Thanks, as always, for the great feedback and the interest in this story. A little more tease here, but the next chapter will have more action. Hope you enjoy!

Haunted Heart

A Gunsmoke Story

By Amanda (MAHC)

Chapter Thirteen: None of My Business, But –

POV: Hannah

Spoilers: "Hostage!;" The Disciple"

Rating: PG (Teen)

Disclaimer: The original GS characters aren't mine, of course, but I created Sam. (Well, Matt and Kitty created him in my story.)

XXXX

The celebration at the Long Branch was in full swing, the citizens of Dodge rejoicing in the return of their marshal and his defeat – somehow both surprising and expected at the same time – of yet another foolish gunman's vain attempt to destroy him and his town. Piano music banged out over the roar of the crowd. Cigar smoke billowed into the air. Beer and whiskey flowed generously, adding to the coffers of the best saloon in Dodge. Usually, such scenes brought a smile to the face of the Long Branch's owner, but tonight she couldn't stop the irritated frown that wrinkled her brow.

Stepping from the back room, she contemplated the possibility of shushing the rowdy cowboys and townsfolk, but one look at the gleeful chaos told her that wasn't going to happen. Besides, it was her celebration, too – at least she had thought it would be. Easing the office door closed, she stepped up next to Floyd, who had barely taken a breath since the rush began.

"Good night tonight," he noted, shoving a glass under the tap to dispense another few gulps of beer for a boisterous patron.

Hannah nodded, letting her tentative smile meet the barkeeper's. "That it is." And it was, but her thoughts refused to stay on the profitable evening, as pleasant as that might be. Instead, her mind kept driving back to that marvelous and terrible scene on Front Street that had prompted the party.

Ironically, in all the months she had been in Dodge City, she had never witnessed an honest-to-goodness, quick-draw, to-the-death gunfight, at least not one involving Marshal Matt Dillon, most famous of all quick-draw lawmen. The spectacle that unfolded was one she knew would be forever etched into her memory. The awe of watching the towering lawman plant his large boots and shoulder the burden of an entire town, the torture of waiting for the draw, the terror of seeing him reel backwards with the impact of the gunman's bullet, the heart-bursting relief of realizing he had survived again, had vanquished the foe once more.

For months the townspeople had spun almost unbelievable stories for her about the legend of Matt Dillon, but none of those tales could hold a candle to the real thing right before her eyes.

Those few horrifying moments made it easier to understand the agony that had forced Kitty from Dodge, from the fear that gnawed at her continually, from the burden of knowing that any moment might bring death and devastation. Still, this time, as before, Dillon had survived. This time, as before, his challenger lay dead. This time, as before, all was right again in Dodge.

But all wasn't right, and Hannah knew it. She had learned too much about Matt Dillon and Kitty Russell, had seen too much, had witnessed too many deep emotions from both of them not to understand and fear the significance of that scene on the street. It was why Kitty had left in the first place. Her words still haunted Hannah's memory.

"For twenty years I've watched him go after men – and a few women – and I've watched them come after him. Not one of them came who didn't intend to kill him."

And now, she had been faced with it again almost as soon as they stepped off the train. Hannah had seen the same old fear in the younger woman's eyes as Dillon squared off against the gunman, had seen the consequences in the marshal's eyes as he looked up at his wife from the dust of Front Street. Their moment of idyllic welcome had shattered all too quickly. And Hannah was afraid for what that meant – for all of them.

Tuning out the chaos of the room, she reflected on those months after Kitty had gone the first time, on the marshal's silent but visible anguish. They had all watched him retreat behind that badge, emotions disappearing beneath a stoic, hardened mask. She had seen his true feelings only twice: first, when he entered the Long Branch and found out Kitty was gone, and second, when she confronted him at the jail and dared to accuse him of not being able to give up the law for love.

How could she forget the weary despair that ravaged his body as he had lain on that jail bunk, teetering on the edge of physical and emotional surrender? How could she forget the rage that exploded from him with the memory of what Jude Bonner had cost him and Kitty? How could she forget the tragic sparkle of that lonely ring as she emptied it onto the table? How could she forget the strength it took for him to drag himself back to his feet and risk his heart one more time?

And how on earth could he survive being left twice?

But that's what was about to happen. Even now, the former Long Branch owner waited upstairs in her old room, bags still packed.

XXXX

As Festus and Newly had helped the marshal up to Doc's office, Hannah assured Kitty she would take care of their child until she came back for him, figuring that would be a good, long time, since the new bride would certainly want to remain with her husband until Doc released him. But, to her surprise – and considerable concern – Kitty had entered the saloon only a little while later, eyes troubled, brow down, the weight of decision bowing her head.

"How's the marshal?" Hannah had asked, hoping Doc's initial prognosis remained true.

Kitty's eyes shifted, looking away. "He'll be all right," she said, voice low. "A little dizzy for a while, maybe."

"Well, good to hear. Good to hear." Hannah studied the other woman carefully, weighing whether or not to push. "Matt Dillon's quite a man, wouldn't you say?"

