Chuck vs the Wildcat

by dettiot

It's the 1870s in the American Southwest. Charles "Chuck" Bartowski, after avenging the death of his sister, falls in with gunslinger John Casey. There's a range war in El Dorado, and Chuck finds himself on one side of the war. And on that side is a woman named Sarah Walker.

5. Chapter 5: And O'er His Heart a Shadow

Title: Chuck vs. the Wildcat 5/?

Author: dettiot

Rating: T

Summary: It's the 1870s in the American Southwest. Charles "Chuck" Bartowski, after avenging the death of his sister, has fallen in with gunslinger John Casey. There's a range war in El Dorado, and Chuck finds himself on one side of the war. And on that side is a woman named Sarah Walker.

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck or El Dorado. No copyright infringement intended.

Author's Note: Time for a twist! Hope you're enjoying this fic; thank you for your reviews.

XXX

Chapter Five: And O'er His Heart a Shadow

XXX

The knock on the door drew the attention of everyone in the jail. They had been waiting for the arrival of the U.S. Marshal which was expected at any moment. Sheriff Beckman, clean as a whistle and looking quite formidable even with the slight limp from her gunshot wound, rose to her feet and took a few steps towards the door. Then she nodded to Morgan, who was at the ready. The bearded deputy opened the door, only for his shoulders to slump.

Chuck leaned around the stove and saw Ty Bennett standing in the doorway, his hat in his hand. That explained Morgan's disappointment; all of them were eager for the Marshal to come and take Shaw off their hands.

"Bennett," the sheriff said, her voice not exactly welcoming.

Bennett nodded to her. "Sheriff Beckman. I came to speak with Mr. Shaw."

"Not much need for that, as far as I can see," Beckman said. "Seein' as how the Marshal will be here soon. Once he gets here, you might be outta work, Bennett."

"Nevertheless, there are still matters I need to report to Mr. Shaw as his employee."

Beckman shrugged. "All right, then. Hand over your guns to Casey."

Bennett nodded and unbuckled his gunbelt, handing it to Casey. "Mr. Casey. Still full of anger?"

Casey grunted, not responding to Bennett. The other man nodded. "Yes, I see that you are." Bennett turned to Beckman, who lead him back into the jail and stood watch.

Chuck looked at Casey curiously. He'd never shown any sign of regret about being on the opposite side of a fight from his old teacher, but it had to bother him.

Morgan, who had taken up a position by one of the windows with the shutters pushed open, called out, "Looks like the Marshal's comin'."

Casey shoved Bennett's gunbelt into Chuck's hands, then went to the jail anteroom. After a moment, Beckman came out of the jail and opened the door while Casey stayed in the back room.

"Sheriff Beckman," said the tall black man who was at the door. "It's a pleasure to see you."

"Bigger one than last time?" she asked, shaking his hand.

The man chuckled and stepped inside. "A gentleman never tells. It's good to see you looking better, Diane."

"Thanks, Langston. Have a seat. You remember Grimes, and this here is Chuck Bartowski."

Chuck came forward to shake the Marshal's hand. "Sir."

"Langston Graham. Good to meet you." The Marshal turned and sat down by the sheriff's desk. "Diane, I understand that you've got Daniel Shaw locked up."

Beckman nodded and took a seat at her desk. "I sure do." She shuffled the papers on her desk and set a stack in front of the Marshal. "He's charged with hiring three men to shoot one Matthew Walker. Shaw is tanglin' with Jack Walker, and I believe he arranged the shootin' to put pressure on Walker."

"Did you arrest the three men?" Marshal Graham asked, putting on a pair of glasses and looking over the paperwork.

"They were all shot resistin' arrest."

"Hmmmm," Graham said, turning over the pages. "What evidence do you have that Shaw paid these men?"

"One of 'em-the last one standin' after the initial fight-went runnin' right to Shaw," Beckman said. Chuck thought he detected some kind of emotion in her voice, but he wasn't sure what it was. It might just be nervousness about her past encounters with the Marshal, the ones when she was drunk. But it was more than that, he thought.

"Not exactly conclusive, Diane," Graham said, looking over the top of his glasses.

"All three of 'em also had twenty-five dollars in gold in their pockets," the sheriff retorted. "That kinda pay's pretty generous for three laze-abouts."

Graham sat back in his chair and sighed. "I'm sorry, Sheriff, but you don't have enough evidence."

