Defend Me from My Friends

Chapter Four: More Wild Oats

POV: Matt

In the quiet of early morning Matt lay awake gazing into the lightening gray that was gradually bringing the walls and furniture of Kitty's room into clarity. She still slept, her head pillowed on his chest, the soft breaths from her mouth brushing across his skin. And in the security of that intimate moment, he shook his head at his own foolishness. There was no other word to describe what he felt last night. Jealousy. Of all things. Something Matt Dillon had seldom – if ever – truly experienced.

In the early days of his relationship with Kitty, they had both danced around the realization that something strong, something inescapable drew them together. He had taken other women to supper, she had sat and taken drinks with other men. No explanations offered. No questions asked. But somewhere along the way, he stopped asking those other women to supper and she stopped sitting with those other men, and Matt knew that for several years now his hat was the only one that ever hung on the peg inside her door.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Kitty. He trusted her with his life – and more importantly, with his heart. So why did he act so foolish in front of Glenn, making sure he was between Kitty and his former partner, tugging her against him in a blatant statement of possession? He laughed silently at that. No one could ever possess Kitty Russell – that was for sure. The obvious answer was that he didn't trust Glenn Cantrell. Despite their mutual, youthful experiences, Matt knew what kind of man Glenn had been, knew what kind of man he probably became without the fortuitous guiding hand the law had given another wild youth.

His thoughts flickered back over the tale Glenn had spun there in Kitty's office.

"You gonna tell me what you're doin' here, Glenn?" Matt had asked as soon as the door closed, figuring he'd given his old friend plenty of time to catch up on old times.

Glenn smiled. "You always could see right through folks, Matt," he allowed. "And you're right, I did come for a reason. You remember Harp McLeod?"

"Harp – yeah, I do. Skinny fella, tried to grow a mustache but it never filled in."

"That's him."

"How's he doing?"

Cantrell's smile faded. "Well, not so good now. He's dead."

"Dead?"

"Slid a Queen of Hearts outta his sleeve on th' wrong man up in Deadwood a few months back."

"Sorry to hear that," Matt said, although not at all surprised. "I don't figure you came all the way to Dodge just to tell me, though."

"No. Came ta' give ya' somethin'." He dug into the saddlebag he had not let out of his sight since they had gone to the Long Branch. "You sure it's safe in here?" he asked, glancing around nervously.

Matt raised one eyebrow in curiosity. "Sure."

Nodding, Cantrell dropped the saddlebag on a table and opened the flap, spreading it to reveal bulging bundles of cash, hundreds of greenback bills wrapped together in uniform groups. Immediately, Matt raised his eyes to meet the other man's.

"Where'd this come from, Glenn?" he asked, his instincts automatically sharp.

"Harp."

"Harp?" When Glenn simply nodded, Matt sighed and said, "Maybe you'd better explain."

Cantrell dragged a chair to the table and sat in it, laying his hat over the saddlebag and running a hand through his hair. "Seems ol' Harp got into the silver business a few years back. Bought hisself a share in a mine somewhere near Comstock. Told me about it, but I never figured it would pay off nothin'."

"Harp always was a bit of a gambler," Matt remembered, lowering his body into a chair opposite Cantrell's.

"Anyway, 'couple of weeks ago I got this here letter from some fancy Nevada lawyer sayin' Harp wuz dead, and he'd left his old friends somethin'. Turns out that somethin' wuz a heap of money he'd got from sellin' his share of that mine."

"How much?"

"Nigh on ta' ten thousand dollars." Cantrell's eyes widened as he spoke, emphasizing the amount.

Matt couldn't help but be impressed. "You're right, Glenn. That's a heap of money."

His old friend's grin broadened. "Here's th' thing, though. It ain't all mine."

"No?"

"Harp left a last will and testament, can you believe that? Divided up the money with th' folks he said meant th' most to him. His old friends, see? Turns out you and me's the only ones left."

"Us?"

"Us. That there in thet saddlebag, Matt, is your share."

