Okay, this really is the last chapter, but there is an epilogue to follow to wrap things up. Warning: Beware the angst! (Didn't think I could finish without a little bit more, did you?) Special thanks to Blendini for her kind permission to use her name for Matt's mom in this chapter. (If you haven't read her series about young Matty – or any of her other stories, for that matter – you need to look them up!) And thanks to Jan (and Pan) for supplying the names of Festus' relatives. I hope you enjoy!

Haunted Heart

A Gunsmoke Story

By Amanda (MAHC)

Chapter 22: End of the Journey

POV: Doc

Spoilers: "Aunt Thede;" "Mad Dog;" "Hard Luck Henry;" "Hostage!"

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: The original GS characters aren't mine, of course, but I created Sam, et al., (with a little help from Matt and Kitty).

XXXXX

Galen Adams rubbed his fingers roughly over his eyes in a vain effort to wipe the moisture from them. He blinked, his gaze returning to the poignant scene before him, to the strapping, veteran lawman, head of the U.S. Marshal's Training Program, and the biggest, bravest, strongest man he'd ever known, who was at that moment on the floor by his wife's beside, shedding rare tears over the small body that lay cradled in his grasp.

The doctor reflected that he had seen Matt Dillon in just about every condition imaginable throughout the years: tense, relaxed, angry, happy, worried, satisfied, irritated, pleased, robust, near-death. But even counting the anguish of that horrible day almost two years before when Matt returned to discover that Kitty had left, Doc wasn't sure he had ever seen the big man completely overcome by emotion as he was now, collapsed at her side, holding that tiny baby in his huge hands.

Despite the public's perception of Matt Dillon "the legend," Doc knew that he was not the stoic, hard-jawed stereotype lawman whose hide was too thick to be pierced. On the contrary, Matt Dillon, the all-too-human man, was quite capable of deep emotions. Normally, he held those emotions tightly in check, at least around everyone except his very closest friends, and even then only rarely did he let them loose. Now, though, the circumstances that seized them all had ripped through the marshal's iron grip of control and literally brought the stalwart lawman to his knees.

Doc let his gaze shift from the overwhelmed father to the pale and very still mother, and finally to the infant. He reflected that he had just about seen it all in his years as a frontier doctor. But nothing had affected him more than his relationships with his close friends in Dodge, and in particular Matt Dillon and Kitty Russell. What a journey they had all had. He likened it to a stage coach plundering cross-country over mountains, through rivers, across the prairie, sometimes easy, sometimes impossible, all times interesting. In the past hours, with an aching heart, he had wondered if this was the end of the journey for them, if this would be where they stopped. Surely not. He had prayed that it wasn't.

He had prayed fervently that it wasn't the end.

XXXXX

It wasn't supposed to happen that way.

Kitty had gone through the pregnancy with impressive ease, despite their worries, and it looked as though she would be late with the delivery. Two weeks before her projected time, she hadn't exhibited even the slightest evidence that the baby was ready to be born. Tired and irritable, she had complained that the child was certainly taking its time.

As they waited, work progressed toward the training facility. Ground had been broken, and Matt was scheduled to take a group of prospective trainers – experienced marshals and deputies – on a four-day trail ride to evaluate their abilities and select his staff. As the time drew nearer, however, the marshal became increasingly reluctant.

"I just don't think I should be away that long," he confided to Doc the night before he was to head out. "What if Kitty – "

Adams flinched with the memory of his own response – a response that had haunted him ever since. "Now, don't you worry. She'll be fine. It's just four days. You take care of this now. Who knows when you'll be able to get it done once the baby is born? Kitty will need your help even more then."

Regret clouded those blue eyes gray, dropping the mask that usually protected the marshal's emotions. "It's just that, well, I wasn't there for her when Sam was born."

Doc wanted to mention that that certainly hadn't been Matt's choice, but he didn't say anything.

"I'm not going to let her down this time. Are you sure it's not going to be this week?'

The doctor had to smile at the complete reversal of the past twenty years, when the job had come first. Now he could see evidence that the ubiquitous badge had finally been usurped.

