Chapter Twenty-One
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"You're lookin' a mite better today, Dillon," said Luke Crandall to announce his presence as he stood on the threshold, his shoulder hitched against the door jamb. He was pleased to see the Marshal sitting up in bed-his bed to be exact, but he wasn't about to point that out.
Matt turned at the sound of the by now quite familiar voice and watched as the ex-Sheriff came strolling into the room, a cup of coffee in his hand. "Hello, Crandall," he greeted the older man.
Gingerly, he nudged himself into a more comfortable position against the cushioning embrace of multiple pillows. A low groan and a grimace of pain were the result of his effort as his shoulder reminded him painfully that it had only been five days since Doc had taken the bullet out. His left arm was now immobilized by a sling, the forearm bandaged tightly against his stomach. His hand was still numb and useless, but Doc had reassured him that it would improve as his shoulder healed.
Luke pulled up a chair and sat down. Straddling it, he casually draped his arms across its back. The pained expression on the Marshal's face wasn't lost in him. He nodded at Matt's shoulder. "Better take it easy there," he warned.
Awkwardly, using only his right hand, Matt began to tuck the quilt back around his waist that had slipped down and bunched in his lap with his movement. With recovery had come awareness, and he had quickly learned that the colorful bedcover was the only thing maintaining his modesty. Matt sighed. "Yeah, I guess I better." He wished once again that someone would bring him at least his pants and a shirt.
Luke took a sip from his coffee and then used the mug to point at the Marshal's clean, shaven face. "I see you finally allowed Kitty to give you a hand with shavin'." He remembered with amusement the fuss the lawman had put up yesterday, insisting that there were some things a man just had to do on his own when Kitty had offered her help. Apparently, he had changed his mind since then. "I gotta admit, you're almost startin' to look human again," he added with a teasing grin and was pleased to see a smile curve the lawman's lips in response.
Matt allowed himself a small chuckle as he remembered how he had struggled to shave the stubble from his cheek yesterday morning while Kitty had held the mirror for him. It hadn't been the easiest task, but he had managed to accomplish it without adding any more cuts to his already rather scraped-looking face. He touched his fingers to his right cheek. The gash above the cheekbone had closed and was now covered by a crusty scab, but the bruises and swellings were still clearly in evidence of the beating he had taken from Biggs and his cohorts. "Well, thanks," he said.
Luke took another sip from his coffee as he studied the Marshal's battered features. "You know, another week or two of Millie's cookin' and Kitty's attention an' you'll be as good as new."
But Matt was being a little more realistic. "Well, I don't know about that," he said doubtfully. "But I tell ya one thing...I'll sure be glad to get outta this bed."
The afternoon sun was shining warmly through the dusty quarter panes of the window, its bright, golden light creating a dazzling pattern against the plank flooring. The high, tinkling laughter of little Carrie, mingled with the playful giggles of her older brother Rory, drifted in from the yard, and not for the first time Matt wished that he could leave the confines of the bedroom he had come to know so intimately during the past few days.
Luke answered with an understanding grin. "I know how you feel, trust me...but I'm afraid that's still up to Doc Adams to decide."
Matt raised his brows, one corner of his mouth quirking up, the other down. "If it was up to Doc, he'd have me hand my badge over to Chester an' keep me in bed for the next three weeks." Unlike the rest of his body, his voice had regained its full former strength, booming deep from his massive chest as he spoke.
Luke grinned easily in response. "An' that's exactly where you belong, Dillon."
Matt smiled politely, but then his smile thinned and vanished altogether. His expression grew serious. "Say, Crandall, I don't think I've had a chance to thank you for all you've done."
Right away, Luke waved him off. "Oh, it's all right...don't mention it, Dillon. I'm sure you would've done the same for me." He contemplated Matt for a moment. "Besides," he then added, his own voice now growing serious. "You can thank me when I catch that Biggs-fella for you an' put him where he belongs."
Hearing the name, reminded Matt at once of how Doc and the others had conveniently 'forgotten' to mention to him the fact that the outlaw had somehow managed to get away. His forehead creased with a slight frown. He probably would have never found out if it hadn't been for Chester accidentally slipping the news the other day. His eyes automatically strayed to his gunbelt that hung looped over the left post of the headboard. He shifted his gaze to the ex-lawman again. "Any sign of him yet?" he wondered.
Luke took the last sip from his coffee and set the empty cup down onto the bedside table where it joined the Marshal's. He shook his head slightly as he thoughtfully scratched a bushy brow. "No, still nothin'," he finally said after expelling a long, frustrated breath. "It's been five days now and we've searched practically ev'rywhere. You know, I'm startin' to think that maybe we're wrong after all and he's made a run for it."