Normally unflappable, the marshal felt his jaw drop. "My share?"

"Five thousand dollars."

Stunned, Matt stared at Glenn for a long moment, then looked down to stare at the leather bag, bulging with money – his money.

"I'm plannin' on takin' my share on ta' San Francisco in a few days, but I sure would appreciate you helpin' me keep it safe until then."

"We have a good bank in town – " Matt started, but Cantrell winced.

"Ain't too fond of banks. Don't know when they might get robbed, ya' know?" he said, his grin tight. Nodding toward the small safe against the wall, he asked, "What about here? Won't nobody suspect a saloon to keep that much in cash, would they? And you could keep your share in there, too, at least until you figure what you might do with it."

The sensation of hairs prickling at the back of his neck was uncomfortably familiar to Matt. He watched Glenn for a long moment until his old partner shrugged and shook his head.

"Nevermind. I see ya' ain't too keen on that – "

"No, it's all right. I'm sure Kitty won't mind if we keep the money here, for a while, anyway."

"Well, that's fine, then. Just fine." He slapped Matt on the shoulder and watched while the lawman stood to open the iron black safe.

Matt turned Glenn's story over uneasily in his mind. Maybe he was just too used to being poor to think about what he could do with five thousand dollars. Maybe not.

Then he thought about Glenn's re-telling of that terrible September day at Chickamauga, swallowing as the old, but familiar sharp tug of guilt twisted through him. He should have told Glenn long ago, even if he wasn't sure about things. He still should have told him.

I sure did owe him, Glenn had told Chester and Doc. Still do, I figure.

A heavy sigh lifted his chest. If Glenn only knew.

"Matt?" the sleepy, slurred voice half-protested the movement.

Shrugging off the complications his brain couldn't untangle anyway, he pressed a kiss into her hair. "Shh. Sleep."

"Don't wanna," she murmured, pushing up to sit next to him. "Tell me what's bothering you."

He pressed his lips together in fond irritation. She always knew. "It may be nothing."

"It may be something," she countered. "Usually is when you look like that."

Lifting long fingers, he brushed a flame of hair from her face. "Look like what?"

She leaned in, kissing him softly. "Like you are trying to fit together a puzzle that's missing some pieces."

He sighed, giving in to his need to share some of the burden, even though he had never thought it was fair to her. But he ended up doing it almost every time. Briefly, he recounted his conversation with Glenn in Kitty's office, his suspicions growing uncomfortably more secure with each word.

"Money from a silver mine?" Kitty asked, her own voice dubious. It merely confirmed what he feared.

"Yeah."

She smiled gently, fingering the hair that trailed down his stomach. "And what are you really thinking?"

"That bank over in Pueblo," Matt said, voice heavy.

"The one that got robbed last month?"

"Yeah. Robbers got away with – "

"Ten thousand dollars," she finished. "And you think the money Glenn brought is –"

"I think it might be, Kitty."

"Oh, Matt."

"What safer way to hide money than in the keeping of a United States Marshal?"

She smiled. "Except he chose the wrong marshal."

"I'll telegraph the sheriff in Pueblo. Get a description of the robbers."

"Why don't you just turn over the money?"

"I need proof. There's a chance he's telling me the truth."

But her expression revealed her doubt, and he knew it mirrored his own. "Is there something else, Matt?" she asked.

He swore he could smell gunpowder for a second. "What?"

"More than just – well, you and Glenn go way back. I can understand you not wanting to believe he would do something against the law – "

He chuckled. "I don't have a problem believing that, Kitty. Glenn and I did plenty against – well, I guess you should be glad my oat-sowing days are over."

She shook her head, her eyes hooded, her tone seductive. "Oh, I think maybe you underestimate me. I'm perfectly happy for you to sow more wild oats, as long as you sow them right here with me."

Then he forgot about Glenn Cantrell and silver mines and even debts owed as she pulled him close, her breasts soft against his stomach, her lips hot across his chest, her hands torturous around his renewed arousal. And the oats that they both sowed the rest of the night were wild, indeed.

TBC