Gently, he reassured the worried husband. "She's not even effaced, yet, much less dilated."

The casual use of the terminology brought an embarrassed wince to the big man's face. "Yeah, well, still – "

Chuckling, Adams patted a hard bicep. "It'll be fine, Matt. You go on, and if something does start to happen, I'll send Festus out after you. Babies usually take a while, anyway."

"Don't you worry about me, Cowboy," Kitty had added as she came back into the room from rocking Sam to sleep. "There's no way I'm gonna have this baby without you."

Slipping the mask back on, Matt slid an arm around her thickened waist. "She might have other plans," he teased, picking up their running joke. They had a bet over whether the baby would be a boy or a girl. Doc didn't know what the winner got. Judging from the flashing heat in their eyes, he was pretty sure he didn't want to know.

"Well, if you're not here, he'll just have to wait."

The banter ended with a quick kiss that Doc knew would have been much more involved he had not been present. But the continued intensity of their gazes told him he would be well-advised to excuse himself to the guest room with relative haste and leave the lovers to themselves for the rest of the evening.

The next morning, Matt had ridden off, reluctance clear on his face, acquiescing only with prodding from Doc's firm assurances and Kitty's confident smile. Although he had chuckled at the marshal then, Doc found no humor at all in the situation that confronted him three days later.

A physician's day started early and ended late – if it ever ended at all. He had barely made it back to town after setting Little Tommy Roniger's arm before he was stitching together a deep but simple gash in Nathan Burke's thumb, the result of an accident whose additional casualty included a new mirror previously destined for the Lady Gay. The freight clerk had moaned and groaned more than his fair share before Doc got tired and told him to shut up or he would rip the thread right back out. His patient had been significantly more subdued after that.

He had just grabbed his hat in hopes that he could make it to Delmonicos for an early lunch before the next crisis when the distinctive jingles on his steps alerted him to his new visitor. Before he could utter his usual biting remark that would lead into a morning of sharp, but affectionate, banter between the two, Festus' urgent tone told him that something was wrong.

"Doc!"

Despite his rational core urging calm, his heart kicked against his chest. "What?" he called out, stepping to open the door.

The alarm on the scraggly face told him everything before Festus even opened his mouth.

"Kitty?" the doctor guessed immediately.

"She's done gone an' – wael, th' baby's done gone an' – it's comin'. An' Matthew ain't chere, Doc, an – "

"Hold on, Festus," he soothed smoothly, years of calming worried fathers – or fathers' friends – under his belt. "I'll get my bag and go back with you. She's not alone, is she?"

"Naw. Miz Hannah wuz a visitin', brung Miz Kitty an' Sam some vittles. I jes rid by ta' check on 'er, like I told Matthew I would – "

"Okay. Well, Hannah's with her, so that's good. You listen to me. Kitty's gonna be just fine."

"But Matthew ain't chere – "

"I know. I know. Let's just go check on Kitty, then I'll let you know if you need to go get Matt. It's early for her. Could be she's not really in labor, yet. Sometimes there are false signs – "

"It shore didn't sound false," the deputy assured him.

Doc stopped and looked at him, running a hand over his mouth. "What do you mean?"

"Miz Kitty wuz groanin' somp'm fierce, Doc. I ain't never heerd no sheemale sound like that afore."

"Groaning?"

"An' thrashing around in th' bed. I'm tellin' ya' she's in a bad way, Doc."

A chill tingled through the doctor's blood, settling in his bones. With more urgency, he gathered his instruments. "You get my buggy, will you, Festus?"

"Waitin' fer ye' downstairs. I run by th' stable and got Moss ta' bring it round."

"Oh, well, good." Forcing a smile, he patted his distraught friend on the back. "Now, don't worry, Festus. I'm going to go take care of Kitty, and you head out and bring Matt back. And don't tell him about – well, just don't tell him anything's wrong," he admonished. "It might not be, after all."

When the deputy spun on a boot heel and pounded down the steps, Adams lifted his eyes and murmured a prayer that came from the inner-most cavity of his heart. He asked for skill, he asked for wisdom, and he asked for mercy on a woman who was more his daughter than any other – and a man who was more his son.

