It's been a while, I know. RL is all I can say. I had planned for this to be the last chapter with the exception of a brief epilogue, but it got out of hand – so I've divided it into two chapters, the second of which is still being edited. Since we are in the resolution stages of the story, it's probably not too exciting. Still, I hope you enjoy it. I will work hard to get Chapter 21 out in a more timely fashion. (I've probably said that before, though, huh?)

Haunted Heart

A Gunsmoke Story

By Amanda (MAHC)

Chapter Twenty: He Who Hesitates

POV: Matt

Spoilers: "Hostage!"

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.)

XXXX

Matt Dillon watched as his wife stared glumly from the window of their hotel room out across the muddy streets of Washington. All the time they had been there she had not said a word to him about being unhappy, but he could read it in every line of her body. Of course, part of it could be her condition. Despite his constant and sincere assurances that she was still just as beautiful as always, she saw only an expanding waistline and swollen ankles. Her usual outgoing sparkle had suffered, as well. Granted, she had mingled expertly with society, had filled her role with ease, but the twinkle in those blue eyes appeared only rarely these days. It was just one more clue that she was miserable. And he had made her that way by dragging her halfway across the country, a thousand miles from home.

"Oh, Kitty," he breathed. "I am so sorry."

"What?" She turned from the window, a sad, questioning smile on her face.

"I said that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for bringing you here. I'm sorry for making you leave Dodge. I just wanted you to be happy – and safe. I thought – "

Her smile grew more knowing. "But I'm not, am I? It's just as dangerous in Washington as it was in Dodge. They'll find us. How could they not find Matt Dillon?"

His gut tightened at her words. "Kitty, what can I do to – "

But before he could finish, the door of their room burst open, a sudden swirl of dust and dirt that should not have been there surrounding the weather-beaten forms of Jude and Virgil Bonner. Kitty screamed, falling back against the wall.

"How the hell can you be here?" Matt yelled, hand already on his gun, trying frantically to drag the iron up to fire at the vicious dog soldiers, but he couldn't move his right arm, couldn't flex his fingers at all. He looked down. The ugly scar that slashed across his forearm glared at him, angry and red, as if the injury were newly made. Groaning, he tried to throw himself toward them, but pain exploded in his bad knee, dropping him to the floor.

The murderous brothers lunged forward, malevolent sneers on their faces, ignoring Matt entirely and focusing on Kitty. She called out his name, pleaded for him to help her. Grimacing fiercely against the searing pain, he tried to claw across the floor, yelling out desperately as they dragged her down and ravaged her again.

"Let her go, you bastards!"

But they continued, teeth bared in evil glee as they violated her right in front of him, punching and biting and tearing, her swollen stomach, ripe with his child, rippling as they brutalized the baby and her. Amid the horror, Kitty's eyes found his, begged him to save her, but he could only watch helplessly, his heart torn from his chest in sheer anguish.

"Kitty! I'm sorry! Oh, God! I'm sorry!"

"Matt!" she called out frantically.

"I'm sorry!"

"Matt!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Matt!"

His eyes flew open, staring into the blackness of the room, the sounds of her screams still echoing in his ears. "Kitty!" he choked.

"I'm here, Matt," came the answer, calm and soothing, not frantic or desperate at all.

Her hands caressed his shoulders and neck, reaching up to run gently across his face. Slowly, he became aware that he sat in their bed, trembling and gasping for breath, the covers wrapped around his legs, his right knee throbbing, his union suit drenched with sweat.

Thank God.

In the dim light provided by the approaching dawn, he could see her face, unmarred and lovely as always. Unable to keep himself from the action, he twisted and pulled her to him. She let him hold her as long as he needed to, let him press kisses along her jaw and over her lips, let him bend to lay his ear over her heart, to convince himself she was alive and well, let him spread his hand over the slight swell of her stomach. Finally, the keen pain from the nightmare began to dull, leaving only a deep ache in his chest. As his embrace loosened, she sat back and looked at him.

"You okay?" she asked quietly, her palm cradling his cheek, her thumb brushing his lips.

He managed a nod, flexing the fingers of his right hand, relieved to find that they worked just fine.

"That was a good one, huh?"

Another nod, curt and silent.

"Bonner?" she guessed.

His face darkened as it always did with the vile name. He wanted to tell her she never had to say that name again, wanted to make it so she didn't even need to think it.

