Defend Me from My Friends

by MAHC (Amanda)

Chapter Two: Pretty Impressive

POV: Doc

It looked as if the evening was starting early at Kitty's place, Doc observed, which probably meant a late night for Matt and the promise of unwanted business for the town's physician. At least twenty patrons already enjoyed the offerings of beer, women, and cards.

Cantrell whistled in appreciation as they made their way to a back table. "Ain't seen nothin' this fine in a long time."

"I told ya," Chester reminded, his voice proud.

Just as he tugged out a chair to sit, Doc saw Matt stop suddenly, his eyes narrowing toward the bar. "You go on," the marshal told them. "I'll be there in a minute."

They sat, but Doc continued to watch Matt as he approached a man who leaned casually against the counter. His dusty clothes told of a long ride in the saddle, his boots scuffed and worn, his hat tattered. At first glance, he didn't look any different from scores of other drifters who sought a few moments' reprieve in the company of an attentive woman and glass of beer. But the simple fact that he had Matt's attention identified him as noteworthy.

"Thought I told you to stay out of Dodge, Roper," the marshal said, his voice soft, but his tone hard.

If he was surprised, the other man didn't show it. Instead, he drew a couple of pulls of his beer, then drawled, "Stayed out, Marshal. Didn't like it. Missed yer hospitality."

"You got about three minutes to walk out those doors, get back on your horse, and leave town."

Slowly, Roper turned, leaving his beer on the counter and letting his arms hang loose by his side. Doc felt the clench in his chest. He'd seen this scene far too often. It meant someone was going to need his services, and he prayed it wasn't Matt.

"Don't be a fool, Roper," Matt warned, his hands resting on the buckle of his gun belt.

"I ain't the fool, Dillon. That's what they'll be sayin' about you in a few more seconds." He grinned maliciously.

Matt didn't respond, and Doc knew that he had resigned himself to the inevitable. Instantly, the crowd cleared, scattering chairs in their haste to get out of the line of fire.

Doc knew it was coming, but he could do no more than suck in a breath before the gunman grabbed for his iron. The shots sounded, three in quick succession, and when the smoke cleared, Roper lay sprawled on the floor, blood splattered across his chest, the final breath of life wheezing from his lungs.

Doc blinked a couple of times, took a breath, and narrowed his eyes to focus solely on the marshal, scanning up and down the long body in search of any signs of injury. After a moment, Matt replaced his Colt in the holster and leaned back, shoulders relaxing. Then he stepped forward to kick the fallen man's gun away, just in case. Seeing no indication that the marshal was hit, Doc scrambled over to the gunman who had indeed ended up the fool, thinking he could best Matt Dillon. It didn't take a trained eye to know that the three holes drilled directly through his chest had done their job well. Glazed eyes stared up at nothing.

"He's dead," he told Matt, figuring the marshal already knew that. The slump of those broad shoulders telegraphed a burden that only grew heavier with each life the lawman was forced to take.

"Yeah." Matt turned to a couple of gaping spectators. "You men take him over to Percy Crump's."

Without hesitation, they nodded and gathered up the remains of Roscoe Roper. Doc shook his head in regret for both a life lost and for one more chip out of his friend's soul. As he turned back to see Cantrell's reaction, he was puzzled by the expression on the other man's face, a mixture of admiration, concern, and fear.

"He was notified, Matt," Cantrell said. "Shoulda listened to ya'."

"Yeah."

"Who was he?"

The marshal bit at his lower lip for a minute. "Gunslinger. Came into town a couple of days ago making trouble. I told him to get out and not come back, but – " A jerk of his chin ended the explanation.

Cantrell shook his head, an admiring smile on his lips. "You shore gotten faster since we wuz younguns. Don't figure they're many could shade ya' now."

Matt managed a slight smile. "Except you, maybe."

"You figure Glenn here could outdraw you, Mister Dillon?" Chester asked incredulously.

Tilting his head toward his old friend, Matt said, "Back then Glenn could shoot a spine off a cactus at thirty yards."

Cantrell shook his head. "Cactus wasn't shootin' back."

Doc watched Matt shrug casually, but he had known the young lawman long enough to see the tension beneath the nonchalance. "Let's have that beer, now," the marshal said, pushing his hat back on his head.

Just as they sat, the attention of every man in the place suddenly focused on one common sight.

Kitty Russell flowed down the staircase, wearing a dress that Doc had seen before, one that showed off her assets – and always kept Matt's eyes glued to her from the minute she appeared to the time she left. He noted with a bite of irritation that Matt wasn't the only one interested in that dress. Glenn Cantrell's dark eyes flashed as he took in the striking woman approaching their table. Doc watched as the marshal's old friend elbowed him in the ribs and lifted a brow.

"Boy, oh boy. Would ya' look at that?"

Swishing his mustache, Doc slid a glance to check out Matt's expression, wondering just how far the old friendship went. As he expected, the marshal's jaw tightened, not much, but Adams knew him well enough to notice.

As Kitty neared, Matt stood and removed his hat. The others followed suit, Cantrell grinning at her, oblivious to his friend's unease.

"Hello, Matt," she greeted, her smile warm and intimate as it always was when she saw the marshal. Doc wondered if she realized just how clearly she telegraphed her feelings. The connection between the two practically sizzled.

"Hello, Kitty," Dillon answered, pulling out a chair next to his. Doc held back a chuckle as he noted that the marshal happened to place himself between Cantrell and her.

"Kitty, huh?" Cantrell noted, standing himself. "You gonna introduce me to th' lady, Matt, or do I have ta' do it myself?"

Smoothly shaking off any visible reluctance – although Doc could still tell it was there – Dillon placed a possessive hand on Kitty's back, but before he could make any introduction, she extended her hand toward Cantrell.

"I'm Kitty Russell."

"Well, now, Kitty Russell, I'm right please ta' make yer acquaintance. Name's Cantrell. Glenn Cantrell, and Matt didn't warn me I'd be meetin' the most beautiful woman in town."

Her laugh was deep and genuine, but Doc could see that Kitty hadn't bought Cantrell's line. He thought he heard her grunt a bit when Matt tugged her closer against him.

"You work here, do ya', Kitty?" Glenn asked, his eyes lingering on the generous view of her cleavage.

Before she could answer, Matt said, his voice careful, "Kitty owns the Long Branch, Glenn."

The dark eyes widened in genuine surprise. "Owns it? Well, now, that's pretty impressive." Then he narrowed his eyes at the protective arm the marshal held around Kitty. "Yes," he breathed, shaking his head. "Pretty impressive."

Matt's stance relaxed slightly, and he allowed a smile to hint about his lips. "How about a round of beers for everyone, Sam?" he asked the bartender, releasing his hold on Kitty and waiting until she sat before he eased into the chair between Cantrell's and hers.

When they were all seated, Doc carefully blew out the breath he didn't realize he had been holding. Even though Cantrell had obviously seen his share of trouble, he didn't figure he wanted to tangle with Matt Dillon, whatever their shared past held. Still, he frowned a bit at the quick, hungry glance the marshal's old friend slid toward Kitty.

"Say," Doc began, his voice calculating, "I'll bet you could tell a few good stories on ol' Matt, here."

The marshal winced. "Now, Doc – "

But Cantrell lifted a brow and grinned. "Come ta' think of it – "

TBC