Jess tilted back in his chair on the porch and tugged his hat over his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the peace of the day. With Andy off fishing and Slim and Sellers mending fence, he had the place to himself, and he was enjoying every minute of it. Once Sellers was gone, of course, he'd have to pick up the slack, but until then, he could just sit in the shade of the house and pretend to do housework while waiting for the stage. It was the perfect setup.

A distant rumbling shook him back to alertness and out of the light stupor he'd fallen into. Jess rose quickly, pushing his hat back just in time to see Mose haul the stage to a stop directly in front of him, and grinned. The man could turn the horses on a dime over a sheer cliff without disturbing a butterfly, if he wanted to. Usually he just wanted to go fast and stop faster.

"All by your lonesome today, eh Jess?" Mose called down from his perch atop the stage. "What happened, Slim finally stand downwind of ya?"

"Yeah, you're one to talk." Jess patted the lead horse. "He's out fixing fence." He followed the harness down to the body of the stage and peered in the window. "No passengers today, Mose? They must've got a good look at the driver."

Mose snickered. "Maybe Slim don't take you along 'cause you ain't learned respect for your elders."

Jess grinned. "Don't let Slim hear you say that; he'll whip us both trying to prove he's still a young whippersnapper."

"Ain't that the truth," chortled Mose. He hopped down off the stage. "I got a new delivery of wanted posters, in from Rawlins. I'll leave 'em on the table while I help myself to some hot coffee."

Jess started work on the teams as Mose made his way into the house, the stack of papers tucked securely under his arm. "I better warn you, Jonesy's still out. I made the coffee."

Mose made a face. "Good thing I been exercisin' my teeth."

Jess grinned and turned back, patting the horses affectionately as he worked the rigging. By the time Mose returned, the teams were changed and the Great Overland Stage was ready to move out.

"Darned if your coffee ain't gettin' better," said Mose as he hoisted himself up into the driver's seat. "Managed to bite all the way through it this time."

"Just be glad it's me makin' it and not Slim." Jess waved as Mose pulled out, watching as the coach disappeared around the bend and the dust settled from the wheels before he turned back, reluctantly, to the house.

He was supposed to be sweeping. Slim had explicitly told him to sweep before he'd headed out with Sellers. But the only reason the sweeping needed to be done so badly was because Slim and Andy hadn't done it when they were supposed to, so Jess figured it wasn't really his responsibility, anyway. He shuffled through the new wanted posters instead.

There were a few familiar faces; there always were. Men he'd trained himself to be on the lookout for, men he rode with in years gone by, men whose wanted posters just kept getting updated. It made him uncomfortably aware of exactly what would have happened to him if Slim hadn't galloped up the road that afternoon and offered him a job. He made a mental note to go into town and talk to Mort about a couple of men he'd run into in the past, then restacked the posters and set them on Slim's desk. Slim could hang them up later; after all, Jess had chores to do.

He shuffled around a few items on the pretext of making them fit better and wiped a cloth across the mantle to dust it off, but pretty soon he was pulled back to the wanted posters.

Something was nagging at him, and he didn't like it.

He shuffled through them again, studying the faces more closely. Buck Troyeen had robbed a stage; Pete McPherson was wanted for kidnapping and theft, which, based on what Jess knew of the man, barely scraped the surface of his offenses; Jag Williams had killed another man and upped his reward, dead or alive, to $1,000. There was nothing here that should have unnerved him. Nothing here to really catch his attention.

Except maybe…

He studied one of the wanted posters again. Bill Skeenan, wanted for cattle rustling and suspicion of murder. He didn't recognize the name, and the picture wasn't really ringing any bells, but there was something familiar in that face…

He leaned in closer, tried to place the eyes. And then, slowly, the pieces started to fit together. If the man on the poster lost about thirty pounds, shaved off his beard and mustache, trimmed back his hair, maybe trimmed his eyebrows a little and washed his face…

It was Sellers.