XXX

Hannah met him at the door of the Dillon house; her eyes, which normally twinkled pleasantly, now shone dark and worried. Fear jolted through him at what that might mean.

"Kitty?" he asked.

"She's sufferin'. That baby oughta be comin', but – I think somethin's wrong, Doc."

Without another word, he shuffled through the house as quickly as he could. Looking small, Kitty lay in the middle of the big bed, custom made to fit Matt's long frame. Her face was washed white. Even her fiery hair had dulled, doused by sweat and pain. Doc bit back a cry of despair. He had seen too many women look like that, had witnessed too many tragedies of childbirth in which the child died, or the mother died – or both.

"Hey there, darlin'," he greeted, smiling at her with as much confidence as he could muster.

Her eyes flickered to him, and she worked bravely to return the smile, even though she didn't quite make it. "Doc," she managed weakly.

"You and that baby snuck up on me. Shoulda known Kitty Russell wasn't gonna be predictable."

Only his imagination could see any humor reflected in her clouded eyes. "Matt?"

"He'll be along directly," he assured her. "Festus went to fetch him."

"He wanted – he wanted so much to be here – "

"He will be. Don't you worry. Just rest there, and – "

Without warning, she arched in the bed, her mouth open in a silent cry, her hands wrapping around the iron rungs of the headboard. Pushing his professional responsibility past his fatherly concern, Doc tugged out his watch and timed the contraction.

"How far apart?' he asked Hannah, glancing up.

The older woman grimaced. "Ten minutes or so."

"And you haven't seen any sign of the baby?"

"Nothing, Doc."

After what seemed like an eternity the contraction released Kitty, and she fell back limply, sweat trailing down her face. "Sam? Where's Sam?" she asked weakly.

Hannah peered over the bed. "Don't you worry none about that boy. Bess Roniger's got 'im. With the passel of young un's of hers, he's got more attention now than he knows what ta' do with."

"Matt?" the fragile voice asked again.

Adams exchanged concerned glances with Hannah. "Remember, honey, I said he was coming? He'll be here." Soon, he hoped.

"He – he didn't want to go," she murmured, her head moving weakly from side to side. "I – told him – I said it would be – fine – he didn't want to go – "

"It's going to be fine, Kitty," he comforted, guilt sweeping over him at his own part in convincing the marshal he should leave.

"He didn't get to see – Sam born – his – son – my – fault – I shouldn't have – left – "

"Now, Kitty, that's water under the bridge. You don't need to be thinking about that anymore."

"Doc?" she asked again, so softly he had to bend down to hear her.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"Doc, this – this doesn't – feel right. Something's – wrong, isn't it? I told Matt I was – afraid that – "

"Hush now. Everything's fine."

Amazingly, she seemed to gain strength, raising her hand to clutch her fingers in his shirt front. "No, no. I can – tell. Listen, Doc, if – something happens – "

"No, Kitty, don't talk like – "

"Please. Let me – say this."

He didn't want to hear it, but he couldn't deny her. "Okay. Go ahead."

"If something – happens, Matt's gonna – it's gonna be – hard on him. He might not – let it show. You know how – he is."

Doc thought back to the evening two years before that Matt had returned from the trail and found out about Kitty's leaving, pictured those dazed, miserable, drunken eyes. Oh, it would show. Dear God, it would show. He didn't want to think about what would happen if Kitty – No, he refused to consider it.

"Promise – me?"

Dear God. "Promise you what, dear?"

"You'll be – his friend. You'll look – out for him."

He swallowed and smiled at her kindly. "You know I will. I always have been."

"Yes," she breathed, her strength fading, her arm falling back to the bed. "To – both of us."

It took all of his professional training not to break down right then, but he managed, knowing that keeping his own sanity might be Kitty's only chance. "Now, you just lie back and rest so we can get that baby here."

Her response was simply to close her eyes. As tenderly as he could, Doc shifted her on the bed, whispering soothing words as he felt for the baby. When his fingers brushed over the area where the child's head shoulder have been, his heart almost stopped.