She caught his face in both her hands, turned it to look directly at her. "Listen to me, Matt Dillon. It was just a dream. What happened then is long behind us. Bonner is dead. He can't hurt me – us – anymore."

There's where she was wrong, though. Jude Bonner hurt Matt Dillon every time he thought about not only his miserable failure to protect Kitty, but also his role in causing the attack in the first place. And no assurances from his wife could ever fully absolve him of the guilt he would take to his grave.

But it wouldn't do her any good to know that, so he nodded again and forced a weak smile to his lips. "Yeah," he breathed, lifting a shaking hand to wipe the perspiration from his eyes.

"I mean it, Matt." Her eyes held his with intensity, and he was again struck by the power of her love for him.

"I know," he whispered. "I'm okay."

Although her expression remained doubtful, she let him by with the ruse. "It's way too early to be awake," she noted, even though her face was becoming more visible with the sunrise. "Is there something I can do to – help you go back to sleep?"

Her hands brushed over his chest; her lips followed. Although still shaken, he couldn't refuse such an offer and followed her down, her arms cradling him first with comfort, then with a passion that eventually wiped out the torturous thoughts – at least for the rest of the night.

XXXX

Morning brought cleansing freshness to the air, drifting across his face and stirring his hair until he woke. A leisurely glance out the window drew a quick double-take as he realized the sun had risen hours before, and there he was sleeping half the day away. It was the first time in months he had awakened after dawn.

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he winced at the pain that clenched his knee, and pushed the covers from his bare body, remembering that Kitty had disposed of his union suit in the midst of their passion. His first item for the day was to get into town and finish the paperwork that would complete Newly's appointment. The next item – He laughed ironically. His next item was to find a new job.

He pushed up from the bed, irritated with the stiff knee, but pleased that there was only a twinge of pain in his bicep now. It had been one week since Butcher Cole tried to kill him, one week since his decision to resign became common knowledge, and one week since he had sent a personal letter – not a telegram – to the Attorney General refusing the offer.

One week with no answer to that letter. One week to ponder over what exactly he was going to do. One week of wondering how to tell Kitty that he was unemployed. As much as she had always wanted him to give up the badge, he figured she might not be so keen on having a loafer of a husband

He smiled at the thought, knowing she'd rather have him loafing than serving as target practice for every outlaw that came around. He didn't regret the decision. Dreams like the one that had haunted him a few hours before had convinced him it was the right decision. In fact, there had been few things in his life Matt Dillon regretted. Hadn't he told Newly O'Brien only a week before that if a man lived by regrets, he wouldn't ever risk anything?

Still, there was one regret. One overwhelming regret.

He regretted Hethe hurt that he had caused Kitty throughout the past twenty years. And he was damned if he was going to make the same mistake again. He would just do what he'd planned in the first place and get that ranch Kitty never thought he'd get. Surely she would be happy about that, after all those years of wanting him to give up the badge. But that wasn't it. The fact that he'd made the decision without her was the point – and a point of contention it would most certainly be. Perhaps that was why he had put off telling her.

The delighted giggles of his son broke through the musings and enticed a smile to his lips. Beyond the close door of the bedroom, muted clangs of pots and pans danced with the uplifted, happy voices of his family. Chest rising in satisfaction, he drew on his trousers, not worrying about the sweat-stained union suit that lay crumpled in the corner. Shrugging into a worn, blue shirt, he stepped into the warmth of the next room, smiling as he saw Sam, now much more secure with his walking talent, toddling as quickly as his legs could carry him from chair to table to chair to china cabinet and back, Kitty's encouragement following him with each leg of his journey.

"I think he's ready for the hundred yard dash at the spring fair," Matt declared.

He was rewarded with a sudden smile from his wife, who abandoned her cooking to greet him with a deep, loving kiss. "Morning, Cowboy," she murmured against his lips.

His answer was simply to kiss her back.

"Papa! Cheepyhed!"

Matt laughed and swung the child up into his arms, enjoying the belly laugh that action provoked. "Yes, your Papa's a sleepyhead, Sam. Why did you let Mama keep me up so late last night?"

But the child wasn't paying any attention anymore. Instead, he squirmed in his father's strong arms, wanting to resume his game with the furniture. Obligingly, Matt bent to return him to the floor, barely letting him go before the boy was off and running.

"Are you sorry that Mama kept you up so late last night?" Kitty asked, eyebrow arched.

"Did I say I was sorry?"