"Graham, you let Daniel Shaw go, this range war's gonna get real bloody."

"You killed three men who shot a boy in the shoulder," Graham said. "That sounds pretty bloody to me." He shook his head and stood up, taking his glasses off and sliding them back into their case. "I appreciate wanting to prevent violence from breaking out, but you've overstepped in this instance. Release Daniel Shaw."

Chuck felt his mouth go dry. Letting Shaw go seemed like a really bad idea. Beckman agreed, because she got up and started jawing at the Marshal. He listened for a few moments, then held his hand up. "I'm sorry, Diane, but my decision's final. You don't have enough proof, and I won't remove a man from his home and livelihood without enough to take him to trial."

The sheriff set her jaw, but pulled a key off her belt. "Fine, Langston." She glared at him. "I'm kinda wishin' I had hit you with that bottle last time."

Graham just nodded and put his hat on his head. "I should be back in a few weeks. If you get more evidence, hold your suspects and I'll take 'em in." He nodded to the sheriff, then to Chuck and Morgan, before stepping out of the jail.

Beckman sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping. "Grimes, go let Shaw out." She held the key out to Morgan.

"Sheriff, the Marshal don't know what he's talkin' about," Morgan said, taking the key.

"I knew it wasn't an open-and-shut case," the sheriff said, sounding tired. "But I thought I knew Graham well enough that he'd trust me on this. Go on, tell Shaw he's free."

Morgan nodded and went back into the anteroom of the jail. After a few moments, Daniel Shaw walked out with a triumphant look on his face, followed by Ty Bennett. "Sheriff, your accommodations leave much to be desired. This place is quite dangerous, in fact. I'm glad I've lived to walk out of this place," Shaw said, his face flat and expressionless in contrast with his mocking words.

Beckman gritted her teeth but remained silent. She opened a lockbox and handed Shaw his personal belongings, her movements stiff.

Shaw set his hat on his head. "Good day." He ambled out, followed by his gunslinger.

Barely had the door closed before Morgan and Casey came out of the back room, both of them looking as mad as hornets.

"What the hell kinda trick is Graham playin'?" Casey growled. "He knows how these land fights work."

"You think he's mad about the bottle, Sheriff?" Morgan asked, sitting down in a chair by the stove. Chuck joined Morgan and sat in another chair, looking back and forth between Casey and the sheriff as his mind tried to work things out.

"Dunno, Grimes. Not sayin' we had an iron-clad case, but I expected Graham to see what I see," Beckman said, sounding pretty defeated.

"Maybe Graham's on the take," Casey said darkly. "Awful convenient, Bennett showin' up just before the Marshal did."

"Speakin' of no proof . . ." Beckman said, shooting Casey a look. "I've known Langston Graham for ten years, and there's never been any signs he's anything more'n a good Marshal."

"He's always treated me fair," Casey acknowledged. "Still, this stinks of somethin'."

"Maybe . . ." Chuck started to say, waiting for everyone to look at him. "Maybe we should do what the Marshal said. Get proof that it's Shaw who's breaking the law."

"How you gonna do that?" Casey asked, folding his arms over his chest. "You gonna go undercover at Shaw's or somethin'?"

Chuck shook his head quickly. "No, no. I couldn't do that. But . . . but there has to be a way to find out more. Talk to people here in town, or people that work for Shaw. What about his servants? Maybe one of 'em has seen something."

"It's possible, but are we gonna get anyone willin' to testify?" Beckman said. "Not likely."

"Still, it's not a bad idea," Morgan said. "People talk, y'know. If we get the word out, to Miss Gertrude, to Mr. Granger, we might get enough for us to know where to start."

"Granger's the biggest gossip this side of the Rio Grande," the sheriff admitted. "And Gertie always knows what people are talkin' about."

Casey grunted. "Seems too risky to me. But it's an idea."

"A not bad one," Beckman said. "Morgan, you figure out the best people to ask and see what you might find out. We'll take this slow, and hope that neither Walker nor Shaw do somethin' stupid in the meanwhile."

Chuck couldn't help a big grin at the thought of his idea being approved. Perhaps he was leaving the greenhorn behind.

