Herewith follows my disclaimer: You all know the drill... I fully realize that these characters with the exception of the villains I created are the property of Trilogy and MGM. Yadda, yadda, yadda. What this really means is that I've managed to write another story! This story was something I started a long time ago but somewhere along the way, I lost my muse and it was never finished. (I've got a lot of those hanging around.) Then suddenly things came together through no fault of my own and violia here it is. Hope you enjoy the story.

WARNING: This is a sappy story. I don't write them often but when the opportunity beckons, it's hard to miss the call. As always, feedback is most welcome. (Unbeta-ed, so please forgive any glaring errors.)

NOTE: This is an old story that was written long ago during the show's heyday but I've decided to archive here to keep all my works together in one spot.

CREATURES OF HABIT

by Susan Zell

Chapter Two

Chris was sitting at his usual spot along the sidewalk between the feed store and the hotel. It was a quiet nook that gave him a clear view of the broad expanse of street. There was also an alcove immediately to his left in which to take refuge from either the glaring sun or from an unexpected hail of bullets. Both of which had a habit of breaking out over the town.

Right now Chris was irritated at the relative tranquility that had enveloped Four Corners. It had been too damn peaceful for too damn long. For a while he had been grateful for the solace. It had given him the time he needed to get his feet back under him, let the nightmares fade into the background with the others, and let the aches and pains from his time in Jericho subside.

Now however, he wanted to test himself on something, head into a fray and prove to himself that his mettle was still strong. He was tired at shooting bottles and cans, tired of forcing sore muscles past their point of endurance with tedious exercise. It was long past time to see if his body had truly healed.

He checked his pocket watch noting that he still had a half hour before Mary Travis would go on her usual rounds. First to Mrs. Potter's mercantile store to deliver the new edition of the paper; she'd stay and chat for about thirty minutes and then she'd head over to the hotel with her last load. Then she'd head home to make supper. Sixty minutes after that she'd be at his room with a soft knock and a covered plate.

It was a habit she had started while he was laid up and still she declined to let go of it now that he had recovered.

He decided to be elsewhere tonight. A little change of habit would be a good thing for all of them. It would perhaps dissuade Mrs. Travis from acting so foolishly. The town's folk were already talking about her behind her back about him about them. It wasn't right for a widow to be carrying on so over a man with his reputation.

Besides, as a gunfighter, it always paid to alter one's routine a bit. Just in case. A constant pattern could easily spell death in a world such as his.

He caught sight of JD striding down the other side of the street. Chris frowned. There was someone else who could use a change of habit. The kid never failed to take the same route on his rounds as sheriff. Chris made a note to discuss it with Buck.

The kid was so damn honored to be Sheriff. So intent on walking tall that he didn't realize the all too real dangers the job held. One day someone was going to come into this town, thinking it was held only by a snot nosed kid, and there was going to be no one around to help him. Eventually he would have to stand on his own. Could he learn enough in the few months with them to survive in the west without them? Chris almost shuddered. He didn't even want to consider it because he knew the odds were against it.

The gunsmith, Alister Wiggens, chose that moment to ride by on his bay. He nodded to Chris and then grinned in sudden amusement, turning away quickly but not before Chris caught it.

The shootist frowned and then dismissed it. That is until two young ladies, probably no more than fifteen or sixteen, ran giggling past him.

*Alright, what was so damn funny?*

He looked himself over but didn't notice anything grossly out of place. Scowling, he glared at the girls who were now halfway up the street. It was then he felt something thump against his boot. Surprised, he looked down to see a long, white tail lash back and forth from beneath his chair.

Bending over he was in time to see the scrawny white cat from the trail come flying out from under his chair in an explosion of fur and spit. Startled, he reared back while trying to come to his feet in a desperate effort to avoid the feline's panicked flight. Instead the toe of his boot caught on the chair leg and all he succeeded in doing was losing his balance. He sprawled sideways onto the wooden walk. In numb shock, he glimpsed the streak of white dart across the street and slip under the buildings. Chris took mild satisfaction in the fact that the hellcat alarmed a team of dozing horses hitched at the rail.

He was slowly gaining his feet as Buck strolled by. Perplexed, but with a trace of amusement as if he had seen the whole thing, Buck inquired innocently, "Catnapping?"