"Well – "

His arms slid around her, tugged her against him. Her hands rubbed down his back and over his hips. He felt her linger at his rear, then grinned as she pulled back and looked up at him in surprise.

"Missing something?" she asked slyly.

"My union suit wasn't exactly clean," he explained, trying to give her that innocent look that very rarely worked.

"Oh. And you don't have any other underwear?"

"Well, if you really want me to – "

"No!" she said, a little too quickly, then smiled seductively. "Not at all. This suits me just fine." She pinched him.

"Ouch!" he protested.

"Less in the way," she noted, her hands moving from back to front, pressing against the sensitive area that was now protected by only a single layer of clothing.

"Kitty, you'd better not start something unless you are prepared to finish it."

"Ooo. Mighty bold words, Marshal. What makes you think I can't finish it?"

Twenty years of experience gave him the instant answer, and he smiled. "Absolutely nothing."

As her fingers played over the tightening material, he caught his breath, wondering if he was going to accomplish anything at all that day besides taking her back to bed. He decided that wasn't such a bad goal.

"You are a wicked one, Kathleen Dillon."

"And?"

"And I'm awful glad about that." He bent to press his mouth to hers, pulling her against him. But the conscience that had nagged at him all week prodded once more, and he decided he had been a coward long enough. Reluctantly, he lifted his lips from hers. "Kitty, there's something I need to tell you."

Her arms tightened around his neck, and she pressed her breasts into him. "Tell me later," she murmured, reaching up on tiptoes so that her mouth met his again.

For just a moment, he allowed himself to surrender to her touch, to her heat, and to her taste. But she quickly overwhelmed him, shattering his resolve. Clutching her to him, he lifted her from the ground so that her body rested completely against his, groaning as her weight pushed heavily into his swollen need.

"Later," he gasped, his surrender now unconditional.

"Much later," Kitty amended, hanging on.

A sudden jingle of horses and wagons from outside shattered their negotiations, the sound close enough to mean they were coming to their house and not just passing by. Matt grunted in irritation, his hope for a little after-breakfast loving scattering with the growing noise.

"For Heaven's sake," Kitty breathed, her own frustration audible.

Matt's mind conjured up a stronger comment, but he kept it to himself, mindful of Sam playing around them. Sighing, he stepped to the window and eased the curtain aside to look out. To his astonishment, he saw that a large group of at least two dozen citizens was gathered in his front yard, including some of the most prominent: Doc Adams, Bodkin from the bank, Dobie from the hotel, Jonas from the general store, Percy Crump, Moss Grimmick, Hannah, Burke, even sour old Edsel Pry.

"Who is it?" Kitty asked, rescuing their breakfast before it burned.

"Half of Dodge," he mused.

"What?" She put the pan down again and hurried over to him. "My goodness!" she exclaimed at the sight.

"Yeah." Realizing abruptly that he was in his bare feet, he said, "Can you meet them while I get on my boots?"

"Just your boots?" she teased, but he just smirked at her.

A few seconds later, Matt sat on the side of their bed, tugging his left boot on, stomping firmly on the floor to shove his foot all the way in. Beyond the bedroom door Kitty greeted their unexpected visitors.

"Well, hello," he heard her say, surprise clear in her tone.

The cultured voice of Mr. Bodkin, the bank owner, answered. "Miss – I mean, Mrs. Dillon," Bodkin greeted.

"Mister Bodkin," she returned courteously, but Matt sensed the underlying curiosity.

"Is the Marshal here, as well?" Bodkin asked, the frown evident even through his tone.

"He is, but he's – uh – "

"If he's still recovering from his wound, I understand, but we had an issue we wished to discuss with him. With both of you."

"Well," Kitty allowed, "he is recovering."

A chuckle shook Matt's shoulders. He was recovering, all right, but not necessarily from his wound. Knowing he still looked suspiciously disheveled, the marshal decided he'd better save Kitty the trouble of making up something ridiculous. Running a hand through his uncooperative waves, he emerged from the bedroom to see the prominent citizens gathered in his parlor, their eyes widening at his entrance.

Hannah's knowing smirk brought a flush to his cheeks. "Sorry to – interrupt, Marshal," she said, not really sounding sorry at all.

"Hannah." He quickly pulled his gaze from her. "Mister Bodkin," he greeted as casually as he could, as if they were at the bank. "Mister Dobie. Mister Jonas."

