I used the last of my break to get this chapter done. There is one more to go, which I hope will be out within a week or so. Thanks for your patience and your wonderful feedback. This chapter answers a few questions (but not quite all), including the one most of you have speculated about.
(BTW - The gun spin – you'll know it when you read it – is from "Ten Little Indians." It's a cool scene if you get a chance to watch that ep.)
Haunted Heart
A Gunsmoke Story
By Amanda (MAHC)
Chapter Seventeen: He Watched
POV: Doc
Spoilers: "Ten Little Indians;" "Disciple"
Rating: PG-13 (Teen)
Disclaimer: The original GS characters aren't mine, of course, but I created Sam. (Well, Matt and Kitty created him in my story.)
At night, the Long Branch was the hub of activity in Dodge City, raucous and alive with drinking, smoking, gambling, and various other amusements, some more questionable than others. But come morning, the place resembled a church more than it did a saloon. As he grew older, Doc Adams decided he preferred mornings. They were calmer, quieter, and generally less likely to provide him with drunk or maimed customers.
This particular morning, as he had done many mornings before, he hovered over his coffee, pretending to sip at it while actually watching Kitty Dillon. There were many reasons to watch her – not the least of which being that she was a beautiful woman.
Sure, she wasn't quite the slip of a girl who had trudged through the mud and into their lives that rainy day so many years ago, but she was even better now: a real woman whose compassion and strength and goodness had impacted the lives of more than one person in Dodge City. He smiled into the dark liquid and considered that the life that had been most impacted was that of their hard-headed marshal, who had taken his own sweet time – almost too much time – to figure it out.
But he did figure it out, and now, as Doc watched her play with the child that long-awaited union had produced, he offered up a silent prayer of thanks that they had come through crisis after crisis finally to reach this point.
He had made it his practice to watch Kitty ever since that first day, when his eyes couldn't help but be drawn to the exquisite creature in the café. Through the years, though, he had watched her for other reasons, sometimes out of sheer admiration for her skills with a deck of cards, sometimes out of amusement at her witty banter with Chester and later Festus, sometimes out of deep interest in her subtle eye contact with a recalcitrant marshal, sometimes out of fear for her life and concern for her health. And sometimes out of a mutual angst created by their shared love of a man who stubbornly placed himself in danger for them, for Dodge, for anyone he thought he could and should protect.
He had watched her fret, despite her valiant efforts to mask it, while they waited for an overdue Matt to return. He had watched her barely hold it together, hovering behind him, while he dug yet another bullet out of the marshal's body. He had watched her grieve over the excruciating decision to leave everything behind and do what she thought was best for all of them.
And after she had left, and he couldn't watch her anymore, he had watched the man torn apart by that decision. He had watched the strong, stoic lawman – survivor of uncounted battles – slowly disintegrate in the absence of the other half of his soul. He had watched the town that had counted on their formidable protector's steadfastness and reliability for twenty years suddenly find a common bond by making sure they had Dillon's back – emotionally and physically. And – thank God – he had watched that man set his jaw, gather the steel that ran deep in him, and finally go after what he wanted – what he needed.
When they had stepped off that train – Matt and Kitty, with the incredible addition of their child – Doc knew he wasn't the only one watching over them. A power much higher than he was had intervened.
And he thanked God – literally – that he could watch her once more. So he had for the past several months – and he did now in the Long Branch. This morning, though, his perusal was not so much aesthetic as it was medical. While his friend's eye took note of the wistfulness in her gaze when she allowed it to drift to the doors, his physician's eye took note of the mild paleness in her cheeks.
"How 'bout a beer this time?"
His thoughts dissolved at Hannah's question. Pulling out his watch to see if he was close enough to noon for propriety, he nodded. "Well, sure. Okay."
"If ya' don't mind me sayin' so, Doc, ya' look a mite tuckered."
"I was up with Maybell Printley all last night. She had a hard time with the baby. Didn't want to leave her until I was sure things were stable."
"Is she all right?" Kitty asked with a touch more concern than usual.
"She's fine. Has a beautiful little girl."
A chuckle came from the bar. "Girl? Makes five of 'em now for Hank, don't it?" noted Hannah.
Doc shook his head. "Yep. He said he was going to call her 'Henry' whether she was a boy or girl."
Kitty's eyes widened. "Did he?"
"Well, I guess 'Henrietta' is close enough," Doc figured.
