A/N: Thanks for all the lovely feedback! I really appreciate it and it is a great motivator.

Warning: This chapter contains some triggers for sexual violence.

~~ Chapter 12

Doc took a shuffling step. "I can't feel my feet," he said.

I scooped him up in my arms, kicked the door closed then carried him to the chair by the fire.

"Not too close," said James.

I pulled him and the chair back a couple of feet.

"Fetch a bucket, Matt." James bent down and looked into Doc's face. "Dr. Adams. My name is Jimmy. We need to get you out of these wet clothes. Your shoes are frozen. This is going to hurt. But I think you know that." She turned to me. "When you get him undressed, put his feet in warm water." She rushed to the door and pulled on her coat.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"I will put up his horse while you help him out of his clothes."

"I can put up the horse," I said.

"I think it might be best if I did it," said James, pointedly.

We stared at each other for a long moment. Even though I now knew we weren't being stalked by some murdering outlaw, I was still feeling a little spooked.

"Take the dog," I said.

"I'll be back directly."

I nodded. I resisted the urge to fasten the top button of her coat. I felt momentarily lost when she went out the door.

When I turned back to Doc, he was slumped forward in the chair. I walked over and started to unknot the rope that held the blankets around his shoulders. His ears and the tip of his nose were white and his lips were cracked and bleeding a little.

"You got to stay awake for me, Doc," I said, giving him a little shake. He mumbled something but didn't open his eyes. I shook him again. He opened his eyes and nodded.

"I'm awake," he whispered.

I carefully unwrapped him from his swaddling. The blankets were so thick with ice that they nearly stood on their own when I set them on the floor. I pulled off his hat and muffler. I rubbed the ice out of his hair with a towel. He'd used leather blacksmith's mittens padded with horse hair to protect his hands. They were cold and stiff but still bright pink. I had to massage his arms and shoulders for several minutes before I could get them to unlock enough so I could take off his coat. His jacket, waistcoat and shirt were wet through. I peeled them off, leaning him forward against my shoulder like I'd seen women do with their babies. I knelt and gently pried his frozen boots from his feet. I got him out of his pants and jonny, gently patted him dry and wrapped him in a quilt. I left his socks on. I figured I'd let his feet soak for a bit before we tried to take them off.

When I eased his poor feet into the bucket of water, I felt his hand come to rest on the top on my bent head. I looked up at him and he pressed his fingertips briefly to my cheek. There was love for me in his eyes – love and a profound relief. I realized in that moment, that he was what I meant when I talked to James about my people. It was Doc before any of the others, the only man in Dodge I could call a friend for more than a year. Over time, it grew deeper than mere friendship. He became the closest thing I ever had to a father.

And he had come for me, alone and in the dead of winter – the act of a father, for his son.

I rubbed his head with the towel again, massaged his arms and shoulders and tucked the quilt more securely around him, using all that fussing as an excuse to touch him, to hold him briefly, tightly in my arms. I added more hot water to the bucket and found some salve to smear on his cracked lips and wind-burnt face. I kept at him until his shivering calmed and he started to grumble. I stood and poured him a cup of coffee. I steadied his hands as he took a few sips.

"I can manage," he snapped.

I held up my hands, palms out. I stepped away and poured my own cup of coffee. I watched him as he took note of his surroundings: the wall of books, the faded Oriental rug, the gleaming escritoire tucked in a corner under the fine oil painting of James's mother on her wedding day.

"How the hell did you find me?" I asked.

"Blind, stupid luck."

"Stupid is right."

"And Bill Hickcock."

I raised my brows. "Huh?" I said.

"He came through looking for you, took me to dinner instead. I told him that you went after Jonas Cooker and ... well, the look on his face, Matt. Scared me to death."

"Why?"

"He told me that Cooker was the worse man he ever met." Doc shook his head. "No, no. He said evil. Plain evil."

Jonas Cooker was a sadistic rapist who had murdered two young women and a twelve year old girl – and those were the ones we knew of. When I caught up to him at his hideout, he got me in the leg. I squeezed a shot off as I went down, hitting him in the body. His life's blood was pumping out of a hole in his chest but he pointed at me and laughed.

"They told me you was some kind of revenging angel, Dillon," he said. "You ain't no angel. You're a man. Just like me. I'm fixin' to get out of this. Just like them other times."

"You're going to hang, Cooker," I said.

"You got nothing, Dillon. Judge'll let me go and I go back to living my life. You watch. They ain't got no evidence against me. Besides, them little cunts was begging for it. You should've heard them squeal. They loved it."

I stood over him and looked him in the eyes. They were the color of clear water and absolutely empty. He coughed a bubble of dark phlem and smiled at me with bloody teeth.

"They loved it," he croaked.

I pointed my gun at Cooker's head and pulled the trigger twice.

"He was a bad one," I said.

"Is he dead?"

"Yep."

"Are you sure?"

"I made sure."

"That one needed killing," said Doc.

"How does Hickcock figure into this?"