He smiled slightly as he saw Festus crouched in the corner, helping Sam stack blocks. It was quite possible that Sam recognized the colorful ABCs that decorated them better than his overgrown playmate.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, more than a little wary about their purpose. The last time half the town had shown up at his door they had thrown Kitty and him a belated shivery – and he had ended up half frozen in Silver Creek, wearing only his trousers. Of course, when he finally managed to shiver his way back home, Kitty had warmed him up right fast –

Swallowing, he forced his thoughts back to the present, his body still too sensitive from her earlier touch to risk tempting it with heated memories.

Clearing his throat, Mr. Dobie nodded toward him. "Marshal, we're terribly sorry to rouse you from your sick bed. I had thought your wound was not so dire as to keep you invalided for – "

"No, no. I'm fine. Just winged."

Doc grunted loudly, and Matt swung a glare at him, but the physician merely returned the glare, plainly refusing to take back his grunt.

Allowing Adams his valid point, Matt forced a bemused smile to his lips. "This looks like a citizen group," he said, then half-smiled. "Or a lynch mob."

Dobie looked mildly scandalized. "Marshal, I assure you, we aren't – "

"He's joking, for land's sakes," Hannah interrupted, rolling her eyes.

Resuming his duty as group spokesman, Bodkin stepped forward. "I'll get right to the point."

Matt almost commented that it was too late for that.

"Marshal, we have been considering the issue of your reassignment to Washington."

That didn't really surprise him. Even though he had no ego to feed – not much of one, anyway – he thought perhaps there would be some distress on the part of the citizens, if only because it meant a change, and most people feared change. He mentally kicked himself for not going ahead and telling Kitty he had turned down the job, and wondered if he could get her alone for just a minute before the news came out in front of everyone. "Mister Bodkin, that's an issue that involves the War Department, not – "

Festus stood and clanged forward a step. "Fiddle, Matthew. We ain't grudgin' ya', that's fer shore. Ain't one leddle biddie person in Dodge what'd say you didn't deserve it ten times over long ago. 'Sides, we figger it's 'bout time you an' Miss Kitty – well, it's only right you an' her finally – " The deputy stumbled over his words a bit. "Well, anyway, we figger it's only right, and we figger Newly'll do a rite fine job. 'Course we all know there ain't never gonna be another Matthew Dillon – "

A flush of consternation and embarrassment colored Matt's face. "Festus – " he began, shaking his head.

"Festus's speakin' the truth, Marshal," Hannah interrupted, then threw an irritated glare at the deputy. "In his own way."

Stepping in to reassert his leadership, Bodkin interrupted. "What we are trying to say, Marshal, is that you are a valued citizen of Dodge City, and I am quite certain that is a tremendous understatement."

Matt felt the flush deepen. "Mister Bodkin, really, I don't – "

"And, although we despair over seeing you move on, we cannot deny that you are overwhelmingly deserving of it."

Completely uncomfortable now, Matt resigned himself to the moment and braced to get through it. From the corner of his eye, he saw Kitty smiling with both pride and amusement.

Bodkin cleared his throat importantly and held out an envelope. "Therefore, we, as citizens of Dodge City, would like to present you, Marshal Matthew Dillon, with a token of our appreciation for your years of service."

Taking the bulging paper, Matt nodded, hoping that his expression could relay his feelings better than his words would. "I thank you, Mister Bodkin, and everybody. I'm – we're – truly grateful." He swallowed. "Twenty years – more, really – is a long time, especially in the life of a lawman. And Dodge – you people – you friends – have meant a great deal to me – and to Kitty."

He paused briefly, realizing that he had probably just confirmed the years of speculation about the true nature of his relationship with Kitty since the beginning. Catching another glimpse of Sam playing happily with Festus, he decided that was a moot point.

"But there's no need to give me anything. It was my job."

Mister Dobie leaned in, his hound dog face sincere. Matt smiled kindly, having always appreciated what the hotel owner did for him after Kitty left. "Maybe no need for you, Marshal, but there is need for us."

"Well, I thank you," Matt told them simply.

"Open it!" Hannah said.

Nodding again in gratitude, Matt slid a long finger down the sealed edge. Noting that there were several thickly folded sheets of paper stuffed inside of what he suspected was some sort of proclamation, perhaps the ubiquitous key to the city, he pulled them out.

"What – " he began, scanning the contents quickly

"I'm not sure what kind of pension a U.S. Marshal draws," Bodkin said. "Certainly not enough to merit the risks you have taken for us through the years."