"Better than 'Henry' anyway," Kitty observed.
He looked at her closely and frowned at the tight strain around her eyes. "You must have come into town mighty early this morning."
She cocked an eyebrow, and he saw that his subtle probing hadn't fooled her. "Hannah was gracious enough to let Sam and me stay with her the last couple of days. We thought Matt was coming back earlier, but – " Her voice fell off in disappointment.
"What are partners for?" Hannah interjected. "Besides, we hadn't had a chance ta' spoil that boy recently with ya' livin' outta town."
"I'm afraid he's already too spoiled as it is," Kitty said, but her smile softened the mild accusation. "And we're not very far out of town. I just thought maybe we could be here when – " She faltered, but Doc knew what she wanted to say.
Patting her hand lightly, he nodded. "Matt'll be along soon."
But a disturbingly dark shadow crossed those fine features. "I hope not, Doc."
"What?"
Her voice little more than a whisper, she repeated, "I hope not."
"Well, whatever for?" he blustered before he saw the true fear on her face.
The familiar jingle of spurs interrupted her answer as Festus clanged down the steps and up to their table. "Mornin' Miz Kitty," he greeted, then bent over to let his hand scatter through Sam's curls. "Hey thar, Mister Dillon," he added. "Ya' cotched enny outlaws t'day?"
"Festus!" Kitty scolded, her tone uncharacteristically harsh toward the deputy. They all jumped a little in surprise.
Silent for a moment, Festus managed to gather himself. "Shucks Miz Kitty, I didn't mean – "
Visibly softening, she sighed. "I know you didn't. I'm sorry." She was instantly forgiven.
Doc continued watching her, his concern for both her physical and emotional well-being. As much as she agonized over Matt's being in constant danger, he figured it would be ten times as hard on Kitty for her son to grow up to be a lawman.
Her hand dropped to her waist, a move he wasn't sure she even realized she had made. "I guess I'm just worried about – "
"I bin a' keepin' my eyeballs on thet feller whut's waitin' fer Matthew, now, Miz Kitty," Festus assured her. "Don't you go 'bout frettin' over that."
Alarmed, Doc pushed his beer away and turned to face Festus. "What fellow? There's someone waiting for Matt?"
Festus threw a worried glance toward Kitty before he lowered his voice and explained. "Wael, yestiddy this drifter come in here a lookin' fer Matthew. Only he wusn't actual lookin' fer Matthew, he wuz lookin' fer him fer some other feller. Leastways he sed he wuz lookin', only I ain't shore th' feller actual sent him. More like he wuz jest curious – "
"Festus, what in tarnation are you talking about?"
"Stranger's in town looking for the marshal," Hannah clarified. "Says he has business with him. Nobody seems ta' know who he is, but he sure looks like he can handle a gun."
Kitty flinched, and Doc saw Hannah grimace at her own words.
"Well, what's his name?"
"Don't nobody know, Doc," Festus said. "He ain't sed."
"Where's he staying?"
"Dodge House," Hannah supplied.
"Why don't you just go over there and look at the register?"
Festus scowled. "Wael, ya' kaint jest walk in an' – " He stopped, eyes wide, then turned on his boot heel. "I'll be back terrickly," he announced before stomping out of the saloon.
Shaking his head, Doc turned back to Kitty. "I can see why you're worried."
She didn't bother to deny it, simply nodded.
Touching her wrist as casually as possible, he let his fingers find her pulse. "You feeling okay? You look a little pale."
"She was sick this mornin'," Hannah volunteered, ignoring Kitty's sudden glare. "Got a bit of coffee and toast down her, but that was all."
"You don't have to tell everything you know," Kitty scolded half-heartedly, slipping her hand from his grasp.
"Yes, she does," Adams said. "She does if it's about your health." He lowered his voice, not sure how much Hannah knew. "Any cramping?"
"No. It's just normal, like you said the other day."
"Does Matt – "
She shook her head. "You just confirmed it the morning he and Newly left. There wasn't much chance at privacy out there in front of the jail. I wish – I was hoping he'd be back by now."
He smiled reassuringly and patted her hand again. "He'll be back soon."
"Just in time for that gunslinger to – "
His hand closed on hers, holding it tightly. "Now, you don't go worrying about that. It's not good for you. Festus already told you he's keeping an eye out. You saw what happened with Coy Brennan. Nobody in this town is going to let somebody get to Matt. You just count on that."