His eyes lifted and met Hannah's, confirming the woman's fear that something was, indeed, wrong.

XXX

It was almost evening when he heard the hard pounding of Buck's hooves, the sound reaching him long before he looked out the window to see the lawman leap from the horse and stride toward the house, his long legs eating up the remaining few yards to the door. Festus was nowhere to be seen. Doc could tell by the glistening coat and hard snorts of the buckskin that the marshal had ridden at a full gallop all the way back home. Matt's appearance backed that up, his shirt and vest dark with sweat, his hat and trousers white with dust, his jaw and chin rough with grit and a three-day-old growth of beard.

With a crash, the door flew open and familiar, wide shoulders blocked the outside view. Doc took a deep breath. He had been mulling over what he could say, how he could be gentle with news that wasn't gentle. Not gentle at all.

One glance into those haunted blue eyes, though, told him Matt had already come to that conclusion on his own. Damn Festus and his big mouth. Broad chest heaving, he filled the doorway, every line of his body aching for answers – and reassurance. Reassurance Galen Adams wasn't sure he could give.

"Kitty?" the lawman asked simply, his voice cracking.

Doc tried not to flinch, fought to maintain a professional air, but it was impossible. He could do it with others, with acquaintances or strangers. But not with this man. Not with Matt.

His hesitation jerked a sharp gasp from Matt's throat. "Doc?" he snapped, teeth gritted.

"Let's sit down for a minute."

But the huge frame refused to move. "I don't want to sit down. Where is she?" He twisted toward the bedroom.

"Matt – "The doctor grabbed a hard forearm, trying to make his grip more supportive than restrictive. Not that he could have stopped him if the big man had put any effort into getting away. "She's – she's having trouble, son."

The marshal swayed suddenly, his face draining white beneath the grime of the trail. "Trouble?" Dillon managed, those eyes so pained that Doc felt it, as if someone had punched him right in the gut.

"Sit," he instructed again, then added, "please."

Pressing his lips tight, Matt tugged off his hat and perched on the edge of a kitchen chair, looking as if he would bolt for the bedroom at the tiniest sound from beyond. "Tell me," he ordered, voice rough.

"The baby is turned. What we call breech. Coming out rear end first. It makes things more difficult. Harder labor. And sometimes the baby doesn't come into the birth canal like it should."

"What does – what does that mean? I mean, what will happen?"

God, he wished he knew. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe not knowing still allowed for hope. "Well, it could mean nothing. Sometimes the baby just comes on fine."

"Sometimes?'

"Other times, there – there are problems."

"Will the baby – make it?"

"I hope so."

Dillon's teeth gritted as he braced for the next question. "Will Kitty?"

"I'm going to do my best to see that she does." He had never meant anything more in his life.

Matt dropped his head into his hands for a moment; then he looked back up. "Doc," he choked out, "if it's between the baby and Kitty – "

The doctor patted him on the arm. "I know." And he did. As much as Matt wanted that baby, and as much as they both knew Kitty wanted that baby, neither man was willing to sacrifice her life for the child's. It was a hard call, but one he could make, if necessary.

The next question came out as barely a whisper, an almost timid request so incongruous with the usual authority of his deep voice. "Can I see her?"

Doc knew he would want to, and he couldn't refuse him, even though it would be a shock. Kitty had fought all day, and it showed. "Sure."

As they walked into the bedroom, Matt swallowed so hard Doc heard it. Hannah stepped back as the tall lawman moved in and stood over the bed, looking down at the worn figure twisted in the covers. Before he could say anything, Kitty moaned, then cried out, and it was as if the sound pieced right through the big man's heart. Doc saw him jerk, watched the sheer misery on his face as he dropped to his knees and gathered her hand in his.

"Kitty," he said, hovering near her face and brushing a damp lock of her from her brow. "It's Matt, honey."

"Matt?" The question was weak, but held an energy that Doc hadn't heard before.

"Yes. I'm here. You just hang on."

Ducking his head, Doc stepped to the door, intending to ease quietly from the room for a few minutes.