Blue eyes snapped for a moment, then lowered. "He is," she agreed, almost in a whisper. It didn't reassure the saloon keeper.

She wanted to tell Kitty just how much of a man he was, but she figured the redhead knew better than anyone else – and certainly in more ways than anyone else. Still, she wished Kitty could realize just what the town had seen those months, the pain that he fought both in his bones and in his heart.

Instead, she observed simply, "You came back."

"He brought me back," Kitty clarified.

"I don't figure you would have come if you didn't want to."

Kitty didn't reply.

Figuring she really had nothing to lose, Hannah drew in a breath and said, "Look, this is none of my business, but I can tell you right now that man loves you deeper than any man I've ever seen. I know what happened this afternoon scared ya'. I know it was just what you've lived with for twenty years. I know you don't know if you can keep on livin' that way."

"Hannah – "

But she plowed on, digging as deep as she could before the bedrock broke her shovel. "I ain't never seen a man so torn up inside as Matt Dillon was all the time you were gone. And I ain't never seen a man so proud as when he stood with you and your boy there at the train station. And what about your boy? What kind of man will he become if he doesn't have the chance to know his pa? My goodness, who in the world could better teach him how to be a man than Matt Dillon?"

Kitty had straightened her shoulders, her eyes glaring at the older woman. "You were right."

"Right?"

"It is none of your business, just like before."

If that was the worst she could do, Hannah would risk it. "All the same – "

"All the same," Kitty repeated, then let her voice soften. "All the same, I know you mean well. You're not telling me anything I haven't already thought about."

"Then – "

"I'd like to ask for another favor," she said, smile forced. "I know you've done quite a few of them for me since – "

Despite their disagreement, Hannah didn't hesitate. "What do ya' need, honey?"

Gratitude softened the younger woman's features to match her voice. "Can you keep Sam a little while longer? I have – I have some things to take care of."

Hannah felt her heart sink. Even though she could understand Kitty's decision, she couldn't agree with it. In fact, if she had been fifteen years younger herself, Hannah would never have let him go. She would have latched onto Matt Dillon with all her might, bullets, bad guys, and badge be damned.

"Sure."

Nodding, Kitty added tentatively, "Would it be all right – that is, do you have a room here at the Long Branch I can use – just for tonight?"

The Long Branch? That was even worse. She knew that the marshal kept a room at the Dodge House and that he had taken their luggage over there earlier, before Brennan ripped apart the lives they had only recently woven back together. The fact that Kitty only needed one night was ominous, too. It hinted that the morning stage might have two additional passengers.

Sighing, Hannah nodded sadly. "I have my room – your old room."

"Oh, no. I couldn't do that. I'll just – it's okay."

But Hannah realized she wanted to do it, wanted to help the woman some way, to ease at least a little of the turmoil she had stepped right back into. "No. I insist that you take it. After everything you've been through, the least I can do is help you be comfortable. It's your furniture, after all. Maybe it'll help."

"Really, you don't have to – "

"Didn't ya hear me insist?" Hannah smiled. "Insistin' means you don't have a choice. " Then she lowered her voice a bit. "Look, it's none of my business, like you said, but are you really sure you want to do this?"

Kitty nodded once, a curt, determined motion. "I'll need to get my bags – "

"I'll send Floyd."

"No, I'll go. I need to – I have to do something else there, too."

And she had disappeared through the doors, only to return in ten minutes, the gangly bellhop from the Dodge House in tow with three formidable pieces of luggage. Hannah had used the brief time to transfer a few necessities to a smaller room, her mind still working through ways to change Kitty's mind. Maybe staying in her old room, surrounded by memories of what certainly must have been very good times would make her think twice about leaving, would help her decide that she was making a horrible decision. Maybe Hannah would go after the marshal, bring him back and somehow lock them in the room together until they worked it out.

She chuckled at the ridiculous sight of her trying to make Matt Dillon do anything. Still, she'd had some success before, hadn't she?

When Kitty returned, she took Sam back into her arms, placed a tender kiss on his cheek, and started to climb the same stairs she had no doubt climbed hundreds of times before.

"Kitty," she said on impulse, not completely sure what she would say next.

The other woman turned halfway up the steps, face expectant.

"Kitty, I – why don't you let me keep Sam a little longer? Take yourself a nice, hot bath, and relax. I'll bring him up in an hour or so."

"You don't have to – "

"Don't have to, want to. Figure you could use it."

A strange look cross Kitty's features, suspicion, perhaps, followed by acceptance. "Well, maybe that is a good idea," she decided finally, stepping back down far enough to hand the baby back to Hannah. "Thank you."

"Glad to." And she was.

The redhead started to turn back up the stairs, then paused. "Hannah, if – if – "

"What?"

"If Matt comes in – "

The saloon keeper nodded reluctantly. She knew what Kitty wanted, but she wasn't sure she could flat-out lie to the marshal, not after everything she'd seen him go through, not after the deep feelings he had admitted in her presence.