She allowed a grateful smile, even though he saw that she didn't really believe what he said. Of course, he didn't believe it, either.
"Miss Kitty! Miss Kitty!"
Nathan Burke's yells burst into the Long Branch before his body did. Doc started to mutter that the freight clerk had no more sense than Festus, but realized that it was an insult to the deputy, and even though he'd never admit it, he set quite a store by the scruffy hillbilly.
Before they could stand all the way, Burke followed his voice, out of breath and pointing. "They're back, Miss Kitty. The marshal and Newly. They're back!"
"Well for Pete's sake, Burke, do ya' have to come in here like a wild man just to tell us that?"
"But Doc, you don't understand. That fella's still waiting. He's leaning against the rail over at the Dodge House, just looking. You think he's going after the marshal?"
Doc wanted to tell him he was crazy, but he couldn't. As much as he hated it for Kitty – for all of them – it appeared that there was a real possibility they were in for yet another showdown on Front Street. He started to order Kitty to stay, but knew it would do no good at all. Instead, he stayed by her side as they stepped through the batwing doors.
As soon as the two men came into view, Doc quickly assessed their conditions, just as he had done for Matt since that first time the new Dodge marshal had returned from the trail so many years ago, bloodied and barely hanging in the saddle. Little had he known it was a harbinger of 20 years of such returns. This time, he noted with a sigh of relief, neither one looked injured. In fact, both horses and riders cantered in at an easy pace. As they neared the saloon, the marshal looked up expectantly, a smile spreading his lips when he saw Kitty waiting on the boardwalk. Doc couldn't help but grin at the big man's involuntary reaction. They pulled up, both tipping their hats to the ladies.
"Matt," Doc greeted. "Glad to have ya' back."
"Glad to be back," Matt returned, throwing a leg over Buck and stepping to the ground. Doc watched carefully for a grimace, but either the marshal wasn't hurting today or he was masking it well.
Newly didn't dismount. Instead, he took the big buckskin's reins from Matt. "I'll get the horses stabled," he said, swinging around. But he wasn't quite fast enough.
"Hold on there, Newly," Doc ordered, frowning and scooting around to the other side of the deputy's bay.
The younger man tried to turn his head away, but it wasn't any use. It didn't take the practiced eye of a physician to see the ugly, swollen bruise that discolored most of his jaw on the left side. The lip was bloody and busted, too. Someone had slugged the young man, but good.
"Well, my goodness son, what happened to you?" he exclaimed, as those watching craned around to get a look.
"Uh, Doc – " Matt began, and Adams' head twisted in surprise at the regret that weighed down the marshal's tone.
But before Dillon could finish, Newly said quickly, "It's nothin' big, Doc. Comes with the territory." He caught Dillon's eye and both men exchanged some sort of message, intriguing Doc even more. "Right, Marshal?"
After a long beat, Matt pressed his lips together and nodded. "Right."
With a click of his teeth Newly tugged on the horse. "Come on, Buck."
"Matt, what on earth happened to New – " He started to ask, then stopped at the rare, but delightful, sight of the reserved and very private man greeting his wife with a tender kiss, right there on the boardwalk in front of everybody.
When Kitty pulled away, slightly breathless, Doc heard Matt whisper, voice urgent, "I missed you, Red. I missed you a lot."
"I missed you, too, Cowboy," she returned, her smile rather bemused. "You must be tired. I'll have Floyd bring some hot water up to the room."
"Room?"
"Sam and I have stayed with Hannah for a couple of nights."
Regret crept across the marshal's face. "I'm sorry we were late, Kitty."
But she brushed at the dust across his shoulders and smiled. "Nothing you could help. How about that bath?"
Her ploy worked, erasing the regret and drawing a flush of color to his cheeks. He lowered his voice even further, and Doc had to strain to hear him ask, "Join me?"
Now it was Kitty's turn to blush. Her only answer was a sultry look from under hooded eyes. Doc thought – certainly not for the first time – that Matt Dillon was one lucky man.
"Papa! Papa!" The delighted cry delayed any reunion, as Hannah emerged from the saloon, Samuel Dillon wiggling furiously in her arms, reaching out toward his tall father.
Grinning, Matt took a step toward them, his own long arms held out to take his son. "Sam! Boy, you've grown half a foot since I left."