Chris smoldered and cast an evil eye his way. "Oh shut up." Chris bent to pick up his hat from the boards and then rubbed his elbow absently where it had impacted when he fell.

Buck glanced across the street to where the small tornado of white had vanished. "Now that's something you just don't see everyday," he drawled.

Chris fumed but said nothing, refusing to be drawn into this conversation. Not that that ever stopped Buck.

"Now what do you supposed that was?" Buck asked.

"You never saw a stray cat before," Chris snapped before realizing he had resolved himself to keep his mouth shut.

Buck looked his way making no effort to hide his huge grin. "Not one that wanted to spend time in your company."

Chris stalked his way towards the saloon and Buck annoyingly fell into step beside him. Chris slammed his hat back on his head, offering as explanation, "It latched onto me out in the bush."

Buck halted abruptly making Chris pause with him. Buck's expression was one of mock horror. "You didn't feed it, did you?"

Grimacing, Chris shrugged almost noncommittally. Buck wasn't fooled and a snicker slipped through his lips. He shook his head. "Chris, you outta know better than to cotton to some stray. They bring nuthin' but trouble."

The happy whistling of the new town Sheriff reached their ears just then and Chris' eyebrow rose in mild accusation.

Buck waved his arms wildly in dismissal. "THAT don't count! He was following you, not me," the taller man pointed out quickly.

"Yeah, but if you hadn't kept draggin' him into camp every few minutes..."

"Me? The damn fool kid would have gotten hisself killed if I hadn't kept interferrin'!"

Chris just smirked. "Uh huh."

"It's true!" Buck insisted to no one who was going to believe him. "He wouldn't have lasted a second out there without me!"

"Um...what were you just sayin' about feedin' strays?" Chris feigned bewilderment.

Buck scowled crossly. "Oh shut up."

They watched as JD sauntered into view and Chris' humor fell away. Turning to continue on his original purpose, he mumbled to Buck, "Tell the kid to change his damn route once in a while, will you?"

Buck regarded Chris curiously from the corner of his eye and grunted. "What about the cat?"

Chris glanced at him sharply. "What about it? Just leave it be. It'll eventually get bored and hungry and move on." Walking away, he added, "I don't care what happens to that damn cat."

Buck watched the slightly hunched shoulders of his friend and knew something was bothering the gunslinger. He wondered what. Standing on the boardwalk, he folded his arms in irritation. But most of all he wanted to know, *how the hell did Chris wind up winning this argument? I had him dead to rights with that cat!* Sighing, Buck walked back the other way only to bump into JD.

"Hey Buck!"

Buck towered over the young man and poked a stiff finger at the Sheriff's chest. "Change your route, kid," he scolded. "Never let an outlaw see you walk the same path every day. You wanna give him an edge? You wanna get killed?"

JD shook his head, puzzled by the sudden lecture and the odd look in Buck's eye.

"Good," Buck grumbled and walked away.

* * *

The saloon was a quiet haven for a change as Chris entered and took his usual table near the back. The bartender noticed him and brought the gunslinger a bottle of red eye and a glass. He left without saying a word. This was the usual routine now.

Chris poured his drink but didn't touch it. Instead, he took in the bar's patrons. There were two new faces that he didn't recognize. The first stranger was a heavy set man and he caught one's attention immediately. He was about the same height as Chris but at least three or four times the weight. But the thing that attracted Chris' eye was the pistol rig that sat around the man's hips. A huge bowie knife balanced out the other side. The damn thing looked as if it was well over three feet long and Chris had no doubt the man knew how to wield the deadly weapon.

The other man sitting beside him was a thin, wiry fellow with ever shifting eyes. He immediately spied Chris' scrutiny and nudged the other man. The big one turned Chris' way with a contemptuous glare.

Chris didn't look away but instead met the man with a dead eye stare of his own. There was something he didn't like about these two.

Unnerved, the big man snarled, "What are you looking at?"

Chris' stance didn't alter. "I'm wondering what business you have in town."

"It ain't no business of yours," Zeke Blackburn retorted.

"Yes. It is. I'm one of the peacekeepers in this town."

"Thug is more like it," the thin man mumbled.