XXX

Now that there was no longer a prisoner in the jail, all of them got the chance to spend more time in town. Chuck went back to his habit of taking shooting practice every day, usually in the early evenings. He also stopped in at Granger's store, picking up some reading material. He'd always been a reader, but he had tired of the few books he carried with him. And while Morgan's penny dreadfuls were strangely compelling, he wanted something a bit more meaty.

Happily, Mr. Granger had a few battered books for sale, so Chuck picked the most interesting one and tucked it into the back pocket of his trousers. Stepping out onto the porch of the store, he looked around, enjoying the chance to take his time and get plenty of fresh air. He leaned against one of the porch columns, looking around as he took a few deep breaths.

He nodded to the people he knew as they walked past the general store. Chuck might have only lived in El Dorado for just over a month now, but he was settling in. He certainly felt pretty welcomed here, unlike other towns he had passed through over the years.

Chuck straightened up a little when he saw Ty Bennett talking to Casey. The two men were standing outside the blacksmith's shop, a few doors down from the general store. There was no way for Chuck to hear them from here, and he didn't want to risk attracting their attention by moving closer. So he watched them closely, trying to guess what was going on.

Casey was always hard to read, but Chuck thought he looked grumpy, almost defensive. His arms were folded across his broad chest and he was listening to Bennett, a frown on his face.

At least he had some idea what Casey was feeling. Bennett didn't give any such signs. He stood there, his body still, his face blank. He spoke softly to Casey, not making any gestures as he talked.

After a few moments of Chuck's observation, Casey shrugged and walked away from Bennett, coming towards the general store. Chuck stepped down off the porch and fell into step beside him.

"Saw me talkin' to Bennett, huh?" Casey asked.

Chuck nodded. "Yeah." He looked at Casey. "You okay?"

"'Course I am," Casey grumbled. "We're both pros. We know how it works."

"And how does it work?"

Casey looked at Chuck, his eyes measuring Chuck up, then he shrugged. "In this line of work, you can't make it personal, unless it gives you an edge."

Chuck rolled that statement around in his mind, but his face must have shown his confusion. "Bennett's all about findin' the calm center," Casey explained. "He gets mad, he's not so good. So the madder he gets, the better I like it."

"Oh," Chuck said. He looked at Casey. "Was that something he taught you? Finding your calm?"

"He tried," Casey said. "Me, though, I work better when I'm angry."

Somehow, Chuck managed to turn his chuckle into a clearing of his throat. Casey shot him a look.

"Nothing, nothing!" Chuck said weakly. "Bit of dust in my throat. So it's not strange to be going up against your old teacher?"

"Not really. Like I said, it's business," Casey said. And with that, he turned and headed towards Miss Getrude's.

Chuck watched Casey go, thinking over their conversation. In the last few weeks, he hadn't spent a lot of time with Casey, not with making friends with Morgan and Casey being busy with Miss Gertrude. It was nice to talk to him. If nothing else, he always learned something.

Since he was already halfway there, Chuck turned and headed back to the jail to let the sheriff go spend some time outside.

XXX

The next few days were quiet. Chuck practiced shooting some more, got dragged by Morgan to church on Sunday morning, and read a little. He saw Sarah once or twice, but whenever she saw him, she flushed and found somewhere else to be.

Her reaction was confusing, but also gave him a tiny bit of hope. Clearly she seemed flustered by him-and that was better than not getting any reaction at all. He was hoping that soon she'd be willing to talk to him.

At least his plan for dealing with the range war seemed to be working out. Morgan had talked to a few people, and every day or so he went out and made the rounds. With each piece of info he reported, they got a little bit closer to figuring things out. Well, it seemed like they were. The sheriff said things were starting to fall into place.

Today, Chuck went with Morgan around town to the circle of informants. First Miss Gertrude's, then Mr. Granger at the general store, a visit to Doc Wood's office, and finally a stop at the stagecoach depot.

"Hi, Cole," Morgan called out as they walked in.

A strapping man, tall and dark and looking like something out of a cowboy story, walked around a wagon and nodded to them. "Morning, Morgan. Who's this?" In contrast with his image, Cole had a English accent.

"This is Chuck Bartowski. Chuck, this here's Cole Barker-telegraph operator, manager of the depot, and one of the best judges of horseflesh in town."

Chuck nodded to Cole. "Good to meet you."

"So you're the one who's been flirting with the Wildcat," Cole said, his voice amused. "No scars yet?"

Chuck glanced at Morgan, who whispered under his breath, "Check out his hand."

