Kitty

Contentedly driving in the direction indicated by the sign, Josh occasionally glanced down at a seemingly subdued Kitty. Excitement built in his chest. The sign said, 3 miles to Wichita, and it felt like they'd traveled more than that already, but surely those signs weren't meant to be exactly accurate. Nobody really measured, did they? None-the-less, Wichita had to be close, which meant they'd be on a train to New York very soon. It was good to see Kitty had grown more accepting.

Kitty calmly watched the shrubs and bushes go by, knowing that every mile they covered took them further from Wichita. She was surprised Josh hadn't realized how far beyond 3 miles they'd traveled, but then again, his judgement had always been questionable in numerous ways. Right now, her hope was that they'd hit some small town soon. Josh was sure to be confused, and that could give her a chance to slip away. If the town was big enough to have a telegraph office, she'd send a wire to Matt. If not, she'd get herself to the local church to ask for a place to hide, and a way to send a letter to Dodge. She smiled to herself, she'd never been much of a church goer, but that didn't mean she didn't trust preachers. It was the gossipy, churchgoing folks she was wary of. Josh noticed Kitty's small smile. "I'm glad you're starting to enjoy the trip and accept the situation. I don't know why you fought it so. I've become a wealthy man. I ship – cargo – across the Atlantic. You'd be surprised how many men are interested in what I have to offer."

Kitty shuttered to think about what Josh's cargo might be. She'd see what Matt could do about it, as soon as she got back to him. Meanwhile, making conversation might distract Joshua from thinking about how long they'd been driving."Josh, why do you even want a wife, and why me? Why don't you marry some rich British lady?"

Josh cleared his throat. "I've found that in London society, a man of a certain age isn't fully accepted or trusted unless he's married. I need those connections to further my interests. As for why I chose you - British women of an acceptable class are stuffy and formal, and frankly many are unattractive."

Kitty laughed, "What you're saying is none of them would have you."

"I'm saying that you are exactly what I want. You're beautiful and charming, and Londoner's know nothing about you. They will adore my mysterious American wife. Of course we'll never mention the word 'saloon'. I'll come up with a narrative about your background that's colorful but classy." He rubbed his hand up and down her leg, inching closer to her crotch. "Besides, you've always belonged to me. You were unfairly ripped from my arms 15 years ago by that hideous Panacea Sykes. I've never forgotten that insult."

Josh jumped in his seat. "Look, another sign just ahead, we must be close to Wichita." He pulled up to read the faded, hand painted sign, and frowned. "It says Claymore – 3 miles. But what about Wichita? We must be close, we've been driving for hours."

Kitty shrugged, "Let's just keep going." She felt her body tense. She knew nothing about Claymore, but any town could be a chance to get away.

"No." Josh shook his head. "Something isn't right." He saw a wagon heading towards them and waved his arms. A tiny old man, with long white hair pulled back in an unlikely pony tail pulled up. "What can I do ya Sonny."

"I was wondering if you knew how long it might take to get to Witicha?"

The old man scruntched his wizened face, and scratched the back of his neck, "Well, I'd say about a day and a half oughta do ya. 'Course not in the direction ya headed. If ya lookin' to get to Witicha, go back the way ya came for about a day, then west fur 3 or 4 miles. 'Course ya could head west first. That's up ta you. The old man flicked his reins and allowed himself a slight roll of his eyes. "Good luck."

Joshua twisted the reins in his hands, anger played at his face.. "The sign back where we camped, pointed us in the wrong way." He scowled at Kitty." Why do I feel you had something to do with that."

Kitty looked at him wide-eyed. "That's ridiculous, I didn't put the sign up."

He raised a fist. She lifted her chin and met his eyes without flinching.

"I won't mar your pretty face, this time." He jerked the reins and turned the buggy around. I am going to get you on that damn train. I'll drive all night if I have to."

Dodge City

Sam Noonan stood alone in what used to be the Long Branch Saloon. The sign still hung outside, and the bat wing doors still swung on their hinges, but everything else was gone – bar, piano, chairs, tables, booze, lamps, glasses – everything. He put his fist to his mouth to clear his throat, but the thick, meloncholy rasp that emerged was more cry than cough. The Long Branch had been more than a saloon to him, and working there way more than a job. The walls, and the folks that gathered within them, had given him a place to belong, friends, companionship, something he was good at, and even a chance to show, now and again, that he was up to the job of protecting Miss Kitty and her customers. Ah – Miss Kitty. Her heart was bigger than a watermelon, but she was no one's fool. She was the best boss he'd ever had or would have, and was a real friend too. They never socialized outside of work, but at the saloon, boy-oh-boy, they shared a lot of laughs. They didn't get into each other's personal lives, but she knew he knew about her and Marshal Dillon. The marshal knew it too. Of course lots of folks had inklings that there was something between the big lawman and the beautiful saloon owner. You can't hide a fire under a bush. Still, that was mostly speculation, guess work and gossip. He knew the reality, and the fact that he was trusted with that, made him proud.

Sam swallowed and tried to clear his throat again. Since Miss Kitty died, he hadn't allowed one tear to wander down his cheek. Crying was a female thing. Yet – it was hard with memories being so strong. Even now, in this empty room, he could see Miss Kitty and Marshal Dillon after hours, sitting alone in the back. They'd be talking quietly and laughing, while he made himself invisible cleaning up the bar before slipping out the door, never wanting to disturb something so precious and so rare. Miss Kitty would seem so soft and vulnerable, and the marshal would look so happy and relaxed. Two people with eyes only for each other, whispering things for each other's ears.

Sam shook himself from his musings and walked over to the staircase. It was all gone now. There was no choice, but to move ahead. The saloon girls had cleared out all their room, but Kitty Russell's suite remained untouched. Marshal Dillon was the one who had the right, and the responsibility to go through Miss Kitty's things, but it seemed that for the first time in his life Matt Dillon was shirking his duty. Sam slowly started up the steps but stopped halfway and ran a hand across his tired eyes. He couldn't – he just couldn't. Surely Marshal Dillon would be back soon. There was still some time.

Matt

Now that Matt had Joshua Sharpe fixed in his mind, he pushed on with a hot relentless passion, feeling like one raw nerve. With Shape's head start, Kitty could be in New York already, or even on a ship to London. Or maybe she'd escaped somewhere along the way. She could be out there somewhere – anywhere, trying to find help, facing dangerous towns or brutal landscapes. Sharpe wouldn't give up easily. If Kitty eluded him, he'd want to drag her back, no matter what it took.

Matt forced his mind to cut off that line of thinking. It did no one any good. He took a calming breath, and touched the outside of his coat to feel the box he'd carried for all these miles. Kitty's gift had taken on the feel of a talisman. It was meant for her and she would get it. That meant getting to Wichita as fast as he could. Matt spurred his horse faster. Sharpe was a determined man, but he knew more than a little about determination himself.

TBC