The child lunged for him, unconcerned about being practically air-born. The marshal caught him with both hands and lifted him high into the air, a spectacle that drew the attention of several Dodge citizens as they passed, fond smiles gracing their faces. Doc reminded himself that this town had suffered right along with their marshal those dreadful months after Kitty left. It was only fair they should be able to rejoice with him, too.
"Papa come home!" the child announced, patting his father's chest happily as Matt pulled him close.
It seemed to Doc that a bit of regret crept into Matt's eyes, but he smiled anyway and assured his son, "Papa's come home." Twisting to look down at Kitty, he suggested, "Why don't we go inside and – "
"Matthew!" Festus called from across the street. "Ain't you a site fer sore eyeballs!"
"Festus," Matt greeted, grunting slightly as Sam squirmed in his firm grasp.
"It is shorely good ta' hev' ya' back. 'Course it's been quiet. These rascals 'round chere knowd not ta' mess wi' Festus Haggen."
"I have no doubt," Matt assured him.
"Thang is, though, thar is somethin' mebbee ya' need ta' know about."
Instantly, Matt's manner grew more serious, and he shifted Sam in his arms, leaning closer to Festus. "What's that?"
Taking a breath and shooting a quick, apologetic look toward Kitty, the deputy said, "Stranger's in town, lookin' fer ya'. Sez he has bidness with ya'."
"You know his name?"
"Zeke Lane. I checked at th' hotel."
The marshal's eyes narrowed. "Zeke Lane?"
"I bin keepin' a eye on him, and I hev ta' say, he looks like a feller pretty handy with a gun."
"You say he's been looking for me? Did you talk with him?"
"Wael, no. Some drifter come in yesstidy a'talkin' 'bout him."
"Drifter?"
"Scrungy feller name of Link – "
"Marshal!"
Conversation halted instantly at the call from across Front Street. Doc spun, heart thudding in his chest as they all turned to see a slender man, neatly attired, gun slung low and sure across his hip, approaching with a slow but steady stride. Not taking his eyes from the man, Matt handed Sam to Kitty.
"Get back inside the Long Branch," he told her, voice low.
"Matt – "
He repeated his order, voice still level, but clearly accepting no argument. "Get back inside."
Doc watched the dread cross her face, knew the same feeling himself. Lane continued to advance, arms to his side, stride cautious.
It never got any easier, watching the showdowns, waiting to see if he would be digging another bullet out of Matt, praying that if he did, the marshal would still be alive to make it necessary.
The marshal shifted carefully to look back, his hand close enough to his holster to draw, but falling short of the motion. Once again, the eyes of Dodge rested on him.
Along the boardwalk, the men of Dodge gathered, their eyes glancing around, sending messages silently among them. Doc felt a thrill of both excitement and fear to realize that those with guns had now brushed their hands over the handles and were ready to draw. They had Matt's back – in spades.
But Doc wasn't the only one who saw. The marshal stepped down from the boardwalk so that he was away from any spectators. With only a quick glance at the men, he shook his head, a curt move that sent his orders: no interference. Doc knew he would never put anyone in danger if he didn't have to – except himself.
The physician ached to run out and stop the tragedy – because it would be one for sure. Someone was about to die. He prayed as hard as he ever had that it wouldn't be Matt Dillon. Lane continued to walk steadily toward the marshal, his eyes never leaving the big lawman. Matt squared, a move they had all seen many, many times.
"You looking for me?" Dillon called out.
Suddenly, Lane stopped, his step unsure. Time slowed. Doc imagined he could hear the seconds tick past, matching the beat of his heart. No one moved. No one breathed.
Then, Lane yelled, "Marshal!" as his hand flew to his gun.
A shot split the air before Doc's eyes stopped blurring from the action, its dreadful echo reverberating off the store fronts for another couple of seconds. Another blast followed, this one louder and heavier. Ignoring her husband's earlier instructions, Kitty burst through the saloon doors, empty-armed, hand at her throat.
"Matt!" she groaned, rushing toward the street. Doc threw his arms out to stop her and hung onto her ask they both looked, hoping – praying – that they would see the tall form still standing.
Eyes burning, he squinted, first scanning the ground where Matt had been, then swallowing in relief as his gaze had to move upward. The marshal was still standing, tall and steady, but strangely enough he wasn't shooting. Instead, he held his gun up, almost over his head, the iron spinning fast around his finger for a few seconds before the pistol butt slapped back firmly against his palm. It was an impressive display that Doc had seen him do only once before, but the physician knew it wasn't to show off any firearm prowess. The marshal had done it to keep himself from firing.