Chuck looked down and spotted an ugly-looking scar on the back of Cole's hand. Something about it tugged at his memory, but he couldn't figure out what. So he just shrugged and smiled. "I like meeting new people."

"So what have you heard, Cole?" Morgan asked, pushing past the awkward introductions.

"Well, Adam Walker came in yesterday with one of his prize stallions."

"That's not that unusual," Morgan said. "He's always bringing horses here."

"Not ones with shrapnel in their rumps," Cole said, leaning back against a cart. "He wanted my help to get the shrapnel out and minimize the scarring."

Chuck thought that if Cole had known how to prevent a scar, he'd have applied the knowledge to himself. But maybe Cole thought the scar made him look tough. He shook his head and looked at Cole. "What do you think happened?"

The Englishman looked at Chuck. "Since you're asking me . . . I think there was some kind of firefight. Maybe the Walkers aren't letting things rest with Daniel Shaw walking around a free man."

Morgan looked worried. "You really think so?"

Cole shrugged. "It's just a guess. Adam didn't tell me what happened and I didn't ask. Could be a gunshot just went astray." He turned and looked at Chuck. "You know about that, so I've heard."

Chuck felt his face redden. Morgan frowned at Cole. "I should get back to the sheriff with this info. I'll be by again, and let me know if any of the Walkers bring in any more injured horses."

"I will, Morgan. Have a good day." With that, Cole turned and went into a small office area, and Morgan hurried Chuck out.

"Don't pay Cole any mind-he's still sore that Sarah laughed in his face when he tried to flirt with her. That's how he got that scar. She ran a knife across it an' said if he tried it again, he'd lose some fingers."

"Ouch," Chuck said distractedly, still thinking about Cole showing interest in Sarah. Was that the kind of man she would be interested in? Someone tough and strong and knowledgeable?

"Yeah," Morgan said. "But I'm more worried about what's goin' on with the Walkers. Let's get back to the jail."

XXX

The sheriff wasn't happy with the news that Morgan and Chuck brought back. "What the hell are the Walkers playin' at?"

"I dunno, Sheriff, but . . . but it ain't good," Morgan said, slumping down in his chair.

"Seems to me they're doin' hit and fade attacks," Casey said. "Ride in quick, rustle up some trouble, then get outta there fast."

"Why would they do that?" Chuck asked. "Other than being a nuisance."

"Chip away at Shaw's forces, keep 'em on high alert and get 'em to make mistakes," Casey explained.

Morgan made a face. "This is soundin' too much like Indian attacks. The Walkers should just attack and get it over with."

"They do that, they know they've lost the moral high ground," Beckman said grimly. "This way, they hassle Shaw but not enough to make him wanna look weak by reportin' the attacks."

"So what are we gonna do?" Morgan asked.

The sheriff took a deep breath. "For now, we ain't gonna do anything. Grimes, you keep tabs on the people you're talkin' to. Casey, you and me will ride around Shaw's and Walker's places over the next few days, keepin' an eye out."

Chuck spoke hesitantly. "What-what about me, Sheriff?"

Beckman looked at him, her eyes narrowed. "You stick close to the jail with Grimes, make sure things stay quiet in town."

He swallowed. "That-that's all?"

"Yep. Unless you wanna try an' pump Sarah Walker for info," Beckman said.

Chuck shook his head immediately. "No, Sheriff. My friendship with Sarah is private."

Casey grunted. "Shouldn't ask the kid to do that, Diane."

The sheriff sighed. "Probably not. This whole damn thing feels like it's slippin' through our fingers."

"We'll keep the peace 'round here, Sheriff," Casey said, standing up. "Let's go for a ride, clear our heads."

Beckman nodded. "Yeah." She paused and looked at Chuck. "Sorry, Bartowski."

"It's okay, Sheriff . . . but I won't do that. So-so don't ask me again," he said, squaring his shoulders as he spoke.

"Understood," she said, picking up her hat. "C'mon, Casey, let's ride."

"Yeah," Casey said, standing up and letting Beckman leave the jail first. He nodded to Chuck. "Not bad, kid."

Chuck waited until both of them were out of the jail before he slumped down in a chair.

"You okay, Chuck?" Morgan asked, looking at him. "That was real low of the sheriff, askin' you to do that."

He blew out a breath. "Yeah . . . I understand why she asked, but . . . but it wasn't right of her to ask."