"We'll be fine," Matt assured him absently, still reading.

But Bodkin continued. "There's no telling how many bank robberies you either stopped or recovered money from these past twenty years."

"What does that have to do with – "

He interrupted as if Matt hadn't said anything. "There were rewards on a number of those robberies. They add up to quite a bit of money. Money nobody ever collected."

Matt frowned. "The government doesn't collect rewards, Mister Bodkin. You know that. And I was the government in those situations so you don't have to worry about – "

"But there's no law against a regular citizen collecting the money, is there?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"As soon as your resignation is final, they'll be five thousand dollars in reward monies deposited in your name at the bank."

The usually unflappable marshal blinked once, then twice, vaguely aware that he stood there, mouth open. He felt Kitty's hand press into his forearm, and he tried to turn to look at her, but found himself unable to do even that. What had Bodkin said? Five thousand dollars? Last time he checked he barely had five hundred in the bank.

Finding one gasp of breath, he asked, "What? "

"There should be more, really, but many of the rewards have been withdrawn past a certain time limit."

"Mister Bodkin, I can't accept – "

Dobie nodded, pride touching his voice. "That's not all. Along with that there's ten thousand more that the good people of Dodge collected as a – well, I guess as a retirement present."

Fifteen-thousand dollars?

"And a thank you," Bodkin added, "for – " He stopped, looking directly at Matt, his expression, for once, free of the banker's façade, full of the warmth of genuineness. "—for so much that we don't even know where to begin."

Hannah smiled at them, her eyes proud and kind. "Marshal, one thing I've discovered since I've been here, the people of Dodge take care of our own – and you're one of our own. You and Miss Kitty and your boy." She nodded pointedly toward Kitty's abdomen. "And the one on the way."

"Oh, Matt," Kitty breathed, looking up at him.

The older woman glanced at her fellow citizens for a moment. Then, she shrugged. "I'm just gonna say it right out. We don't want you ta' go ta' Washington. We want you ta' stay in Dodge."

Matt swallowed again, overwhelmed by the generosity and love they were showing them. "I – I'm – grateful," he managed, wincing toward Kitty, who would be finding out with everyone else – and probably not happy about it, either. "But, I – we – can't accept it."

The disappointment on their faces struck him hard. Through the years his relationship with the citizens of Dodge had undergone several evolutions. In the beginning they had been resentful of the limits the brash, young U.S. marshal had brought to the wild town, and he had been forced at times to go up against the very people he was sworn to protect. But it didn't take them long to figure out that Matt Dillon was like no man they had ever known. Even though he didn't see himself that way, his sheet physical impact was only an impressive outer shell that housed an even bigger and more impressive soul that epitomized fairness, honesty, nobleness, and courage. Over the years, the people of Dodge came to lionize him.

He glanced down at Kitty and saw the same feelings in her eyes. Patting his arm, she smiled warmly at the group. "You are all so – so generous," she said, her voice sincere. "Matt and I will miss – "

Matt slid his arm around Kitty's waist, a rare show of intimacy in front of other people. Leaning down, he whispered in her ear. "Uh, Kitty, there's something I need to tell you."

"Now?" she whispered back.

"Yeah."

"I think maybe you should know, Marshal," Hannah continued quickly, "that there's something else we, uh, have for you."

"Hannah – "

"We've been tryin' ta' figure out how ta' keep ya' here, but not stand in your way for that job."

"There's really no need – "

"So we had this idea. It was Edsel's really."

"You see, I've already – " He stopped, his ears running back over what Hannah had just said. "Edsel?"

Edsel Pry stepped from the crowd, her haughty expression somehow more subdued, although not completely masked. "It seemed a particular waste, Marshal, to devote all those years to training you," she said, "only to have you leave us."

Surely that wasn't a glint of humor in those beady eyes. Matt blinked twice to clear his own faulty vision.

"What have you done?" he asked, suddenly more than a little uneasy.

Clearing his throat, Doc Adams looked up at the towering lawman. "Well, Matt, we got to thinking that maybe it didn't matter where that training facility was located. We figured maybe – well, we all got together and decided the city could donate those two hundred acres out toward Cimarron that Widow Hanlin left the town in her will."

"There's not much to it," Jones acknowledged, "not very good farm land, that's for sure. But the Arkansas crosses it, and it's only about ten miles out. We figured that'd be a perfect spot for it."

"You what?"

