Welcome! Thank you for reading!

I don't own Laramie, its characters, or anything connected to it. This story is just for fun. It is also unbeta'd, and I apologize for any errors in grammar, punctuation, logic, or fact. There was an issue with the italics last time I published a story, so if that happens again, please let me know. (And maybe send along some advice for fixing it – I'm still pretty new to this publishing schtick.)

Enjoy!

XXX

"Do you think Jess'll be on the afternoon stage, Slim?"

Slim Sherman rolled his eyes. "I don't know, Andy. Maybe." That was the answer he had given the past three times his little brother had asked, and the five times Andy asked if Jess might be on the morning stage. "Why're you so eager for Jess to be home, anyway?"

Andy patted the horse beside him. He was supposed to be helping Slim get the team ready for the incoming stage, but he was doing a lot more looking than actual work. "It's just that he's been gone a while, you know? With him and Jonesy both off, it's awful lonesome around here."

Slim smiled, but his hands paused in their work. He was surprised by the way the words stung. After all, he was missing Jess and Jonesy, too, and he was looking forward to Jess's return just as much as Andy was.

But it wasn't too long ago that all he and Andy had was each other, when just the two of them would have been normal, not lonesome. Jonesy had been there for what seemed forever, but he had always been Pa's friend – it had taken time to get used to thinking of Jonesy as family. And even then, there was something about Slim and Andy, that brotherhood, that bond, that had made the two of them special.

Then along came Jess. He hadn't been at the Sherman Ranch even a year, but the gunman turned drifter turned ranch hand fit like a glove. The work suited him, the life suited him, the people suited him, and he suited it all right back. He somehow managed to be Slim and Andy and Jonesy's best friend while keeping true to himself, and he filled the holes Slim had never even noticed were empty. Less than a year, and already Jess Harper had made an indelible mark.

"I miss them too, Andy," said Slim, and it was the truth. What he didn't say was that sometimes, he missed being Andy's only big brother, missed being the hero in his little brother's eyes. Slim would never wish Jess gone, not for a second, and he was eternally, almost painfully grateful for the role Jess played in Andy's life. But he missed the little brother who would come to him with questions about everything, who trusted him to the bitter end, who wanted to help out and was happy just holding a saddle if it meant he got to work with Slim.

Andy would rather hold a saddle for Jess nowadays. And when he had a question, he usually went to Jess, unless it involved arithmetic or spelling. It was good for them both: Andy needed someone besides an overbearing big brother to look up to, and Jess needed someone to take care of. The bond went deep.

Which was why Slim didn't let it get to him, and he shook off the incidental moments when it did. He was happy to share big brother responsibility with Jess, and he knew Andy had more than enough affection to go around. Things were good. No need to complicate them. Andy was still his little brother.

"There's the stage!" Andy leapt on the corral fence and waved as the stage came flying over the hill and down toward the ranch house, a lumbering box carried in by a cloud of dust and four heaving, pounding horses.

Slim smiled as the team pulled up almost directly in front of the front door. "You showin' off for someone special, Mose?"

"You could say that."

"Jess!" Andy pushed off the corral fence and ran over as the dark-haired rancher stepped out of the stage, grinning.

"I told Mose I didn't think he could make it before one. How'd he do, sport?" Jess hugged Andy, heedless of the dust that spread from his clothes to everything around him, as the boy pulled his watch from his pocket.

"You lose, Jess." Andy grinned up at Mose. "By five minutes."

Mose whooped. "Ain't I always said not to dare me into nothing? I been driving this stage since you was half a peanut. I got enough tricks up my sleeves to make these horses fly, if I really wanted to."

"Some other time, Mose," said Slim, waving away the dust that thickened the air, but he couldn't tug the grin off his face. The old stage driver's enthusiasm was contagious. "Andy, come help change the team. We'll give Jess a chance to go on inside and recover from the flying horses."

"That offer apply to everyone?" Slim had already moved toward the lead horse, but he turned back at the voice to see a tall, dark-haired man disembarking the stage. "'Cause I gotta admit, after that last stretch, I'm not altogether sure I've still got all my pieces."

The dust seemed to hesitate in the air as the man smiled, layering between the guests and the rancher, and Slim felt an inexplicable twist of unease. The newcomer was ordinary enough, with the same worn-in, worked-in look of nearly every man drifting through Wyoming. There was absolutely nothing unsettling about him – but Slim was unsettled, all the same.

Jess laughed and slapped the man's shoulder. "Slim, meet Dan Sellers. He got on in Cheyenne, back before the horses went insane."