Morgan nodded in agreement. "She's worried. But things ain't that bad. Casey will calm her down, get her to see that."

"I hope so," Chuck said, staring off into space. He wasn't sure whether he was expressing his hope in Casey helping the sheriff to stop worrying or that this whole range war wasn't spiralling out of their control.

XXX

By the next day, things were looking up. The sheriff and Casey came back from their ride, and Beckman seemed a lot less doom and gloom to Chuck. He'd also had a good shooting practice, with Casey observing him and noting that he was improving. "Slower than molasses goin' uphill in January, but you're gettin' better, kid."

Chuck whistled to himself as he walked down the street towards the general store. It was his turn to pick up supplies, and he thought while he was at the store, he'd look into maybe getting a new hat. Even if he cut off his hair, his dad's hat would be too small. Ellie had always thought he was foolish to hold on to that faded hat. That it wasn't fair to Chuck for him to keep their father on such a pedestal, after what he had done.

He still didn't agree with Ellie about that. He didn't have his father on a pedestal-he knew Stephen Bartowski had feet of clay. But just because Chuck still had fond memories of his father didn't mean he should keep using an inadequate hat.

When he stepped into the general store, he looked around for the apparel section. In the back corner was a small selection of ready-made clothing, as well as boots, shoes, hats and bonnets. There wasn't a big selection. After Chuck tried on the hats that looked like they'd fit, he was left with two choices: a soft-looking brown felt and a stiffer black hat with an elongated crown. It wasn't quite a stovepipe, but it was pretty close.

Not about to add extra inches to his already great height, Chuck picked up the brown hat again and set it on his head. He looked at himself in the small mirror hung on the wall, checking his reflection.

"Didn't take you as the vain type."

Sarah Walker's lazy, amused voice made him turn around quickly, the color rising in his cheeks. He swallowed. "I'm not. But it seemed silly to trade one ridiculous hat for another, so . . ."

To his pleasure, Sarah let out a soft laugh. "You look better without the hat, but that one's definitely better'n the one you've been wearin'."

He smiled at her, a bit shyly. "Thanks." He took the hat off and stood there, feeling slightly awkward as he remembered their last conversation.

Sarah seemed to feel the same awkwardness, because she shifted her feet and then looked up at him. "You got a minute, Chuck?"

"Of course," he said quickly. "Just-just give me a minute to pay up, okay? It'll be just a minute."

She nodded, her lips quirking up at the corners.

He grinned at her quickly, then stepped up to the counter and paid the six bits for the hat. He turned and found that Sarah had followed him to the front of the store, and he hesitated for a moment. "You want to walk?"

Sarah nodded and stepped out of the store. Chuck set his new hat on his head, enjoying how it didn't feel crammed on his head, and walked after her. With it being Saturday, the town was full of visitors, yet Sarah moved past all the people easily, showing her familiarity with El Dorado.

Soon, they were at the stagecoach depot on the edge of town. Chuck felt himself grow a bit worried. This was where Cole Barker worked, after all, and the Englishman still seemed to be carrying a torch for Sarah, her lack of interest notwithstanding.

Fortunately, Sarah didn't go inside the depot. Instead, she hoisted herself up onto the top rail of the fence that surrounded a large corral. Chuck clambered up beside her, and the two of them sat quietly for a few moments, watching the horses in the corral walk around aimlessly and drink from the water trough.

"Seems like I owe you an apology," Sarah said quietly.

Chuck turned his head and looked at her. "No, you don't," he said, resting his hands on his knees.

She looked at him, squinting a little in the sunlight. "Actually, yeah, I do. 'Cause I bit your head off when you were tryin' to help, and that's just wrong. So . . . I'm sorry."

Sarah's voice was soft and sincere. She sounded regretful for what she had done, and Chuck found himself even more impressed by her. She might have a reputation for impulsiveness and wildness, but he thought that she was a lot more controlled than people thought. That she was putting on an act, distracting people from how she really felt.

"Apology accepted," he said softly, giving her a small smile. She looked at him for a moment, then gave him a hesitant, shy smile. Chuck felt his breath catch as he saw how a smile lit up her face. He took a breath and turned to look out at the horses.

"Why did you get so mad?" he asked quietly, not looking at her.