"You know, of course, that the Attorney General is a friend of mine," Mrs. Pry reminded primly.

"Yes, ma'am," Matt said in a long-suffering tone. "You've mentioned it before. Several times."

"I wired him about Mrs. Hanlin's land."

"Mrs. Pry, you shouldn't have – "

"That's right. And we figger on hearing from him any day now," Jonas volunteered.

Matt pressed his lips together, a little irritated at their audacity, but also touched at their generosity and sorry for their inevitable disappointment. If they even heard back from the Attorney General at all, it would be to decline their offer. Taking a heavy breath, he regarded the people he had known so long. "Folks, I'm – well, I'm grateful for the thought. But the Attorney General's not going to change the entire plan for this program just for – "

"Don't you think you should let the Attorney General make that decision, Matt?"

The marshal jerked up his head, his height letting him see past the crowd to the door that stood open, framing a rather stocky man, his dark hair streaked with gray, his face rounded, his body thick with the evidence of fine living.

He would have greeted the visitor – if he'd been able to find even one gasp of breath to form a word. As it was, he could only stare, along with the rest of the crowd, as the United States Attorney General Augustus Garland himself strode into the room.

"Good morning, Marshal Dillon," he greeted, and although his face was pleasant enough, his tone was guarded. "Pardon my intrusion."

After several long moments, Matt managed, "Uh, yeah – "

"Have I interrupted something?"

No one provided the obvious answer.

A rather breathless Newly O'Brien hustled in behind the cabinet member. "He came to the jailhouse looking for you," he explained, his voice revealing more than a little awe.

"It's been a few years, Matt," Garland noted, a tight smile breaking the solemn planes of his face. "Good to see you again."

"You, too, General," Matt agreed, memory flickering back three years to his first meeting with Garland in Washington. A meeting that had brought him a commendation and personal letter of thanks from the Attorney General himself – to go along with the two broken ribs and knife wound he had managed to acquire in the process that earned him recognition he had certainly not sought.

The older man stopped close to Matt and squinted up at the marshal. "Have you gotten taller?"

"Not that I know of. Uh, General?" Matt asked tentatively, not at all sure he wanted to know the answer, "what brings you to Dodge?"

"Ah." Garland reached into his breast pocket and retrieved a small envelope that was immediately familiar to Matt. "I was just wondering," the Attorney General announced, raising the paper prominently, "what the he – " He glanced at Kitty, then Hannah and Edsel Pry, and amended, "what in tarnation I'm supposed to do with this."

"What is it?" Kitty asked, confusion drawing down her brow.

Instead of answering, Garland's gaze lit suddenly on her. "Marshal," he said, looking directly at Kitty, "are you going to introduce me to this lovely lady?"

"Oh." Grateful for the reprieve, he grasped Kitty's elbow and nodded toward Garland. "I'm sorry. This is my wife. Kitty, this is Augustus Garland, U.S. Attorney General."

A grin of true delight spread over the full face. "Indeed? Well, I am honored to meet you Mrs. Dillon. I had heard, of course, that Matt had finally come to his senses. I'm happy for you both," he said gallantly, his lips lingering over her hand – lingering a bit too long, as far as Matt was concerned.

Her tone a bit bemused, but pleased, Kitty answered graciously, "Thank you, General Garland. I'm rather happy for us, too." But she was not to be distracted. "Now, what is that you are holding?"

Matt winced, his moment of reprieve over.

For a moment, Garland looked surprised. "Well," he said, hesitating at first, then shrugging and plodding along. "This, Mrs. Dillon, is you husband's response to my – and the President's – offer to run the new marshals' training program in Washington."

Pursing his lips, Matt blew out hard, almost wishing there might be a sudden eruption of pugilism among them so that he could wade in and break it up and distract the Attorney General from his appointed path.

Unfortunately, no fisticuffs ensued.

Kitty shook her head, bemused. "I thought he'd already sent his answer." Turning to Matt, she asked, "Didn't you?"

"Kitty – "

"Wael," Festus prodded, his curiosity merely a vocalization of what everyone else was feeling. "What's it say?"

Garland's eyes widened, as if he were still surprised. "It says," he declared, "in a word, 'no'."

The crowd turned as one to plaster their gazes directly on Matt. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again, pressing his lips together in an expression that was part grimace, part flinch. Every eye in the room bore in to him, but there was one set of eyes that skewered him straight through.

One set of very blue, and very beautiful – and very mad – eyes.

TBC