Chris' eyes narrowed. "It takes one to know one," he stated matter of factly.

The big man laughed. "Maybe so." He placed a quieting hand on his companion and regarded Chris. "But we don't want no trouble. Ain't that right, Jimmy?"

Jimmy glanced over at Blackburn with a look of astonishment but then slowly nodded, playing along.

Blackburn continued. "We're just waiting on a friend who's arriving in town shortly."

Chris contemplated the story, his eyes still boring into the others with steely coldness. Finally he leaned back, apparently satisfied. "Just so long as there ain't no trouble," he warned.

Blackburn laughed and his little buddy joined in nervously. "Oh there won't be none of that from us."

Chris pursed his lips and eventually lifted the whiskey to his lips. He didn't believe them for a moment. The two men were sharing a private joke at Chris' expense. And he hated to be excluded. He let the whiskey roll around the inside of his mouth for a second before swallowing. He glanced their way again. He wouldn't be excluded for long.

* * *

Around supper time, Chris was in the stable brushing down his horse. Chris was of the mind that the black had picked up a bad stone bruise and felt that the horse could use some rest for a while. The blacksmith said the hoof looked fine to him but didn't push the issue muttering if the gunslinger said it was a stone bruise then there would be no argument from him.

Chris pulled the brush down its forehead with long, smooth strokes. The black's eyes were half closed, dozing comfortably with the attention, one hind leg cocked lazily.

Chris absently wondered what time it was. Mary Travis should have tried to find him over an hour ago. He felt a bit bad at his underhanded tactics but it had to be done. It was either that or tell her to mind her own business to her face, but he loathed to do that. First off, it would be embarrassing and awkward for both of them. The last thing he wanted was to get into an argument with the foolish woman. Did she really have no idea what she did to him every time she showed up? Hell, it was probably plain enough for most to see in more ways than one.

Secondly, he wanted her to figure it out on her own. Why couldn't she see how bad it looked? No matter what their bodies may desire, there was no possible way for there to be anything between them except professional courtesy. She was an intelligent woman and she had to have noticed the rumors and gossip that had sprung up over the last few months since the seven had come to town.

His horse gently butted his chest and Chris realized that his musing had caused him to cease his ministrations. Chris clucked softly and then resumed his motion. The big horse sighed and leaned into Chris. He patted the old horse on the jaw.

Chris heard someone enter the stable with another horse. Attentively, he listened to the horse being stabled and then that someone shuffled his way through the hay strewn on the floor till he was outside the stall. A moment later, Buck's tousled head appeared over its door. A moment after that the aromatic smell of grilled steak and potatoes wafted into the air around them.

"Mrs. Travis has been lookin' for you," Buck informed him.

Chris growled low in his throat with frustration. "So?"

Buck lifted a plate so Chris could see it. It was covered nicely with a red and white checkered napkin. "Well, she brought you your dinner."

Chris could almost hear the silent addition of the word "again." Damn, when was this going to end? He refocused his attention on his grooming. "Tell her I'm not eating supper anymore."

"Tell her yourself, you big coward," Buck countered.

Chris shot him a nettled glare. "Damn it, Buck! This has gone on long enough!"

Buck patted his slowly swelling girth. "Well, I've certainly been enjoying it."

"You're welcome to it." Chris pushed against the black's flank and it moved over obediently, enabling Chris to slip out of the corner. "Even though all it does is fuel the gossip mongers in town," he continued. "She shouldn't be doin' this!" Chris' exasperation over the situation was growing. "Hand me that blanket," he ordered crossly not so much at Buck but at his own inability to regain control over the matter. He indicated a warm wool blanket folded over a bale of straw in the corridor.

Buck set the plate of food down on a barrel and retrieved Chris' blanket. "She's a grown woman, Chris, with a mind of her own. I doubt a little gossip is gonna rattle her."

Chris snatched the blanket angrily and moved back to his horse. "She says that now but later, when we've all moved on, she'll have to stay and live with these people. She'll be forever remembered as the widow woman who doted on a notorious gunslinger and his gang. To make it more colorful, hell, over the next few years they'll probably be calling us murdering outlaws who took over the whole damn place and Mary the shameless hussy who...."

