was ready.

Her answer was to wrap her legs around his hips and tug. Hesitating only long enough to brace his arms so that his weight wasn't on her, he pushed forward slowly, closing his eyes as her heat surrounded him.

"Matt," she breathed, and he opened his eyes again to lock onto hers as their bodies moved together with increasing intensity, years of intimacy guiding their motions. He held out long past the time he thought he could, waiting for her, drawing her with him until she cried out, arching against him, dragging her nails down his back. Finally free to let go, he thrust harder, pouring out passion and love over and over in powerful bursts before the strength drained from his muscles, and he couldn't hold himself up any longer.

When the world waved back into focus, he was aware of soft hands pushing gently at his shoulders. "Matt – "

"Oh." Somehow, he managed to withdraw and roll to the side, one arm over his head, the other hanging off the bed. "Sorry."

"Umm." Kitty snuggled up to him, one hand resting on his chest, one leg draped over his thighs. "There's absolutely nothing to be sorry about," she purred.

He smiled. Purring was good. "Did you enjoy dessert?" he asked after a few minutes.

As expected, Kansas City had proven quite adept at providing top-notch steaks, and they had thoroughly enjoyed their dinner, but when the waiter questioned them about their last course, he had received only a quick, "No thanks," from Matt and a deep blush from Kitty. As promised, they created their own confections in the privacy of their hotel room.

She moved her hand down his stomach, playing with the trail of hair that led even lower. "Um hmm."

"Interested in seconds?" he offered, despite the fact that his knee was reminding him of its presence again.

A deep laugh bubbled in her throat. "If you don't think I'd be too greedy."

"I like greedy women," he told her, grunting when her hand slid south.

"Yeah?"

Something popped into his mind, something from his long-ago schooling. "Love is blind, and greed insatiable."

Kitty propped on an elbow and looked at him, surprised or amused, he couldn't tell. After a moment of scrutiny, she breathed a laugh and burrowed back against his shoulder. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not."

Maybe he should have left out the part about love being blind. But he certainly considered the insatiable part a positive attribute.

"So, you are a poet now?" she continued, not giving him a chance to get into more trouble.

He chuckled. "Nah. Just something I read."

"Umm. Tall, handsome, brave – and literate. What else could a woman want?"

Reaching over, he pulled her on top of him and pressed their hips together to show her just what else a woman could want. She wasn't the only one who was greedy.

XXXX

Dodge City

Late Evening, Tuesday

Doc Adams closed the medical journal and set it on his desk, stretching stiff arms before he leaned over to extinguish the lantern. He had stayed up too late, but that was normal. Usually, his late night hours came from the ubiquitous tending of the sick and injured of Dodge City. This evening, though, he had the rare opportunity to choose his own agenda, and spent it brushing up on the latest articles in his field.

But he found his mind wandering, and eventually gave up on the journal. Kitty's telegram, although brief out of necessity, nevertheless conveyed the joy she felt at being away with Matt. The doctor shook his head as he thought about those two. Through the years, he had tried to mind his own business – well, mostly – but, by golly, couldn't they see they were meant to be together?

Of course, Kitty wasn't the one he should be pestering, but Matt was almost impossible to get to. Usually, at any hint of meddling, he just stuck his thumbs in his gun belt, reared back so that he stood at his full height, and clammed up.

Doc shuffled over to his bed, sinking down on it and envisioning all the times either Matt or Kitty had lain in that same spot, ill or wounded, close to dying. He wondered what would happen if the day came – when the day came – that one or the other didn't survive. And what would they have then? What would Kitty have when they finally had to take Matt over to Percy Crump's for good?

No name. No home. No family.

"Damn fool," he muttered, lying back against the pillows. "Matt Dillon, you're a damn fool."

But as he lay there, memories of the years brought him different visions: visions of two people laughing together at their "usual" table in the Long Branch; visions of two people riding a buckboard to a private picnic by the river, shoulders touching, eyes smiling; visions of two people walking hand-in-hand up darkened back stairs, unaware that one nosy and affectionate old friend was watching; visions of countless times two people couldn't keep from telegraphing their feelings, even though an entire town was watching.

Then he chuckled, the sound unexpected to his ears, as he realized something. There he was, alone and grumpy and worried about two people who were at the moment probably not thinking about anything except – well, they probably weren't thinking at all. Maybe he was the fool, instead.

Matt and Kitty were in Kansas City. They were happy, and they were together – regardless of the lack of a flimsy piece of paper. And if that was the way they wanted it, Doc figured he wouldn't be greedy for what he wanted.

At least for now.

END

"Love is blind, and greed insatiable."

Chinese Proverb