As much as he wanted to, Matt had a hard time believing it. He had experienced the outlaw's dangerous tenacity firsthand to know that he wasn't one to give up easily. But he did not want to rule out completely the possibility that Luke could be right. "Well, it's hard to tell with a man like that," he said carefully. "Biggs' got a belly full of hate and can't wait to let it out. He's capable of doin' almost anything...he's proved that already by killin' Sam Parker."
Luke twirled one end of his droopy mustache as he gave Matt's words consideration. "Let's say you're right and he's still out there somewhere. Where d'you reckon he could be? I just don't know where else to look for him. Most of the men have quit and I can't say I blame 'em. They got farms, families to look after. It's down to Chester an' me an' that young Worth-fella."
Matt couldn't blame any of the men either; after searching day and night for four days without as much as a trace of Biggs, he could see why they figured the outlaw was long gone by now. But be it as it may-the fact that Dan Biggs was still on the loose, remained and something needed to be done about it. He leaned forward, his eyes meeting Luke's levelly. "Look, we both know what Biggs is after. Maybe there's a way of drawin' him out, lettin' him come to us, instead of us havin' to look for him."
Luke arched a curious brow. "You mean bait him?" "Somethin' like that," said Matt, pleased that the other was following so quickly.
The ex-lawman's face scrunched up ominously. "Let me guess...and you plan on being the bait-"
Matt shrugged. "Well, it's me he's after."
Luke lifted a brow in doubt. "You think that's wise?"
But that was apparently the least of Matt's concerns. "Let me put it to you this way," he said. "I don't see how else we're gonna draw him out."
Right away, the ex-Sheriff raised his hand to wave him off and shook his head. "Forget it, Dillon."
Matt frowned. "Look, you got a better idea?" he wondered, sounding just a little testier than he had intended to.
But Luke, if he had noticed, didn't give any indication. His voice was calm, docile as always. "No, I don't. But your plan's just a little too chancy if you ask me."
But that wasn't good enoughof an argument for Matt. "Takin' chances is part of my job,Crandall," he countered. "Havin' been a lawman yourself, you oughtta know that."
Luke nodded slowly, considering, and there was a sudden change in his disposition, a hint of regret and sadness in his voice when he spoke again. "Yeah, I know what you mean, I know all too well...and that's why I don't like your plan." He eyed Matt speculatively. "Tell me one thing; how long have you been Marshal?"
Matt didn't see what the question had to do with Biggs, but decided to humor the older man. "It's been five years last month," he said. His answer had come quick, didn't require contemplation.
"Five years," repeated Luke thoughtfully as he reflected on it for a moment. "It's not gonna get any easier, Dillon."
Matt rolled his good shoulder in response. "I don't expect it to." It was true-he never had any illusions that it would get any easier.
The other nodded knowingly. "It's gonna get a lot easier to take things for granted though."
Matt didn't know what to say to that, so he remained silent and Luke went on.
"Let me tell you, I've sure taken my share of unnecessary chances in the last twenty-four years and I live to regret most of them. You know that woman out there? Millie? God knows what I put her through without even givin' it any thought. I was a fool and didn't see it back then. Now I wish I could undo it, but I can't. You got a little gal out there, Dillon...she obviously cares about you a great deal, and, unless I'm very much mistaken-" He paused and a knowing smile began to curve the lips beneath that big mustache. "You care about her, too. Take my advice an' don't make the same mistake I made...don't put her through what I put Millie through."
Matt wasn't quite sure what to make of the strange turn their conversation had taken. Nevertheless, Luke seemed rather serious and he resolved to remain polite about it. "Look," he answered patiently. "I'm not sayin' you're wrong, but there's a difference...you an' Millie are married, Kitty an' I are not. Besides, Kitty's known from the beginnin' who I am an' what I do. She understands that takin' risks is part of my job."
Luke gave a soft, mirthless chuckle. "Is that what you think? Well, maybe you're right about that last part, but you're wrong about one thing...Millie an' I didn't get married until three years ago...after I resigned from my post."
Matt regarded the ex-lawman with mild surprise. Somehow, Luke and Millie had struck him as a couple that's been married happily for a long time.
Luke picked up on the Marshal's surprise and his own expression turned rueful. "It's funny how things sometimes go, Dillon. When I first became a lawman, Millie an' I decided to wait, save up a little money first before gettin' married so we could buy us a little spread somewhere. Two years later, we had the money. When I put my resignation in, the town begged me to stay on. And you know what I did?"
Matt didn't answer, knowing that it hadn't been a real question.
"I said yes. She never complained. I knew she was disappointed, but she never said a word. After that, there was always another outlaw to chase, another brawl to break up, another prisoner to guard. She was always there for me, nursed me back to health when I got shot...still she didn't complain." Luke paused as if reflecting on what he'd just said. When he continued, his tone was wistful, carrying a distinct touch of regret. "Before I knew it, twenty-four years had passed and I was still the Sheriff in Lamar. Then one day, I took a bullet to my back. Almost killed me. If it hadn't been for Millie-" His voice trailed off and he looked at his hands. He was quiet for a moment and then drew a deep breath before lifting his head to gaze Matt in the eye. "You know what I did as soon as I was able to get outta that bed?"