Frowning in confusion, Doc looked over to where Lane had been, expecting to see the outlaw sprawled out dead in the dust. But the man still stood, as well, his own gun drawn in readiness. No puff of smoke drifted from it, though, and Doc found himself even more perplexed.
"Doc, look!" Kitty pointed to their right toward Moss Grimmick's stables.
He blinked at the sight of Newly O'Brien gazing casually back at them, the Greener in his hands still smoking slightly. Across the street, a crumpled figure lay half-on/half-off the boardwalk. Drawing enough calm into his bones to move, Doc exchanged glances with a frowning marshal, then brushed past Kitty and shuffled toward the younger deputy.
Blood had pooled beneath the dead man, the hole that killed him blown dead center in his chest, his eyes staring vacantly into the sky. Doc realized the only man who could help him now was Percy Crump. Looking up, he caught Newly's eyes, pained, but steady.
"You okay?" Doc asked.
Newly nodded, an unexpected air of confidence gracing the motion.
It didn't take long for the crowd to gather. Matt pushed through the throng to stand over the body, his own gaze locking with his deputy's, a look of gratitude and approval passing from blue eyes to brown.
Newly drew a breath and explained. "This fellow tried to shoot you, Marshal. He was hiding at the corner of the stables over here, waiting until you stepped out into the street."
Gazing again on the sprawled body, Doc sniffed. That scruffy looking fellow had tried to kill Matt? He didn't look capable of such a thing. Of course, Doc reflected, few dead men looked capable of much.
Festus peered down at the dead man, eyes un-squinting for once. "Why thet thar's Link Jenson, thet feller whut told us 'bout the man lookin' for ya', Matthew."
Doc tensed as Zeke Lane joined the group just as Newly offered, "I think he was taking advantage of – well, of what was about to happen – "
The other gunman just hooked his thumbs in his belt and cocked his head to get a look at the man on the ground. "His name ain't Link Jenson," he observed.
Matt looked down himself then grunted. "No, it's not," he agreed, straightening. "That's Butcher Cole."
A ripple ran through the crowd. The name of Butcher Cole evoked visions of plunder and rape and murder from almost twenty years back. Doc remembered the terror that had swept through the county – even the whole state – as that outlaw and his band of marauders ripped viciously across the territory. As the physician recalled, a young marshal, the badge still shiny on his chest, had tracked down the killers and brought them all to justice – and acquired himself two serious bullet wounds for his trouble. Butcher Cole had been dragged out of Dodge screaming his intentions to finish off that young marshal if it took twenty years.
No one was quite sure why he was never hanged for his crimes, but, as far as they all knew, he had spent the past twenty years in federal prison in Arizona. And now, he had apparently returned to carry out his vow.
Dillon rubbed absently at his chest against the memories of long-healed injuries. After a beat, he lifted his brow toward Newly. "I owe you, marshal," he said.
Another ripple ran through the crowd at the unexpected title.
Newly shrugged. "Comes with the territory, Marshal."
"What in tarnation – " Doc began.
Matt turned toward Lane, and to everyone's surprise, thrust out a hand to the man it appeared he had been ready to draw on. "Mister Lane, I'm – "
"Now, I'd be a right ignorant deputy if I didn't know Matt Dillon." The man smiled and took the hand. "Seems you already know who I am."
"I'm assuming the Attorney General sent you," Matt said.
Doc's head was spinning almost a quickly as Matt's gun had a minute ago. "Matt, what's going on?"
"You assume right," Lane said. "I was supposed to be your temporary replacement." He looked over toward Newly. "But I see maybe you already have one."
Matt looked back at Newly and nodded. "Did he send anything with you?"
"Oh." Land shoved a hand into his vest pocket and pulled out a bulky envelope. "Said just let him know when you were ready."
"Thanks." Matt took the envelope.
Still baffled, Doc repeated, a little more urgently, "What's going on?"
Before the marshal could respond, though, the crowd parted, and Kitty came through, her eyes wide. She stopped just in front of Matt and placed a hand on his arm, as if she had to touch him to make sure he really was all right. "I'd like to know, too. What does he mean by 'replacement'?"
The marshal grimaced a bit and blew out a breath. "Well – "
But before he could finish, she cried, "Matt, you're hurt!"