He couldn't believe it had taken him this long to see it. Of course it was Sellers. The eyes were the same, the nose, the shape of the face. All this time, Sellers had been a dangerous outlaw with a price on his head, living in their home, eating at their table, working with them and talking with them and sleeping with them.

And now he was out there with Slim.

Cursing himself and Sellers – no, Skeenan – and the stage that brought them together, he buckled on his gunbelt and practically threw himself out of the house. None of the chores were done, but that was even less important now. If anything had happened to Slim…but nothing would. Sellers had been around for two weeks, and he hadn't done anything. There was absolutely no reason to think he'd do something today. At least, that's what Jess told himself. It didn't make him feel any better.

Jess ran into the barn and started saddling Traveler, thanking fate and God and whatever else was involved that Andy was off somewhere and nowhere near the trouble. If Sellers got anywhere near Andy, Jess would never forgive himself.

He might not forgive himself anyway.

He got the saddle on, but he couldn't work the straps, and he cursed under his breath, pausing a moment to breathe and steady his hands. He wasn't any good to Slim all shaken up. He needed steady hands, nerves of steel. Beside him, Traveler, sensing his agitation, turned and nudged at him, and Jess rubbed his horse's nose, firmly, rhythmically, trying to take on some of his calm.

Slim needed him. Slim was out with a killer, and he needed his partner thinking straight and acting straight, not getting all shaken by what might happen. Or what could have already happened. With a deep, centering breath, Jess managed to get the cinch tightened and start leading Traveler out of the barn.

He froze at the sound of horses trotting into the yard. Two of them, by the sound of it. He took a breath to calm his racing heart and tested his Colt, making sure it was ready to draw at a moment's notice. And once he was calm, centered and ready, he stepped slowly toward the open door and peered through.

It was Skeenan, still looking so much like Sellers it was hard to believe he might be a murderer, and he was, thank God and everything else, accompanied by a healthy, bullet-less Slim. Jess breathed a sigh of relief. Despite his self-reassurances, he had only half believed that Slim would make it back to the ranch.

He pulled his gun, waiting, nerves buzzing, as Slim and Sellers dismounted and made their way toward the house. Once they were far enough away from the horses, and Slim had enough distance to be out of immediate danger, Jess stepped out.

"Hold it, Skeenan."

If he'd had any doubts about their new hand's true identity, they were quelled the instant Skeenan went for his gun. Jess fired off a warning shot and the man froze, right hand floating slightly away from his hip.

"Jess?" Slim stared between his best friend and the man he'd been working alongside for the past two weeks. "What's going on?"

"Get outta the way, Slim," growled Jess in reply. "This man ain't who he says he is." And that thought, coupled with the fact that he didn't have to worry about Slim's safety anymore and the painful knowledge that Jess had brought him here in the first place, heated his temper to the boiling point. "Are you?" he shouted at Skeenan.

The man, for his part, lifted his hands, the picture of innocence. "I got no idea what you're on about, Jess. I never heard of this Skeenan fella. He a friend of yours?"

"I thought you were," snarled Jess as Slim stepped up beside him. "'Till I saw your wanted poster."

The man looked over Jess's shoulder. "Sherman, you can't believe this, can you? We've worked alongside each other for weeks! If I were this criminal, this Skeenan, don't you think you'd know by now?"

Slim studied the man before him. "You sure, Jess?"

Jess didn't take his eyes off the man. He knew exactly where his bullet was going if Skeenan so much as twitched. "I'm sure. His wanted poster came in today from Rawlins. He looks a little different, but you can tell it's him. He's got the same eyes."

At these words, a transformation seemed to come over the man. His shoulders relaxed a little, his eyebrows lowered, his lips twitched up, and Jess finally saw exactly what had made Slim so edgy about Sellers in the first place. He'd hidden it remarkably well – too well for the good of the Sherman Ranch – but standing before them was a dangerous man.

"You know, Harper, I figured you'd be the one to catch me," said Skeenan, and even his voice had changed, taking on a hardness Jess hadn't heard before. He raised his hands. "You wanna shoot me now and get it over with?"