"Oh, Matt. I'm so tired. I can't – "

"Yes, you can. You can, Kitty. You have to," the marshal whispered raggedly, engulfing Kitty's clammy hand in his own. "I need you, Kitty. I need you."

Adams gulped, remembering another heartbreaking moment when he watched this man sit by Kitty's side and hold her hand and whisper that very same declaration. She had made it then, with Matt's love. He prayed she could make it now the same way.

Pausing with his hand on the knob, he let his eyes scan over this tall, broad man, now hunched over in the chair, face wiped clean of anything except pain. He saw the slump of shoulders that were usually wide and square, the red-rim of eyes that rarely revealed any vulnerability, the open fear on a face that almost always masked any hint of anxiety. It was not despair, not yet. He had hoped never to see such on Matt Dillon's face again as he had two years before. It was not despair. But it was close. His wife lay, struggling through a labor that could kill her baby – and her. He had lost her once, and mercifully had found her again. Doc prayed that he didn't have to lose her a second – and final – time.

Moving back to stand next to the suffering husband, he let his hand drop onto the hard shoulder. "Matt?"

Without looking up, Dillon answered, his voice heavy with pain and exhaustion, "It doesn't look good, does it, Doc?"

"Now, you just don't think that way," Adams scolded gently, trying to encourage him. It was hard to do when he didn't feel encouraged himself. "Kitty's got sand, you know that. She's gonna fight as hard as she can for this baby, and for herself." He squeezed the shoulder. "And for you and Sam."

"She was afraid – she thought something like this might happen."

"All expectant mothers worry."

"I told her it would be fine. And then I went off and – "

"Nothing would have been any different if you had been here, Matt."

"Maybe I could have – "

"Could have what? The child still would have been breech. Hannah was here when she went into labor. Nothing would have been any different."

But the younger man didn't seem to hear him. "I can't – I can't lose her again," he whispered.

The anguish in that rough voice twisted in Adams' gut, almost making him sick. Eyes burning, he nodded and stepped outside, noting that Hannah remained quietly in the corner in case she was needed. In the outer room, he closed his eyes and prayed, harder and more earnestly than ever before. He prayed that God would be merciful to this family. He prayed that all the good Matt Dillon had done in his life, all the sacrifices he had made, would not be rewarded with a dead wife and baby – and, Doc was certain, the end of his own life for all practical purposes.

He had made this journey with them. He had suffered right along with this man during those horrible months without Kitty. He had watched with joy the reunion of two people meant for each other. He had rejoiced in the blessing of a child – and then the prospect of another. He had celebrated with the knowledge that this family would remain close. Surely he wasn't about to be forced to grieve with a devastated widower. Surely, all the joys weren't for nothing. Surely this wasn't how the journey would end.

He wasn't sure how long he had been on his knees when Hannah's frantic call broke into his prayers. "Doc!"

Struggling to rise, he hurried back into the bedroom, heart racing.

As he entered, his eyes met Matt's, and his heart broke when he saw something on that man's face he had never seen before – had never thought he would see. Wordlessly, Matt Dillon was begging. He was begging him to do something, to save the life of his wife – and, if possible, his child.

And he didn't know if he could.

XXXX

But now it was over, and he could only watch, tears streaming with the release of emotions he had held in check so that that could do his professional duty. He watched as Matt sat, open-mouthed and stunned, next to the bed. He watched as the marshal held that little body in his hands. He watched as a tear slid, unaccustomed, down a rugged cheek, leaving a clean trail through the grime that still smudged the rest of his face. He watched as Festus and Hannah stood in the doorway, their eyes glued to the poignant scene before them.

Doc didn't figure any of them had even seen Matt Dillon cry before, not even through the worst of pain from his many years of many injuries, but now he supposed the strong man had good reason.

Somewhere, a rooster crowed, bringing in a new day. Nature's light dimmed the glow of the oil maps and candles that had guided the physician's efforts through the night. In the growing brightness, he could see the haggard lines that creased the marshal's handsome face more deeply than they had four days before.

Matt sat on the floor, the child held out before him. Doc glanced back at Festus, who had arrived a few hours after Matt, and Hannah, saw the deep emotion of the moment reflected in their expressions. He wanted to say something, to break the hard silence, but that wasn't his privilege. That privilege rested with someone else.