Buck sighed. "Chris you worry too damn much about everyone." Then he smiled. "It's a change." He hadn't missed the fact that Chris had already assumed they were all leaving. Buck had a feeling that some would or should stick around Four Corners despite Chris' predictions.

Chris cursed colorfully as he finished buckling the blanket on his steed and moved back out into the corridor. He scowled at Buck. "Are you here for any other reason than being a delivery boy?"

Buck let that barb bounce off the armor he usually erected whenever around Chris Larabee these days and then grinned. "I'm actually a messenger boy tonight too. The Judge is back in town."

* * *

Chris stepped into the hotel lobby and scanned the room for Judge Travis. He saw the old man sitting with his daughter in law at a table in the restaurant.

The Judge's sharp eyes caught Chris' entrance and motioned him over. Internally, Chris groaned. He had wished Mary wasn't with him but he had no choice but to go over now. He politely borrowed a chair from a neighboring table and sat down with the Travis'. "Welcome back, Judge," he offered.

Judge Travis grinned between his graying beard and mustache. "It feels good to be back." His voice possessed an innate roughness. "Four Corners is one of the more pleasant stops to make these days. Thanks mainly to you and your men, Chris. Mary tells me things have been relatively quiet since the last time I came out this way."

Chris shifted uncomfortably under the Judge's scrutiny. "Yeah, it's been peaceful." He quickly took the opportunity to bring up the something else that had been on his mind of late. "Looks like you might not be needing us much longer." He noticed Mary's startled reaction to that sudden news.

"I still think Four Corners is a long way from being a respectful, law abiding town, Mr. Larabee," she interjected quickly. "We still need your services."

Chris reined in his frustration. Couldn't she see how desperate her statement sounded? And in front of the Judge to boot! Chris felt his face flush. Sensing the Judge's eyes upon him, Chris swallowed hard and met them. But the Judge's face held only mild interest. He merely waited for Chris' reply.

"There will always be some trouble but the *bad element,*" Chris emphasized those words specifically for Mary's benefit, "has been eliminated for the most part."

The Judge nodded and took a sip of his beer. "Still, there seems to be enough agitators occasionally to warrant your presence for a while longer."

"It's nothing a good Sheriff couldn't handle with some competent deputies to back him up."

Judge Travis raised an amused eyebrow. "I thought that's what I had," he pointed out.

"What you have Judge are some hired..." Chris agonized over his next word. "...thugs. Which is fine when you're going after big game but completely unnecessary for just mild infractions of the law. You don't need us to break up a drunken brawl or arrest a inept pickpocket."

The Judge sat back quietly mulling over what Chris said but he also noticed the gunfighter's antsy behavior. He briefly wondered what was causing it.

Mary meanwhile harumphed from the other side of the table. She leaned determinedly towards Chris who immediately reared back as if resolved to keep a specific distance between them at all times. Mary frowned. "The minute you leave Four Corners, the *bad element,*" her tone mocked the words, "will no doubt return."

"There will come a time when you're just gonna have to risk it," Chris shot back.

The Judge's eyes twinkled as he folded his arms and watched the interplay between his fiery daughter in law and the proud shootist. He knew there existed an attraction between the two. No one could argue as much as they did without it sparking something more.

The surprising thing was that the Judge wasn't bothered by it in the least. In fact, he welcomed it. He admired Chris Larabee, despite the gunfighter's notion that he had a less than stellar reputation. That was beside the fact. The Judge could see qualities in the man that elevated him far above most of the upstanding citizens presently residing in Four Corners. The lack of support from said citizens during the James trial came swiftly to mind.

Then there was the fact that Chris Larabee had done more for his family in the last couple of months than most people do in a lifetime. He was indebted to Chris for saving the life of Mary and his grandson, for bringing the killers of Stephen to justice, and for saving the life of the Judge himself.

Yes, Chris Larabee had permanently and irrevocably touched the Travis' lives in more ways than one. It was something the Judge never took lightly.

He watched his daughter in law arguing with Chris. There was such passion in her delivery. Rarely had he seen her speak that way with Stephen. She had always been so doting on his son, so willing to take up his crusades like a good wife should. But this was a new Mary and Orrin Travis found he liked this new person, strong willed and tenacious at times. She held back few punches and laid her cards clearly upon the table. The trouble was that intimidated most men, Chris included.