He felt her shrug next to him. "I was embarrassed after the sheriff yelled at me. Embarrassed and angry. And then you were talking about how much you like it here, when all I've ever wanted is to leave."

Chuck turned his head towards her, watching her gaze out at the horses. "You want to leave?"

Sarah nodded. "I want to see the world. Big cities, new places . . . but I won't ever get that."

"You could."

She snorted. "If I was a man, I could." Her eyes were full of naked envy when she looked up at him. "Be like you-travelin' all over, finding someplace new and settling down there. Someplace that felt right. Where you could make a new start."

"That's all true," Chuck agreed. "But you don't hafta leave to change. To get a clean slate."

"The very definition of a clean slate means that people don't know you, that you can make a first impression on 'em," Sarah retorted. "How can I get that here, in the town I grew up? Everyone knows me and no one expects anythin' from me other than the Wildcat."

He took a deep breath. What she said, he couldn't argue with her about. It was accurate that changing was hard when you were surrounded by the people who had known you your whole life. He'd seen that first hand.

"After . . . after my sister was killed," he said quietly, "I went through something like that, when I was trying to figure out what I was gonna do. And when I decided, and started preparing . . . I got a lot of questions, a lot of doubts." He paused, the memories of those days hitting him like a fist in the gut. "But-but I held on to the idea that I had to learn, to change from Chuck Bartowski, student and would-be scientist, if I was gonna find Ellie's killers. And that gave me the strength to go on."

He could sense just how closely Sarah was listening to his story. She gazed at him, her blue eyes very gentle and understanding. "Morgan told me about your sister. I'm sorry."

Chuck nodded. "Thank you. It . . . it's getting easier." He fell silent, looking back at the horses that snorted and pawed at the ground.

"You . . . you think people can change even if no one around them is supportin' them?" Sarah's voice was soft, even hesitant.

He thought that over for a moment. "I think that if you want to make a change, then if it matters, you don't let anything stand in your way. If you're serious about bein' different, I mean."

After a few moments of quiet between them, he turned and looked at her. Her forehead was slightly wrinkled, her chin resting on an arm that she'd braced against her knee. She gave every impression of someone thinking hard. As he looked at her, she straightened up, apparently reaching some kind of decision. She looked at him and gave him a small grin. "You're pretty easy to talk to. I shoulda found the time to do this sooner."

Chuck laughed softly. "Thanks. Although you might regret being friends with me once you can see how much I can talk."

"That so?" she asked, nudging his shoulder. "Chatterbox, huh?"

"Oh, yeah." He grinned at her, feeling his spirits rise. As Morgan had predicted, when Sarah was given some time to cool off, she'd done just that. And what was more, she had approached him, apologized to him, and opened up enough for him to start to understand her. And the more he knew about her, the more he wanted to know.

"So what were you like before?" Sarah asked, looking at him. "Before you left home."

"You start with the hard questions," he said, laughing a little. "Well . . . I was the real studious type. Spendin' time after school reading, borrowing books from my teachers, doing a lot of experiments . . ."

She smiled at him, her nose crinkling in a really adorable way. "An egghead?"

He nodded, feeling a bit sheepish. "Yeah . . . I've always liked learning. I-I was gonna go back East. Find a way to make enough money to go to college."

Sarah's eyes widened. "Really? You must be really smart."

"I guess," Chuck said, his cheeks flushing. "But there's still a lotta things I'm stupid about. Like shooting. And no matter how smart someone is, you can always learn more about people."

"Yeah," Sarah said. "I think I have good instincts about people, but I make mistakes, too."

"Anyone can make mistakes," he replied. "It's about what you do afterwards."

Sarah nodded. "And how good you apologize." She smiled at him shyly, clearly thinking about her apology at the start of their conversation.

"Hey, it's over," he rebuked her gently. "Don't keep worrying about that."

She looked at him for a few long moments, her eyes thoughtful, then she nodded. "Okay."

A comfortable silence settled over them as they looked at the horses. He'd expected to start talking her ear off, but there was something to be said for just sitting quietly with someone. To just existing in the same space.

It was all he could do to hold back a sigh of pleasure. He hadn't felt this comfortable with someone in a long, long time.

Sarah took a deep breath, a small smile on her face. He gazed at her, soaking up the sight of her relaxed and, dare he say it, happy.

"So . . . what about you do you want to change?" he asked her, shifting his body a tiny bit closer to hers.