"You're just mad you lost the bet," called Mose from his perch atop the stage.

Jess threw the driver a mock scowl and returned his attention to Slim. "Sellers's been looking for work. I told him we might have something, but he'd have to talk to you. Dan, this is the man I been tellin' you about – Slim Sherman."

Slim held out a hand. "Good to meet you." The man took his hand, amiable enough, but there was still something… "You done ranch work before?"

"Some," said Sellers, tucking his thumbs into his gunbelt. It looked well taken care of; so did his gun. Which didn't necessarily mean anything. Slim knew plenty of good, honest men who kept their piece in good condition. Including himself.

"Anyplace in particular?"

Sellers shrugged. "Tend to sign on with the highest bidder, come time for cattle drives. Done most of my work in the Dakota Territory, some in Nebraska." He grinned. "Got a little too close to the big cities, so I'm workin' my way west. Slowly."

"We could use some more help around here, Slim," said Andy. Slim tried not to grimace. Andy had been fascinated by the drifters that came by for years, and Slim never had gotten used to it. And with the successful integration of Jess into the ranch, it had only gotten worse. "'Specially with Jonesy gone."

"Our foreman, and the only one around here any good in a kitchen," Slim explained, at the man's questioning look. "You got any experience as a cook?"

"Some," said the man, "all of it bad. But if you pay me, I'll do it."

Slim smiled and shoved down his unease. There was nothing about this man to make him the slightest bit suspicious – and they could use the help. "I think we can find something more useful to pay you for."

The man's smile grew wider. "Meanin' I'm hired?"

Slim nodded. "Meaning you're hired. You can set up in the bunkhouse. Jess, show Mr. Sellers the way, would you?"

"And in the meantime," shouted Mose, "would someone on this ranch kindly do your job? In case you jabbering nancies hadn't noticed, I'm still connected to four frazzled out, bone weary nags!"

"Sorry, Mose," called Slim. "Come on, Andy. We'll take care of this."

Andy frowned, already two steps behind Jess and Sellers on the way to the bunkhouse and, Slim had no doubt, bursting with questions. "But, Slim…"

"You can talk to Mr. Sellers all you want later. After the work's been done."

Andy pouted a little, but he shifted direction to help Slim with the teams.

The day continued in normalcy, with the familiar work and Andy beside him and Mose up above offering advice that was more critical than helpful. The birds were calling, the horses' hooves were thumping, and the wind was whistling through the grass; everything was normal, everything was good. But as Slim's hands played along the familiar lines of the harness, he couldn't quite quell his lingering unease.

There was something unnerving about Sellers.

XXX

"Sure is a nice day, ain't it?" asked Andy, leaning on the fence as he watched Sellers work on the barn door. Ever since one of the boards had taken a beating from a spooked mare, it hadn't done much to keep out the weather, and it absolutely refused to close all the way. Slim had meant to get it fixed sooner or later, but since there was always something else to tend to, the door was always a "later." It was nice to finally have someone around to do all the things Slim and Jess couldn't get to on their own. And if it meant another person for Andy to talk to, so much the better.

Sellers had been at the ranch about a week now, and as far as Andy was concerned, he was welcome to stay indefinitely. He was great at listening to stories, and when he was in the mood for it, he was also great at telling them. Just yesterday, he had told Andy about the time he and his brother had been attacked by a cougar. The sight of the scar the lion left on Sellers' leg had made Andy shiver – in a good way. It was a great story. Andy had resolved to linger around Sellers, try to hear more stories about his time in the wild, and, if the man wasn't in a storytelling mood, to get some of his own talking done.

In response to his question, Sellers grunted, which Andy took as an invitation to continue.

"Last time Slim had to fix this door, a storm came on when he was only halfway through. Jonesy told him to come on inside and leave it for another day, but Slim just kept right on working through the rain. Said he'd been plannin' on fixing the door that day, and a little bit of rain wasn't going to stop him. 'Course, the next day he was mighty sick, and Jonesy wouldn't let him outta bed. Slim had to spend the whole day sippin' chicken broth and listening to Jonesy say 'I told you so.'"

It hadn't been funny at the time, but now, looking back on it and remembering Slim's surliness, Jonesy's exasperation, and the lectures Slim was forced to listen to, Andy couldn't help but smile about it. Slim always did hate being sick.

"Jonesy?" Sellers asked, pausing in his work, and Andy shook himself back to the present.