If Kitty left, she wondered what would happen to her, to the marshal. She wondered what would become of their child, the one she had suspected all along was what had really driven Kitty from Dodge. Without his father, what kind of man would Samuel Dillon become? Of course, maybe that's what Kitty feared all along. Maybe she would rather have Sam never know the man who helped create him than have him ripped away in violence when the boy would be most vulnerable to such a loss.

Instead of voicing any of those fears, however, she had taken the child and watched Kitty continue up the stairs, wondering if this would be the last time she did.

XXXX

A rowdy laugh rammed into her thoughts, jerking them back to the present. Hannah sighed and watched the gleeful crowd for a few minutes. She had taken hot water upstairs only a few minutes earlier, and hoped Kitty was soaking peacefully by now – soaking and thinking. Clucking her tongue, she shifted her gaze back toward the office, wondering how on earth the baby slept so soundly with that racket going on.

"He's still sleepin'?" Floyd asked, startling her, even amid the din.

"Still sleepin'," Hannah confirmed, managing something close to a smile.

"I guess that's what they mean by 'sleepin' like a baby'."

"Yep."

"Miss Kitty say how the marshal's doin'?"

"All right, I think. At least he will be in time." Physically, anyway.

Wiping out a glass, the barkeep narrowed his eyes and asked, "You think he will – "

But he had barely started his question when the swinging doors practically exploded open. Even over the noise, the customers heard the bang and turned as one to stare at the arresting presence that had suddenly appeared. Matt Dillon stood, shoulders filling the doorway, apparently oblivious to the fact that every eye in the place was focused on him. Even when the group erupted in cheers to greet him like the conquering hero, he didn't seem to notice the accolades. With only a second's hesitation, he pushed his way in and scanned the room, his gaze sweeping across it in one thorough motion perfected by years of practice.

"I reckon he will," Hannah muttered, affected just like everyone else by the energy that surrounded the imposing lawman. Taking a breath, she raised her voice over the crowd and greeted, "Evenin', Marshal," as if she knew nothing, as if all was well and normal.

She wondered briefly if he saw through her mask, then realized he wasn't even looking at her. Instead he threw a perfunctory nod in her general direction, but didn't remove his penetrating gaze from the milling crowd. As commanding as he was, he nevertheless looked a bit the worse for wear. A mop of wavy hair blossomed up over the bandage that wrapped around his head. He was coatless and hatless, his shirt still bearing the bloody stains that soaked his collar and splattered down the chest and sleeve. If they hadn't known Coy Brennan was laid out stiffening in Percy Crump's window, the townsfolk might have figured Dillon had come up short on that draw.

"Can I help you, Marshal?" she tried again, hoping he would ask, begging him to ask.

Finally, his gaze leveled on her, and she caught her breath at the intensity that snapped from those eyes, their normal sky blue darkened with purpose. "Where is she?"

There it was, almost exactly the same question he had asked her at this same bar months before. She had waited too long then, had sat on her suspicions until it was almost too late. Despite her nod to Kitty earlier, Hannah felt no guilt over her next actions, didn't even need to mull them over.

Jerking her chin up sharply, the saloon keeper said, "Upstairs. My room. It's the last door on – "

"I know which door," he interrupted, and she realized that, of course, he knew which door. She easily forgave him the uncharacteristic rudeness, and silently wished him luck.

Their eyes met again, and Hannah almost smiled at the hard determination that sharpened his gaze. It was the same determination she had seen that day weeks before when he strode out of his office on a mission to the Delta to retrieve his lover. Maybe this was the conclusion of that mission.

Breaking away, he crossed to the stairs, his long legs chewing up the distance in only a few strides. His eyes lit on the upper level and didn't deviate. Despite the arm he still rested in a sling, despite the bandaged head, despite the ubiquitous limp, he took the stairs two at a time, his heavy footfalls pounding out even over the noise of the crowd. A few onlookers watched him sprint up the steps, their smiles indicating they knew what propelled him with such haste.

Hannah fervently prayed they were right.

He gained the landing quickly, freeing his left arm so that he could shove through the curtain that separated the back apartments from the front hallway. Then, he was gone.

After they watched Dillon disappear, Floyd raised a brow in question. Hannah could only shrug, having no idea what was about to happen up there behind that curtain. Slipping back through the office door, she stood next to the make-shift crib she had created with a whiskey crate and blankets. The infant still slept peacefully, oblivious to his parents' trials.

She had told the marshal the child was a fine looking boy, and she hadn't just said that out of courtesy like some folks did no matter what the babies looked like. At two months old, Samuel Dillon was already a sturdy, handsome fellow with soft swirls of rust-colored hair and clear blue eyes. Hannah had heard that all babies were born with blue eyes, which changed in the first few months of life. She had no doubt, however, that Sam's eyes would remain blue, their depths a mirror of both mother's and father's.

She hoped he would have the chance to grow up with both parents, would develop his own character from the steel and compassion of both parents. If ever a child had the potential to be something very special, it was a child of Matt Dillon and Kitty Russell. Hannah hoped he had the chance.

"You just keep sleepin', now, Mister," she cooed to the baby. "Everything's gonna be all right."

It was none of her business, of course, but she hoped. Oh, how she hoped.

TBC