Instantly, Doc squinted at the big man, alarmed to see a spreading stain of red on the sleeve of his upper right arm. He cursed at himself for not noticing it earlier.
"I'm okay, Kitty."
She frowned, unconvinced. "Doc?" she called, lifting the arm so the physician could take a look. Even though he had insisted he was okay, Matt couldn't suppress a hiss of pain.
"He got off a shot before I realized what he was doing," Newly said ruefully.
"He just winged me, Doc," Matt insisted, tugging his arm away from Adams' grip.
"Winged you, huh?" the doctor echoed doubtfully, his practiced eye taking in the generous amount of blood that soaked the torn sleeve. "You let me be the judge of that."
"Marshal," Burke asked loudly, "what's this about a replacement?"
Several others in the crowd echoed Burke's question, but Doc saw the slight paleness that had crept into the marshal's cheeks and knew he was hurt more than he let on.
"He'll tell you later," Adams snapped, just as interested in knowing, but more interested in getting Matt upstairs and tended to.
"Arrite!" Festus stomped about, scattering the crowd. "Ever-boddy git on back ta' whut you wuz doin'. Nothin' ta' see here."
Of course, there was plenty to see, but for the seasoned citizens it wasn't anything particularly unusual, so they acquiesced, still glancing back occasionally as they moved on about their business.
"Replacement?" Kitty repeated, as Doc fussed over her husband's arm. He heard the word continuing to be echoed down the boardwalk as the citizens dispersed.
Dillon smiled down at her, his stance suddenly a little unsteady.
"All right," Doc ordered, "You can talk all you want to after I've gotten a look at that arm." He snorted in irritation. "'Winged,' my foot."
XXXX
The marshal perched on Doc's exam table, shirt and vest draped over a nearby chair so the physician could get to the wound that was high on his arm – almost at his shoulder, pleased that it had not come close to the scar that was an eternal reminder of the injury that almost took his forearm. This one wasn't nearly as bad, even though it would have put most men in bed for a week. Doc figured Dillon would favor it the rest of the day, then discard the sling he would only pretend to use even for that long.
"See, Doc?" the big lawman insisted, "I told you I was just winged." Once he was seated, Dillon had regained his color and now protested the doctor's ministrations.
Adams shook his head. "Matt, what you call being 'winged' is what other men refer to as being shot!"
"It's not too bad, though, is it?" Kitty asked, her face paler than it had been a few minutes before.
Doc frowned, noting her pallor. "Well," he conceded, "I wouldn't say he was 'just winged,' but it could have been worse."
"See?" the marshal said.
The door to the office opened, and Hannah entered, a squirming Dillon baby in her arms. "He's gonna bust if he don't get to see is papa," she declared.
Matt grinned and slipped off the table while Doc was still trying to secure the bandage.
"Hey!" Adams protested, managing to tie up the ends hastily.
Ignoring any pain from the wound, the big man extended his arms to take his son, but the boy shook his head and pushed against Hannah. "No, Papa," he insisted. "I walk."
"What?"
Lowering the child to the ground, the older woman let him wrap his fingers around her thumb to gain his balance, then gently withdrew her support. His legs, chubby but still long, planted firmly on the floor before he took one, toddling step. Surprised when he didn't end up on his rear, he chanced another, then another until he had wobbled over within easy reach of his father's outstretched arms. With a triumphant grin, he allowed the big, strong man to swing him up high again, the deep laugh rumbling in his chest.
"By golly!" Matt exclaimed, bracing the child in his left arm. "Look at that. Kitty, did you see that?"
"I saw," she said, laughing.
"When did he learn that?" he asked, his expression a little sad that he had missed yet another significant event in his child's life.
But Hannah's words lifted the sadness. "Just now," she told him. "Been tryin' for a while now. Guess he needed some incentive – like seein' is daddy again."
Matt's lips tightened, and Doc realized the marshal was clamping down on a swell of emotion. Swiping at his own eyes, Adams decided he wasn't the only one.
"Well, now," Hannah declared, her own expression decidedly sentimental. "This calls for a celebration. I'm buyin'!"
"Sounds fine," Doc agreed.
But Kitty waved off the invitation, a move that drew everyone's immediate attention to her. "Count me out," she said, voice too weak.
"Kitty?" Doc asked, but suddenly she was sliding down the wall, the blood draining from her already ashen face.
Doc reached out to her, but Matt had shifted Sam back to Hannah and lunged to catch his wife before Adams could finish his move. "Doc!" he yelled, voice hard with fear.
