Defend Me from My Friends

by MAHC (Amanda)

Chapter 22 (Epilogue): Only Three

POV: Chester/Kitty

"My daddy come west to Kansas,

ta' make his home in Kansas."

Chester voice filled the jailhouse, and he smiled, content again after a hearty breakfast from Delmonico's.

"But all he made

was his own grave

when he crossed the path of Killer Dave – "

This morning, as had been the case the past five weeks while Mister Dillon convalesced under Miss Kitty's care, Chester went about his work with renewed purpose. The harrowing experience he and the U.S. marshal had gone through strengthened the bond between them, and it became much more friend-to-friend than boss-to-assistant.

He paused in his work, leaning his chin on the handle of the broom as he remembered the simple but deeply-felt thank you Matt Dillon had given him. Even now, his eyes watered at the feelings that moment evoked. To have Matt Dillon thankful to him, proud of him…Chester didn't think it could get much better than that.

"You th' marshal?"

Head jerking up from his daydreaming, Chester looked toward the figure framed by the doorway. "Huh?"

"I said, 'Are you the marshal?'" The man's eyes, slightly crossed over a rather crooked nose, glanced around uneasily. He ran a hand over his small, sandy-colored mustache.

Chester blinked. "Oh, Heavens no. The marshal – " He stopped abruptly, eyes narrowing. "Uh, the marshal's out."

Scratching at greasy brown hair topped by a brightly-colored, wide-brimmed hat, the man asked, "When'll he be back?"

"Who wants ta know?" After Glenn Cantrell, Chester wasn't about to let Matt Dillon be bushwhacked again.

"Look," the stranger said, shaking his head, "I'm an old, uh, friend of the marshal's."

Old friend, indeed. He didn't figure Mister Dillon needed any more "old friends" showing up.

"Mister," Chester announced boldly, "the marshal's still uh…well, he's…he's gone is what he is. He's just gone."

The other man squinted his crossed eyes suspiciously, then shrugged and said, "Arrite. When Hickok gets back, you tell him – "

"Hickok? Wild Bill Hickok?"

The other man nodded. "Ain't he the marshal here?"

"No!" Chester grinned with relief. "No, he ain't. Marshal Di – um, somebody else is."

"Wild Bill ain't here?"

"No, sir," Chester confirmed, then feeling suddenly helpful, offered, "Last I heard, he was up in the Dakotas somewhere."

"Dakotas, huh?" After a moment, the man nodded, his stance relaxing. "Well, then, guess I'm sorry I bothered ya." He reached for the door but turned back and added, "You see him, you tell him Jack McCall is lookin' fer him."

"Jack McCall. All righty. If I see Wild Bill, I surely will tell him."

As McCall headed down the boardwalk, staggering slightly, Chester watched him, shaking his head and thanking the Good Lord that this old friend wasn't Matt Dillon's problem. Besides, from what he knew of Wild Bill Hickok, the man could handle Jack McCall just fine.

xxx

Kitty Russell drew in a deep, satisfied breath and snuggled against the warm, hard body that lay next to her, burrowing her head against the broad chest and letting her fingers dance gently over the newest scars, still more red than pink but healed enough that Matt insisted on resuming his marshaling duties the next day. She was particularly grateful he also felt like resuming certain other "duties" even sooner. In fact, they had spent most of the previous night – and a good part of the morning – exercising those certain other "duties."

Stretching lazily and sliding a slender leg over the muscled thigh that pressed against her, she murmured his name.

He half-groaned his response. "Hmm?"

"Did Jazziel teach you that, too?"

She smirked at his surprised grunt, but he didn't ask what she meant. Instead, humor lightening his exhausted tone, he answered, "Uh uh. I learned that one from a beautiful redhead."

"Mmm, you sure learned well, Cowboy."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, yeah."

Snuggling even closer against him, she let her mind, floaty and light, wander over the events of the past few weeks, thanking the Heavens for bringing him back to her, if not completely safe and sound, then alive, at least. Her thoughts lingered on the irony of Glenn Cantrell turning out to be a good guy – sort of – after all.

"Matt?" she asked again, speech a bit slurred with encroaching sleep.

"Hmm?" His sounded the same.

"What are you going to do with all that money?"

In truth, it wasn't as much money as it once had been. Kitty wasn't completely sure where a good chunk of it went, but it had not gone unnoticed that Ma Smalley suddenly had a shiny new stove in place of her old broken one. And Doc had found a package containing a new stock of his most commonly used medicines at the top of his stairs. And the young Widow McGee and her infant daughter had awakened to the soft moos of a milk cow tied to their front porch. And at least a half a dozen more citizens of Dodge discovered themselves to be recipients of a bit of needed serendipity.

He shifted to look down at her, stirring her from imminent slumber. "What do you think I should do with it?"

"Oh, I don't know." Opening her eyes, she glanced up at him. "Maybe take a trip?"

"That'd be some trip," Matt observed, chuckling and leaning back against the pillows again.

"Or buy some new clothes."

"What's wrong with my old ones?" he protested. "Besides, there's a lot more money than I'd need for just shirts and pants."

Maybe it was extreme relaxation that let it slip from her lips, but she said, "Then why don't you buy land for a ranch and build a house big enough for – a wife and three kids?"

Silence met her for a long pause, and Kitty clenched her teeth at her own foolishness. "Oh, I…uh…I didn't mean – "

But he stopped her by pressing a firm kiss against her lips. The clear blue eyes held no hint of teasing when he asked softly, "Only three?"

Astonishment flashing across her face, she could only stare until he pulled her back down against his shoulder, kissing her temple and cradling her to him as they both drifted into pleasant, hopeful dreams.

END