"Yeah, Jonsey's…well, he's family, really. He stayed on after Pa died, and he just never left. Mostly he helps with the cooking and the cleaning and such – and taking care of me." Andy couldn't hold back a scowl that showed exactly how he felt about needing a babysitter. "He ain't here, though – he went east for a while, visiting a friend with a broken arm. Prob'ly won't be back for a month at least. That's how come we're short of help." He swung himself up on the fence until he was sitting on top of it. "You got any kin, Mr. Sellers?"

The man didn't pause in his work, just shook his head. "Can't say as I do, son. My ma died when I was young, and my pa was never much to speak of. It was always just me and my brother, until—" the man's words caught, and he cleared his throat. "Right up to the end."

"I'm sorry," said Andy. He desperately wanted to ask what had happened, but Slim had drilled enough manners into him that he couldn't. "I dunno what I'd do if I lost Slim. Or Jess."

"You seem like a mighty close-knit family," said Sellers. "You're lucky; not everyone has two older brothers like Slim and Jess."

"Well, Jess ain't my brother, not really," Andy clarified. "He was riding through a while back, hunting down a man he thought was hiding out in Laramie. He used to be a gunfighter, you know," he added with a sliver of pride. He liked telling visitors about Jess' sordid past; it made the ranch seem more exciting.

"That a fact," said Skeenan, sounding impressed. "Not many gunfighters settle down so young. Most just wind up dead."

Andy flinched at the sudden picture of Jess lying dead on some lonely street, victim of a gunfight gone terribly wrong. But it was an impossible image, and it wasn't hard to shake. "Not Jess, he's too fast. And besides, he put up his gun the day Slim invited him here."

That was enough to get Sellers to stop working and look up at him, and Andy wondered a little too late if maybe Jess would prefer to have some of his darker life choices kept secret.

"Sherman invited him?" Sellers echoed. "Did he know he was a gunfighter? It's hard to imagine the upright Slim Sherman letting a gunslick move in."

If Andy had thought about it, he would have wondered at the slightly changed tone, the off-center words, but it didn't register. "Well, he wasn't all that keen on it, at first, but Jess kinda grows on you. 'Sides, Jonesy always says Slim's got more of a soft spot for those in need than Ma and Pa together. He just keeps it buried real deep so's you wouldn't notice."

"That a fact," said Sellers. He rolled back on his heels, passing a scrap of wood thoughtfully from one hand to the other. "In that case, it'd probably cut him all to pieces if something bad were to happen to his family. You or Jess, I mean." He shot Andy a smile. "Better take care of yourself, son."

"Sure," said Andy, a little uncomfortable, and another silence settled over them, punctuated by the rustle of living things around them and the whistle of wind. He watched as Sellers pried open the paint can and started brushing at the door, long, steady sweeps that were almost mesmerizing in their rhythm. The smell of paint fumes filled the air, and Andy breathed deep.

Sellers glanced at him. "If your brother was here, he'd probably be telling you not to breathe in the smell. Paint can make a man mighty sick sometimes."

"Aw, Slim never wants me to do anything," Andy pouted, but he did stop breathing deep.

"Bit of a stickler, huh?"

"You can say that again," said Andy. "He's always trying to tell me what to do, piling on the chores and asking about schoolwork. Like I'm still a kid." He bounced a heel off the corral fence, then thought about how Slim would probably tell him not to and did it again.

Sellers glanced in Andy's direction. "Some people can't help butting their heads into other people's business."

Andy paused in his kicking. "Well, that ain't it, exactly." Andy may have often felt that way about Slim, and had said as much at least once, to Jonesy – much to the regret of his aching backside – but for some reason, he didn't much like the words coming out of Sellers's mouth. "He's just got a pretty firm idea of what's right."

Sellers grunted, which wasn't much of an agreement either way, and resumed his work. Andy wondered if he ought to say something else, stand up for Slim somehow or try to explain Slim's bullheaded way of doing things, but he decided against it. Sellers didn't seem all that interested in continuing the conversation, and besides, he'd figure Slim out on his own sooner or later. Andy settled back to enjoy the sunshine and watch as Sellers put the finishing touches on the door.

The man straightened and took a step back, studying his work and adding a dollop or two of paint where he had missed a spot. "There we go," he said, turning to Andy. "What do you think?"

Andy studied the door. Despite the clear sky and lack of a storm, it wasn't quite as good as the time Slim had fixed it, but it wasn't bad. "Looks good to me, Mr. Sellers."

"Good." Sellers gathered his tools. "Now, since you're practically a grown man, why don't you give me a hand? Seems to me that two people cleaning up might finish in time to get in a little fishing."

"You bet!" Andy swooped down from the fence and picked up the bucket of paint, a broad grin on his face. It was nice to have another person to talk to around the place.