As fast as he could lower his aging body, Adams knelt at her side, fingers automatically moving to find the pulse at her wrist. A little fast, but not bad. "Kitty?" he asked gently.
She opened her eyes, raising a shaking hand to her forehead. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Guess I got – a little dizzy."
"Dizzy?" Matt asked, then lifted troubled eyes to meet Adams' gaze. "Doc?"
If he hadn't been a little worried about Kitty, Doc would have smiled at the look of something akin to panic on the normally controlled marshal's face. It was endearing to see the concern he had for her – always had been.
"She's okay, Matt," he assured the worried husband. "It happens sometimes in her – well, it happens."
"In her – what, Doc?" the marshal snapped, pouncing on the unfinished sentence. "What's wrong?"
Adams exchanged glances with Kitty. So much for telling Matt in private. She'd need to spill the beans before the poor man had an attack of apoplexy thinking the worst.
"Well, nothing's wrong, really," the doctor began.
"She almost fainted here," Matt declared impatiently. "What do you mean nothing's wrong?"
"Well – "
Sighing, Kitty placed a hand on her husband's arm. "I'm fine, Matt. It's just that – " She glanced at Hannah and Doc, who didn't give an indication of budging.
"Kitty?" Matt urged, voice hoarse and anxious.
She smiled at him. "Well, Cowboy, it's just that – I'm pregnant." She paused, then added, "Surprise."
As Doc had told him before, there were times that Matt Dillon could put on the best poker face of anyone he knew. But this wasn't one of those times. On the contrary, the shock was plastered plain to see all over his rugged features. His jaw dropped, his bright blue eyes opened wide, and he stared at his wife until she couldn't help but laugh.
"You okay, Matt?" she asked finally when he still hadn't spoken in almost half a minute.
"I – what?"
"She's pregnant, Marshal," Doc provided, chuckling a little himself. "That means – "
"I know what it means. I just – how – when – "
Adams coughed a little and said, "I didn't figure I needed to go over the how with you, seeing as how you already accomplished that. As to the when, you'd know better than – "
"Doc!" Kitty scolded.
Dillon glared at the doctor, lowering his voice so that his conversation became exclusive between his wife and him. Doc took the hint and backed away, although he couldn't help overhearing them anyway.
Taking her hand in his, he murmured, "Kitty, I didn't expect – I mean, you always, well – we were – at least I thought we were – I mean we were careful – "
The redhead smiled slyly, a mischievous tone touching her voice. "Picnic. Silver Creek."
A furious blush swept across Matt's rugged cheeks. "Ah."
When Doc stepped toward them again, he didn't bother wiping the grin from his mouth. The marshal quickly overcame any embarrassment, though, and stood to his full, considerable height.
Still holding Kitty's hand, he let his intense gaze bore down on the doctor's. "Doc, is this – I mean is it safe?"
"Safe?" Adams asked, even though he knew what Matt meant.
"I mean – " Dillon threw a wary glance toward his wife, then decided to risk the wrath his comments were sure to invoke. "I mean, Kitty's forty-two – "
"Doc knows how old I am," she interrupted, glaring at her husband.
He ignored her and pushed, "Is it safe? Is Kitty going to be all right?"
Adams wanted to ask him what he would do if he said no, if he told him that Kitty would be risking her life to bear this child, if he had to give him a choice between saving the mother or saving the child. But he already knew the answer to that. Patting the younger man reassuringly on the shoulder, he said, "She should be fine, Matt. She's on the outside range of child-bearing, you're right – "
"Thanks," Kitty said flatly.
" – but she didn't have any trouble with Sam, and this is not her first pregnancy, so I don't see why we should anticipate any problems."
"Thank God."
Relief washed over those strong features, and Doc sniffed back a sudden swell of emotion as the big lawman sank to his knees, gathered Kitty into his arms and held her tightly, his lips finding hers in a loving, gentle kiss. The physician indulged himself for a moment with the tender scene, then cleared his throat and looked away. He noticed Hannah had no qualms about observing them, though. The saloon owner was grinning widely as she watched the couple.
Adams almost interfered when Kitty wrapped her arms around her husband's neck, still kissing him back, and Matt stood, scooping her up into his arms, but the sheer delight on the big man's face stopped him momentarily. Never had he seen such unabashed joy lift those features that usually showed the weight of the world. For her part, Kitty seemed delightfully stunned, hanging onto him for all she was worth.