"He caught an outlaw a few months back who finally gave up Cooker's hideout in exchange for leniency. Hickcock came to Dodge because he didn't want to go after him alone. He said since he couldn't enlist the Calvary, he wanted the next best thing. Matt Dillon."

I huffed out a laugh. "He didn't say that."

"Matt, goddamned Wild Bill Hickcock looked me right in the face and admitted that he was scared of Jonas Cooker."

I nodded then shrugged with a tilt of my head. "I guess it's good that I never met the man until I killed him."

"Anyway, I copied the map."

"And Hickcock?"

Doc twitched his mustache and took a sip of his coffee. He mumbled something into his cup.

"What did you say?" I asked.

"He got drunk for three days then went back to Abilene. He thought you were good as dead."

"Can't say I blame him."

"Somebody had to do something," Doc grumbled.

"I thought Quint and Festus might come looking for me but only after the thaw to maybe bring my bones back to Dodge. I certainly didn't expect you, you old fool. And I bet you didn't tell anybody where you were going."

"It's nobody's business what I do," he yelled.

"You'll be lucky not to come down with an ague."

"I'm fine. Being cold doesn't make you sick. That's a myth – what's so funny?"

"Nothing, Doc. Nothing at all," I said, shaking my head. "I still can't believe it."

"I had a map. And I used a compass, unlike some people I know," he said, cutting his eyes at me.

"Never had much use for either," I said.

"I didn't find the hideout but I did find a heap of logs called Fort Hardy."

"You were about ten miles off course."

"I stayed a couple of days there, resting my horse and setting the broken arm of an Indian boy who turned up. Those so-called cavalrymen gave me directions to some old prospector's shanty and this farm. The weather was good so I set out."

"It's December in the Colorado mountains. The weather is never good."

"Not a cloud in the sky and I rode in my shirtsleeves. I made such good time that I passed on stopping at that dirty old shack. It was clear blue skies until I got halfway up the slope. All the sudden, it was black as night and blowing cold as hell. My compass froze right away. I couldn't see to go back down so I just kept going up. It was late afternoon when I go to the top. I thought I heard a dog bark. I tried to follow him but I lost him. I'd about given up when my horse smelled your fire. I let him bring me here. Took another couple of hours of going from tree to tree trying not to slide down that hill."

"Doc, you have the luck of the devil."

"Apparently, so do you."

I stared into my cup. "I'm obliged to you, Doc," I said.

"You would've done the same for me."

We smiled fondly at each other until we both looked away, a little red in the face. Doc tugged on his ear. I took a sip of my coffee.

"Are you in any pain?" I asked.

"Starting to feel it."

"James has this poppy stem tea. Kept me from coughing myself inside out."

I saw him take in my bare feet and untucked shirt. I casually ran a hand through my hair, trying to smooth it down.

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

"Coming up on a month, tomorrow." I told him about my illness and recovery with the help of James's doctoring.

"Seems like a pretty smart kid."

"James is nineteen – not exactly a kid."

Doc raised his brows and stared at me over the rim of his cup.

I turned away and walked to the fireplace. I moved the Dutch oven of rabbit stew to the hearth. Miraculously, it had not burned. James was taking a long time with Doc's horse. I fiddled unnecessarily with the big water kettle, poked at the fire and generally tried not to keep glancing at the door. Doc had to be told about me and James but I wanted to do it together. Or maybe I was afraid to do it alone.

"Don't worry about Jimmy," said Doc.

I flinched guiltily. "What?"

"You keep looking at the door."

"No I - ." I sighed and shoved my fists into my back pockets, something I hadn't done since I was a boy. "Listen, Doc. I have something to tell you. I'm - ."

James and Mortimer tumbled in, stomping and flinging snow. James had her arms full with Doc's saddle bags and case.

"That was a long time just to put up a horse," I said, a little too loudly.

James gave me a dark look. "Close the door, please," she said, setting the bags on the floor.

I opened my mouth, closed it then I did as I was told. I helped her out of her coat, brushed the snow off the shoulders and hung it on its hook. When she toed off her boots, I lined them up by the door. I could feel Doc watching.

"I brought in your bags, Dr. Adams," said James. "Your horse had thrown a shoe and chipped his hoof to the quick. I filed it down a bit to make him more comfortable." She walked over and pressed the inside of her wrist to his forehead. "You look a sight better."

Doc reached up and took her hand. He turned it over in his and stroked his thumb across her knuckles. He held her wrist loosely in the circle of his fingers. He peered into her face.

"You're a girl," he said.

"Yes, sir," said James, looking him in the eye. "I am."

She took off her hat. Her long queue dropped down her back. The pink ribbon she'd tied at the end had come undone from its bow. I went over and stood next to her. Doc gazed at the two of us in silence. He leaned back in his chair.

"Good heavens," he said quietly.

"Galen, I was going to tell you," I said.

"That's only the second time you've used my given name. The first time, you thought I was dying."

"I... we..." I lifted James's other hand and showed him the ring.

He blinked. "That's the ring from – when did you -?"

James looked at the clock on the mantel. "Three hours and thirty-seven minutes ago."

"Good heavens," whispered Doc.

XXXxxxXXX