Finally, slowly, the big man lifted his chin and turned toward them, his blue eyes bright. They stared at him for several beats, breaths held, until he seemed to give himself a mental shake. As he held their gazes, his mouth slowly spread into an incredible, broad, awe-struck grin.

"By golly," he breathed, voice filled with uncommon amazement. "She's beautiful, isn't she, Doc?"

As if on cue, the baby squirmed and opened her matching blue eyes, regarding them all with studied nonchalance. Like her father, Doc thought absently. He smiled, his heart nearly bursting for all of them. In truth, the baby looked much like most newborns: rather red and wrinkled. But all things being equal, he had to agree. She was, indeed, beautiful.

"You talking about the baby or Kitty?" he teased, immensely grateful he could joke.

The new father's eyes rested on his daughter adoringly before shifting to regard his wife with equal, but different, adoration. "Both," he declared confidently.

A weak snort answered. "Oh, I'm sure I'm just ravishing right about now," Kitty mumbled, exhaustion weighing down her tone.

Doc watched as Matt leaned over carefully and kissed her, his lips lingering gently for a few moments before he pulled back. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, Kathleen Dillon," he told her, his voice cracking slightly under the strain of emotion he had endured.

Tears pooled in Kitty's eyes, and Festus cleared his throat with a mixture of delight and embarrassment. Doc didn't figure the deputy had ever heard such intimacy from the hard-boiled lawman. Still, the grin that split those scraggly whiskers was contagious. Both he and Hannah found themselves joining in.

"Watcha gonna name 'er, Miz Kitty?" Festus asked.

Kitty smiled tiredly. "Ask Matt. He's the one who said she'd be a girl." Her eyes sparked with as much passion as she could muster under the circumstances. "I guess you won the bet, Cowboy," she said, and Doc could hear the private, and rather suggestive, message in her voice.

He cackled as Matt's ears reddened, but the marshal replied gamely, "I'll be collecting on that bet, Red." But as he glanced at Doc's quick frown he added, "In a few weeks, anyway."

Hannah's gleeful whoop succeeded in making the big man's cheeks flush to match his ears.

"Wael," Festus interjected in a surprisingly timely manner, "ya'd better name that pretty little gal afore I name her m'seff."

A spark of mischief lit behind the doctor's eyes. "Hey, now," he suggested, rubbing at his mustache. "Festus may have something there."

"What do you mean?" Matt asked warily.

"Well, how about we name her after one of Festus' aunts?"

"One of his aunts?" the marshal echoed, voice rising.

"Sure, sure," Doc continued, trying his best not to smile too widely. "I mean, the Haggens are known for their – creative – monikers, aren't they, Festus?"

"Moni – Whut?"

"Monikers. Names. Their creative names."

"Oh. Wael," the deputy acknowledged, "thet's true ennuff. An' I knowd Ain't Thede'd be plumb tickled if – "

"Aunt Thede?" Kitty asked. "Isn't her full name Theodore?"

"Shore nuff."

"And, let's see," Doc continued, "there's also Aunt George. But why stop at his aunts? Why not include the rest of his family? There's his Uncle Maud, and his cousin Feeder – that'd be nice and – "

"An' thar's my cousin Harper," Festus interrupted, "an' May Blossom's a cousin, too. 'Member she married ol' Feeder – "

Nodding enthusiastically, Doc volunteered, "I think I'm partial to Feeder, myself. Say, that'd be fine. Miss Feeder Dillon."

He swung a peek over toward Matt, but it took only a second to determine that the marshal was not amused. He had that dangerous look that sent even the orneriest outlaws scrambling for cover. Kitty, however, managed to see the humor.

"Well, I think maybe we ought to include more than just Festus. How about we use Curly, too?" she suggested, and Doc beamed.

"Oh, you people are a bunch of cards," Matt finally growled, but the doctor figured they all saw the hint of a smile at his lips.

It was Hannah who brought them back to seriousness. "Well," she asked, hands on her hips, attention directly on Matt, "what about it, papa? Whatcha gonna name that sweet little girl?"