"Hey!" Doc protested, finding his voice and cringing as he envisioned the marshal's leg or back or shoulder or still-bleeding arm – or any untold number of old injuries – giving way and pitching both of them to the floor. But Dillon didn't even grunt as he carried her past the doctor and into the bedroom, easing the door closed behind them.
Wide-eyed, Hannah nodded in their direction. "They're not gonna – why, they're not gonna – not in broad daylight – "
Doc shrugged. He didn't think so, but Matt had done some uncharacteristic things the past year or so. He found himself both relieved and a little disappointed when, after a couple of minutes, the marshal appeared at the door, Kitty visible behind him, tucked into Doc's bed.
"What?" Matt asked at the look on both Doc's and Hannah's faces.
"Oh, nothing," Doc assured him, chagrined at even having considered the thought.
Glancing quickly toward Hannah, who finally took a hint and turned slightly, offering Sam a set of keys to play with, the marshal tugged Adams aside and bent to lower his towering body a little closer, giving them at least the semblance of privacy. His lips pressed tightly for a minute before he drew a heavy breath.
"Galen," he began, voice cracking.
Adams started at the name, only the second time Matt had ever used it.
"She is gonna be all right, isn't she?" Dillon asked, so with such heart-breaking earnestness that Doc had to swallow before he responded.
Of course, even though Kitty was strong and healthy, no doctor could guarantee something only God had complete control over. His hesitation wrenched a hard breath from the big man.
"Isn't she?" he pushed, then looked at Doc, his eyes raw and honest. "She has to be," he ground out softly between clenched teeth. "You know that, Doc, don't you?"
Looking up into the anguished face of the man who was the closest thing he had to a son, Adams saw twenty years of regret and six months of despair and almost a year of redemption all hinging on his words, all waiting for him to proclaim them to be counted as gain or loss. Regardless of what his physician's training told him, he knew what he had to say.
Smiling, he placed a hand on the broad shoulder. "She's going to be fine, Matt. I promise." He issued up a prayer that his prophesy would be true. "I promise."
Doc watched the anxious man fight to hang onto the gush of relief that threatened to embarrass him. After a few seconds, their gazes met, the marshal's rich with both gratitude and demand. He had no doubt Matt Dillon was going to hold him to that promise.
Clearing his throat roughly, Dillon stood straight and turned so that Hannah wasn't blocked from the conversation anymore. "She wants to go home. Is it – would that be all right for her?"
Gently, Doc said, "I think so. Take it easy, though."
Matt nodded, taking two long strides toward the door.
But Doc had to do one selfish thing before he let them go. "Just a minute, Matt. You haven't explained what Lane was talking about out there in the street. Replacement?" Narrowing his eyes, he asked pointedly, "What have you gone and done?"
Dillon let his hand drop from the knob, cocked his jaw, then said quietly, "Something I should have done ten years ago, Doc."
Before Adams could ask more, he was interrupted by Sam, who had realized his father was leaving and reached out from Hannah's arms. "Papa!"
A grin breaking the tension on his face, Matt took the child and held him close. Voice husky, he repeated, "Something I should have done ten years ago."
"Are you resigning, Matt?" he asked flatly, not completely sure what answer he wanted the marshal to give him.
Dillon paused, a curious smile crossing his lips. After a moment, he said, enigmatically, "Yes and no."
Adams glanced at Hannah, who shrugged back. "What's that supposed to – "
"It's – kinda complicated." He sighed and looked at his son, who jingled Hannah's keys happily. Gently extracting them from the child's grip, he handed them back to the saloon owner. "And I'd like to tell Kitty first. You understand."
Doc did, indeed, understand that. Matt had learned from experience that Kitty didn't like being the last one to find out about significant revelations. "Well, okay. I'll come out later and check on her." And you, too, he told himself silently.
"Thank. I'll get the wagon from Moss." He turned back for a moment, teeth tugging slightly at his lower lip. "Uh, can you watch her for a while, Doc?" Adams considered the suddenly boyish expression on his friend's face, was reminded of a rather shy young marshal he had first met over twenty years before.
Could he watch her for a while? Compared to twenty years, a while was a piece of cake.
He smiled. "I sure can, Matt," he said. "I sure can."
Because whether Matt asked or not, Doc Adams knew he would be watching her – watching them – for as long as the Good Lord gave him that ability.
TBC