Mary had fallen hard for the gunfighter. The Judge chuckled. It was so obvious. Then his mirth faded. It was unfortunate that Chris Larabee also came with ghosts and demons. The Judge had caught a glimpse of those things that Chris held close to his soul when Jock Steele had come to town. Even the Judge had to admit that the man Chris had transformed into during that time was a frightening creature. Such a beast as Chris carried with him would not be tamed till the murderer of his family was brought to justice one way or another. The Judge understood that. Mary, unfortunately, did not.

"...the time that cowboy pulled a gun on Mr. Stanford?" Mary was arguing. "If Buck hadn't been there, Mr. Stanford would have been dead."

"That gun was falling apart," Chris retorted angrily. "The trigger was broken. He was only a desperate, starving cowboy looking for some measly cash. I don't consider that trouble."

"Well, I think..."

Sighing, the Judge interrupted. "Chris, I don't suppose you would care to join us for dinner?"

Chris cast Mary an irritated glance and stood, grateful for the excuse to escape. "No thank you, Judge. I've got some things to do tonight." He tipped his hat obligingly at Mary. "Mrs. Travis." Then he turned sharply on his heel and left the hotel.

"Oh that man!" Mary declared pushing an annoying curl behind her ear.

"He's right," the Judge noted.

Mary's stunned face turned towards him. "What?"

"The town of Four Corners has greatly improved over the last few months. Soon there won't be a need for the seven."

That statement struck Mary hard. She was unprepared for it. She shook her head. "But soon doesn't mean right now. There's still so much that needs to be done. Lucas James could still retaliate; Guy Royal could come back..."

"Mary," the Judge called softly.

"Just the other day, the stage was robbed not ten miles from here. The outlaws were never apprehended..."

"Mary," the Judge called again in a gentle voice. "We can't keep them here forever."

Mary stopped and raised pained eyes to her father in law. "We still need them," she insisted quietly.

"Them or him?"

Mary felt the rush of blood flood into her cheeks. "What do you mean?"

"I may be a tired old man, Mary, but I'm not as dense and codgity as some would think. Chris Larabee is a good man and Stephen's been gone for over a year now. It's only right that..."

Mary stood abruptly bumping into the table in her haste. The Judge looked quietly up at her after he settled his gently rocking glass. Flustered, she began, "Orrin..."

"Mary, sit down," he said sternly. She numbly sat back, her hands folded in her lap. Orrin sighed and then placed his elbows on the table, leaning in nearer. "This is a hard life you've chosen for yourself out here. I don't intend for you to remain alone out of deference to my son's memory. The risk to you and Billy is far too great. I want you to find love again and I wouldn't care if you found it six months ago or on this very night. And neither would Stephen."

Mary stopped biting her quivering lower lip, reaching mindlessly for the glass of water but did not drink it. "But what if...," she fumbled for the right words and came up empty. Orrin thankfully continued.

"But what if you fell in love with the wrong person?"

Mary sat there rigid, her only thought was the horror that he had known all along about her feelings for Chris Larabee. Everyone in town must know it too. She flushed an even deeper crimson.

Orrin cupped her small hand. "Chris Larabee may have been many things in this life, both good and bad, but I'm willing to look at what I see here and now. And from where I sit, he's a fine man who's had a very hard life."

"But the townspeople....all the gossip..."

"Hell with the town. They're a bunch of idiots anyway. Besides, if you were worried about them you wouldn't have associated yourself with Chris in the first place." He took a deep breath and locked her gaze with his own. "Just remember Mary that Chris is a man who's wounded. A man like him won't be willing to just let go of the past. He'll have to go and find some way of laying it to rest. And you're going to have to let him."

Mary turned away from Orrin for a moment. He was right. She knew that but it didn't make it any easier to face. "But he might not come back," she whispered fighting a losing battle with her emotions.

Orrin squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Then he's a fool."

He leaned back as the waiter arrived with their steaks. He had said his peace. There was nothing further to add. It was up to the two young people now and he trusted them to work it out.

Mary picked up her napkin and tried to repair any damage to her face and eyes. *Confound you, Mr. Larabee,* she cursed silently. *Why did things have to be so complicated?*