Matt let his smile relax from one of amusement to one of deep satisfaction and gratitude and stared intently at the child, who now looked back at him with the same expression. Doc could see that the bond between father and daughter had already been locked as solid as fisherman's knot. "I don't know," he mumbled, glancing quickly up at Kitty. "I was thinking maybe – maybe Kathleen would be nice."

Kitty grunted and frowned. "Oh, Matt, you don't want to burden her with that – "

"Kathleen is a beautiful name," he said firmly, then let his voice soften. "The most beautiful name I know."

That ended that, as tears once again flowed down Kitty's face. Her voice thick, she agreed, "All right. Kathleen. But we'll need another name, too."

Doc narrowed his eyes as her expression became guarded, tentative, and intriguing. He couldn't imagine what she was about to suggest.

So softly that he had to strain to hear, she whispered, "What about – Maria?"

Matt's head snapped up so quickly that it startled the rest of them. Without moving an inch, Doc waited with long-suffering curiosity for the revelation of that particular name – a name that had provoked such a reaction from the normally un-reactionary marshal. A name whose utterance gave them a sudden, unexpected, and rare glimpse into the childhood of a man who most of the country imagined had come into the world as a six foot, seven inch, rock-solid U.S. marshal.

A name Doc recognized from long ago as the one Matt had once told him was his mother's name. Maria.

Conflicting emotions swept across those expressive features: regret and gratitude, pain and pleasure, anger and happiness. It was a fascinating vision. Although he knew Matt had been orphaned early in life, Doc had never really known exactly what happened to the lawman's parents. The very private man had always been tight-lipped about his youth, except to admit to more than his fair share of hell-raising before he decided to settle down on the right side of the law. Adams had only heard him speak of his mother once, and that was a quick reference that held no additional enlightenment about the marshal's past.

Now, though, as Kitty said the name, Doc watched the memories flash across the grown Matthew's face, images of a childhood long forgotten or firmly suppressed. Kitty knew. Doc wasn't sure exactly what she knew, but she knew something about what Maria Dillon had meant to a little boy with dark curls. She knew enough to evoke this extraordinary moment.

Jaw muscles working furiously to contain the rush of raw feeling that threatened to overpower his already taxed emotions, the big man sucked in a tight breath and nodded without looking up at any of them. "Maria," he choked out.

"Maria," Kitty echoed softly, reaching out to run her fingers through the hair that was still just as curly, although not quite as dark. "Kathleen Maria Dillon."

Apparently not trusting himself to speak, Matt just nodded again and stared at the child.

Catching Festus' and Hannah's watery gazes, Doc pushed down the lump in his own throat long enough to jerk his chin toward the door, and the three friends stepped back to allow the couple their moment.

Just before they left, though, Matt's soft call stopped him. "Doc?"

He looked back at the family, at the grateful father who was holding on to control by his fingernails, at the exhausted mother who was glowing through her dishevelment, at the miraculously healthy child who was eagerly taking in the new revelations of her world.

The marshal eased the baby back into Kitty's arms and paused a moment to watch as the infant instinctively rooted at her mother's breast. Then he stood, took a breath, and opened his mouth. But almost immediately he shut it again, clenching his jaw tight. In those blue eyes, Doc saw all the words his friend – his son – couldn't manage to say. Saw all the shared years. Saw all the moments of pain and all the moments of joy. Saw all the doubts, all the worries, all the defeats, all the victories. Those eyes said more than paragraphs could convey.

Finally, Matt thrust out his hand, took a deep breath, and ground out two, simple words that summed up the moment – and the years. "Thank you."

Adams clasped the big hand hard, blinked, smiled, and nodded all at once, that combination his most sincere response. He didn't think his heart could get any fuller than it was, almost expected it to overflow and gush right out of his chest. He had waited so many years for this, had hoped for so long.

By golly, this was a grand end to the long journey. A grand end.

And then Kathleen Maria Dillon cooed, and he realized as he watched the new life that he had been wrong all along. This wasn't the end of the journey at all.

This was just the beginning.

TBC in Epilogue