Jess did, as a matter of fact, want to shoot him now, and the only things holding him back were the barest thread of self-restraint and Slim's hand on his shoulder.

"We need to take him in, Jess," said Slim.

"Poster says dead or alive," answered Jess gruffly. He didn't lower his gun. With the rage he felt, at Skeenan for putting the Shermans in danger and at himself for vouching for the man, there was a chance he could do it. He probably wouldn't…but it wouldn't hurt for Skeenan to squirm a little.

"We let the law handle it."

And because Jess wasn't about to start shooting men in cold blood, and because that was Slim's no-arguments voice, and because he could still shoot the man if he so much as looked funny, Jess relaxed his gun a little.

"Fine. But he's going to ride in trussed up like a Christmas turkey."

"Fine by me," said Slim. He took a step backwards. "Get him inside, I'll get the rope from the barn."

Jess nudged his gun at Skeenan. "All right, drop the gun." When Skeenan was a bit slow to respond, he barked, "Drop it!"

Skeenan complied, slowly and scowling, and Jess added, "All right, into the house."

Jess followed Skeenan toward the house, and for just a minute, it seemed like everything was going to be all right. They'd bring Skeenan in, and Mort would throw him in the Laramie jail, and Slim and Andy would be safe again. For just a minute, as the future played out in front of him in its promise of safety and security, his shoulders eased a little of their tension and his guard relaxed, just a bit, just a tiny smidgen of a bit. And he let Skeenan walk into the house first.

"Hi, Mr. Sellers."

At the sound of Andy's voice, he and Skeenan dove.

It was already too late. Skeenan flipped the door back on Jess while simultaneously lunging at Andy, and Jess, not expecting Andy to be in the house, or Skeenan to move so quickly, or the door to come barreling into his face, was too slow.

For the first time in his life, he was too slow.

Jess still got his gun up in record time, all things considered, but it was too late. Skeenan was facing him with a grin and a gun pressed against Andy's hair, and Jess cursed himself with every word he knew that he hadn't searched Skeenan for any extra weapons.

"All right, Harper," the man hissed, "drop it."

Jess hesitated. He hated this man. Hated that he'd come into their lives on Jess' recommendation and that he'd wormed his way into their good graces, hated that Jess' instincts had been so, so wrong and there was now a man standing in their home with a gun to Andy's head. As soon as he put his gun down, that man won.

The gun in Skeenan's hand nudged a little, brushing aside a lock of Andy's hair, and Jess slowly lowered his Colt to the floor.

"You all right, Andy?" he asked, even though there wasn't anything he could do about it either way. Andy nodded."

"Yeah, I – I reckon so," he said, and he looked all right, except for the scared confusion in his eyes. "What's goin' on, Mr. Sellers?"

"His name ain't Sellers, Andy," said Jess, his eyes fixed on the gun. One move, one drop in attention… "He's an outlaw named Skeenan. Got a wanted poster and everything." His eyes flicked up to Skeenan's face. "Rustling and murder ain't good enough for you anymore, is that it? You gotta throw kidnapping a kid into the mix?"

Whatever reply the man would have made was interrupted by the door swinging in, revealing the whole painful tableau to Slim's shocked eyes. Jess couldn't tamp down the wave of shame that rode him at that moment. Slim had left him with one job – get Skeenan inside and under guard – and instead their enemy held a gun to his little brother's head, while Jess' firearm was on the ground. Slim's eyes flickered from Andy to Skeenan to Jess, then back to Andy before he unconsciously echoed Jess' previous question.

"You all right, Andy?"

This time, Skeenan tightened his grip around Andy's throat before the boy had a chance to respond. "'Course he's all right, don't he look it? Now drop your gunbelt and join your friend by the fireplace. Oh, and by the way," Skeenan added with a dark grin as Slim began to comply, "thanks for bringing in the rope. That's gonna come in handy."

Slim glared pure poison, but there was nothing he could do but drop the rope to the floor and let his gunbelt follow.

"And now," said Skeenan with a gleam in his eye to match his grin, "the fun can begin."