Before she could speak, a voice called out. "Darlin'."

They both turned to see Jack Walker coming towards them. "Sarah, we've been lookin' all over for you. We're ready to leave town." Mr. Walker looked at Chuck, then nodded slightly. "Bartowski."

Chuck swallowed, his mouth having gone dry at the sight of Sarah's father. "Mr. Walker."

"Sorry, Pop," Sarah said, swiveling and scrambling down from the fence before Chuck even had a chance to offer her a hand. "I lost track of time."

Mr. Walker's eyes widened slightly. "Well, get on back and help Adam and Luke tie down all the supplies."

"Okay," she said, taking a few steps but then pausing when her father didn't move. Instead, he was facing Chuck, looking at him appraisingly.

Chuck climbed down from the fence, almost catching his foot as he did so. He did his best to stand up straight and meet Mr. Walker's eyes.

"You comin', Pop?" Sarah asked, sounding a bit worried.

"Go on, darlin'," Mr. Walker said, glancing back at Sarah.

Sarah looked at Chuck, still hesitating to leave him alone with her father. Chuck nodded to her and even managed a small smile, although he felt like he was about to puke.

She returned his smile and gave him a small wave, then turned and headed back towards the general store. And now Chuck was left with Jack Walker, a dangerous man who had just found Chuck talking to his only daughter.

He took a deep breath as he faced Mr. Walker. The other man stood in front of him, looking relaxed and at ease. But there was something in his eyes, something forbidding, that gave Chuck the shivers.

"So my little girl has become friends with the new man in town," Jack Walker said after a long moment.

"Mr. Walker, I assure you-I hold Sarah in the highest regard," Chuck said, speaking quickly. "I think she's smart and strong, and I know that if I do anything that doesn't show my respect for her, she won't be the only one hurting me."

"Well, this shows your intelligence, Bartowski, knowing all that." Mr. Walker looked at him, folding his arms over his chest. "But I'm not worried about you."

"You-you're not?" Chuck asked in surprise. He thought this was going to be the traditional talk between a father and a man who showed interest in said father's daughter.

"Of course not!" Mr. Walker said with a laugh. "I love my little wildcat. She's always been a daddy's girl-she's never gonna settle down, because that would mean leavin' her family."

Chuck frowned as Mr. Walker continued speaking. "Two of her brothers are married, so the family line is gonna continue. But Sarah, she gets married, she's not a Walker anymore. So she's not gonna let herself get taken in by any sweet-talkin' fellow. Especially since all she'd get if she gets married is six head of cattle and fifty dollars in gold. Told her that plenty, and she doesn't wanna leave her only home. She's put too much of her blood and sweat into our ranch to leave us and start over."

Something about Mr. Walker's cold-blooded stance towards his only daughter made Chuck feel a wave of sympathy towards Sarah. How could a man profess to love his daughter, yet treat her so badly? To have such a low opinion of her, simply because she was a girl?

Mr. Walker peered at Chuck. "That seem clear enough to you, Bartowski? Marryin' my girl won't get you the keys to the kingdom."

"I understand, sir," Chuck said, gazing back at him. This man suddenly didn't seem so much better than Daniel Shaw. If this coldness was how he treated someone he loved, Chuck had to wonder how he'd treat an enemy like Shaw. But that was just a distraction. The real issue at hand was Sarah.

"Good!" Mr. Walker said, slapping Chuck on the shoulder. "Glad we had this chat, so we're on the same page."

Chuck nodded and watched as he walked away. Then he leaned back against the fence, mulling over this conversation.

He felt a wave of sadness, a deep empathy for what Sarah must feel. How hard must it be on Sarah, to know that if she got married she'd lose her family? And to feel like she wasn't bringing any material goods to her marriage? Getting married was about becoming partners, bringing together your souls and your possessions. At least, that's what he had always thought, from what he saw of Ellie and Devon, of the other happily married couples he'd seen. Did Sarah have any experience like that? Or had her father made her think her only value was her help on the ranch?

There was something about her that drew him in. His initial attraction to her was deepening, changing into something new that he'd never experienced before. It felt like she had formed a shell around her real self, hiding it away and keeping it safe. He wanted to know the real Sarah, the one that could get hurt and wanted more for her life. And he wanted her to know how special she was.

No one else in this town might realize it, but he did. And he was going to help her, any way he could.

End, Chapter 5