Still trying to adjust to the rapid shift in conversation, Matt found himself struggling for the right response. "No," was all he could think of.
"I turned my badge in and married her. You know, Dillon, a man's a fool if he can't recognize a good thing when he sees it."
Matt contemplated the man before him thoughtfully, still not quite sure what to make of Luke's confession. But before he could think on the matter any further, the soft patter of little feet against the smooth plank flooring drew his gaze to the doorway.
Barefoot, the worn rag doll clutched against her chest, Carrie came traipsing into the room. She now looked quite different from the little rag-a-muffin she had been when he had first met her a week ago. Her reddish curls were soft and shiny now, the stained, blue calico dress replaced by a pretty, soft green one with a cream-colored pinafore.
She came to a halt beside the bed and cocked her head to regard Matt from her expressive green eyes.
"Hi, Marsal," she chirped happily.
Matt flashed her a smile. "Well, hello, there, Carrie."
The little girl had been a frequent visitor to his bedside ever since Doc had brought her and Rory back from Dodge the day before yesterday. Her visits-whenever she had managed to slip away from her aunt undetected-had been a welcome diversion to the lawman who was growing increasingly bored.
"What's that you got there?" he wondered, pointing to her right hand. Her chubby, little fingers were folded tightly over her palm, obviously holding something in their grasp.
At the query, Carrie held out her hand to him, uncurling her fingers to reveal a rather wilted-looking daisy lying in her small palm. "Look," she declared in her cheerful sing-song voice.
Before the Marshal could comment on it, she had already slipped it into his hand. "For you," she stated proudly as she beamed up at him, revealing two rows of tiny white teeth.
Matt glanced down at the droopy flower in his palm and then shifted his gaze to Carrie. "Well,...ah... thanks," he stammered. He cleared his throat, trying to think of an appropriate response. "That's...ah...that's very nice of you, Carrie."
Luke chuckled. He reached out and lifted the toddler up, placing her on his lap. "You know what I regret the most, Dillon?" he said as he fondly stroked Carrie's baby-fine curls. "Never havin' young'uns of my own." His voice grew quiet, wistful again. "It's funny how fate works...my brother dies, now we have two."
"Should I come back later?" a friendly voice suddenly interrupted from the doorway.
At the query, the two men turned to find Kitty standing just inside the door, a tray in her hands.
Luke shifted Carrie in his arms. "No, it's all right, Kitty...I was just fixin' to leave anyway. Chester oughtta be back from Dodge any time now to spell me an' I figured I take another ride out there an' look around some more." He stood to leave, then hesitated at the side of the bed. His steel-gray eyes had regained their twinkle as he looked down at Matt, but something deeper lingered there, too. "Remember, Dillon...the only baitin' you're gonna do for a while is with a hook an' a fishin' pole. And that only when Doc tells you it's all right to do so." With a parting smile, Luke walked past the redhead towards the door, his boots clicking loudly against the floorboards.
Kitty arched a curious brow. For a moment, her eyes followed him as he left the room, closing the door behind himself. "What was that all about?" she wondered as she stepped up to the bed to set the tray down onto the bedside table.
"Oh, nothin' much," replied Matt evasively, not thinking it wise to tell Kitty about his plan of baiting Biggs. "We were just talkin'."
His words were met with a suspicious look. "About fishing?" she prompted.
He shrugged, unable to help himself from suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze. "Somethin' like that."
Kitty frowned. Who did he think he was fooling? "Well, here's your lunch, cowboy," she said, her tone suddenly considerably cooler. "Enjoy it." With that she straightened, about to leave, but Matt's hand on her arm stopped her.
"Can't you just stay a little?" he wondered. Luke's earlier confession, as strange as he had found it at first, was suddenly playing heavily in his mind. He gazed into the depths of her sparkling blue eyes, their color a perfect match to his.
Kitty stared at him for a moment, instinctively sensing that something was on his mind. Her frown eased. She pursed her lip. "I suppose I could." She sat down on the edge of the bed beside him and looked at him expectantly.
Matt cleared his throat reluctantly. "Ah...Kitty," he said after a short pause. "There's somethin' I wanna ask you."
She cocked her head a little. "Sure, what is it?"
Leaning his head back into the support of his pillows, Matt began to run his fingers through his hair, rubbing at the scalp underneath as though the stimulation might help put his complicated thoughts into simple words. At last, he brought his eyes to focus on her beautiful face. "Kitty," he began, "you know that bein' a lawman sometimes means takin' chances. It's part of who I am an' what I do. I don't always like it, but at times it becomes necessary. You understand that, don't you?"
For a moment, Kitty regarded him, momentarily nonplussed by his words, wondering what had brought this on. She had known Matt for a little over four years now and from the first time they had laid eyes on each other on that dismal, rainy day at Delmonico's, there had been an immediate, strong and mutual attraction between them. For the first three months, they had simply been friends. Sometimes, on quiet nights, she and the young Marshal had been very good friends. But that was all they had allowed themselves. Both of them in careers that held no place for the stability of a permanent relationship-or so at least they had thought, she and Matt had tried to keep theirs casual, without false expectations, without making any demands on the other. But as the months had gone by, they had found the deepening of their affection for one another harder and harder to ignore until it had become impossible to deny any longer.
From the very beginning, there had always been an unspoken understanding between them in regards to their jobs. Matt had never complained about her line of work, but she knew that he had been more than pleased when she had become co-owner of the Long Branch almost two years ago and hung up her saloon girl dress. Kitty in turn, had always known what his badge meant to him, what it represented. As much as she would love for him to give it up and stop putting his life on the line on a daily basis, she'd never want him to give it up because of her-not unless he was ready to do so on his own. True, she had talked about it, had needled him a little now and them, but they both knew that it was just one of her ways of dealing with the stress and tension that came with being a lawman's woman.
Kitty leaned forward and folded a hand, small and fragile-looking, over his broad one. Her eyes were sincere, reflecting warmth and love when she locked gazes with him. "I'm not gonna lie to you, Matt...there are times when I wish you'd stop wearing that badge," she said. "But I also know what it means to you and I'd never ask you to do something you're not ready for. When you are, I'll be there."
She knew that he loved her and that he would give up, willingly, his badge or anything else, if she just asked him. But she loved him enough to never ask it. Until he was ready to commit to anything more serious, she was content to know that she had the full and undivided love of this tall and handsome lawman. Although, looking at his scraped face and mussed hair, she had to concede that 'handsome' was definitely in the eye of the beholder at the moment.
Her eyes were positively twinkling now and a little smile turned the corners of her mouth upwards. "Just do me one favor-"
Prompted by the sparkle in her eye, his mind began to suddenly conjure up more than one favor he'd like to do for her. He felt a pleasant and familiar tightening in his body at the thought of it, regretfully knowing at the same time that none of them were about to happen anytime soon-not in the shape he was in anyway. "Why, sure," he wondered. "What is it?"
"Promise me you won't make it twenty-four years."
Not exactly what I had in mind, Matt thought ruefully. But he smiled back, his eyes gentle as his strong but sensitive hand closed over her forearm. "Luke's right about one thing...twenty-four years is a long time. I don't know if I'd wanna wait that long."
Kitty regarded him with an expression of controlled amusement. Her lips began to twitch in a smile. "I hope you don't mind if I'll remind you of that once in a while…" She braced one hand against his thigh and leaned forward to kiss him lightly on the lips.
Matt drew a long breath and his chest rose as he filled his lungs with the scent of her. The kiss was over before he could fully appreciate it as Kitty pulled back.
He raised his brows in the direction of her hand on his thigh. He flashed her an impish grin. "You know, I wouldn't do that if I were you," he intoned softly.
Kitty lifted a brow. "Why? Don't you like it?" she wondered innocently, knowing good and well what he meant.
Matt made a face, not thinking that it was necessary to answer that one, but he found a sudden need to shift just a little. "Say, where's Doc anyway?" he suddenly wondered, thinking it safer to change the subject. "He hasn't been around since yesterday."
Kitty shrugged. "Oh, Chester says they have the whooping cough over at the Stevens' place," she explained. "But he said that Doc promised to be by later to check on you."
Matt laced a hand through his hair, scowling as his fingers caught in the sticky tangles. "Good. I can't wait to get outta this bed."
Besides needing a bath, he needed fresh air. He needed the confidence that came with being on his feet again, of being in control, rather than controlled. But he was smart enough to keep his thoughts to himself. He knew that Kitty would tell him that it was far too soon and Doc would gruffly insist he stay in bed.
Fortunately Doc wasn't here and Kitty couldn't watch him every minute. He decided to wait until she had left the room and then give it a try, see if he could manage to walk a little.
"You're not goin' anywhere without these, Marshal Dillon..."
Surprised Matt looked up to see Millie Crandall standing in the doorway, holding up what he'd been looking for...his freshly laundered pants and a new shirt.
"Kitty, you better watch him," the older woman advised as she came walking into the room to hang the clothes over the footboard. "I've seen that look in his eyes too many times on Luke not to recognize it."
Millie winked at Matt and the two women chuckled as the lawman pulled a face and released a frustrated breath.
Nobody inside the house was aware of the danger that was lurking so close by, biding its time, knowing that the right moment to strike was drawing near.
to be continued...