Doc Adams bent over the pale, redheaded woman who was lying unconscious on the bed in his spare room. He took her pulse, and, as expected, found it to be fainter and more rapid than before. He felt her burning forehead, and then, in a breach of professionalism, pressed his lips to it in a fatherly, sorrowful way.

Even this did not rouse her. Not that he had expected it to. The kiss was simply part of his goodbyes to her.

He picked up her hot hand again and stroked it tenderly. Looking down at the limb, he gently fingered the rhinestone ring gracing it. When they had brought her up to his office several days ago, in an attempt to make her comfortable, he had removed her earrings, necklace and other adornments – all except this, the smallest of her rings. Most people looking at it would have thought it just another piece of her fashion jewelry, but Doc Adams was one of the few people who knew better. He knew that she would not want it removed under any circumstances. And he would see to it, when the time came, that she would be buried with it.

Sighing, he sat down in his chair, and watched her heavy, irregular breathing. The end would not be long in coming now. Who would have thought, just a month ago, that the young, vivacious Kitty would be on the point of succumbing to what should have been a mere cold?

But he had seen before what a broken heart could do. And Kitty's was shattered into a thousand pieces.

…

Many people in Dodge suspected there to be some affection between Marshall Dillon and Kitty Russell, but only five, besides the couple themselves, had any inkling about how far their relationship had gone.

Just over three years ago, on Christmas morning, when everyone else was hurrying out of the church to begin their feasting, Marshal Dillon had quietly walked around to Sam, Doc, Ma Smalley, and Festus, and had asked them to stay in the building for a moment. The only other person who remained there, besides Father Andrew, was Kitty. When the rest of the parishioners had departed the church grounds, the Marshal had locked the doors, and asked them if they were willing to be witnesses.

Doc had just opened his mouth to ask what Matt needed witnesses for when Kitty suddenly took off her festive red cloak to reveal a beautiful, lace-covered wedding dress underneath. The sight of her thus attired instantly took everyone's breath away.

Brimming with pride, Doc had walked the bride down the aisle, and in a short, but unforgettable ceremony, Matt Dillon and Kitty Russell had become man and wife. The Marshal had placed the small rhinestone wedding ring upon her finger. Then, after he had kissed his bride and the few wedding guests had pecked her cheek and signed the paperwork that the witnesses were required to sign, Kitty had put on her red cloak. They all walked out of the church together, and, to protect the new Mrs. Dillon from any malicious forms of revenge that the marshal's enemies might plot against her, they never again spoke a word about the ceremony.

Life had gone on in Dodge as usual, until that fateful day when Matt Dillon had left town to pursue a wanted criminal. He had stopped in at the Longbranch to say a quick, outwardly platonic farewell to Kitty as she served her customers, and had ridden out of town, as he had on hundreds of other occasions.

The first inkling that something was wrong was when the Marshal did not return for over two weeks. Festus and Newly had scoured almost all of Kansas for him, and had come home with no answers. Then the nearly unthinkable happened.

A poor family of pioneers traveling west brought faithful old Buck, Matt's horse, to town. As all the citizens of Dodge crowded around them, they related how, two days ago, they had found a large, brown-haired man lying dead on the prairie next to the horse. He had been shot. The family related how they had reverently buried him, said prayers over the grave, and had gone on their way. Not being familiar with the territory, they could not give an exact location of where the grave was. Then, they produced irrefutable proof as to the identity of the man they had buried: they pulled out a well-known leather vest, hat, and a marshal's badge, and stating that the man had been wearing these accessories when they had found him, handed them over to Festus.

Dodge had fallen silent. Kitty, having heard all, stumbled back to the Longbranch in what could only be described as a trance of grief. Festus and Doc had followed her. After she had sunk into a chair, Festus had laid the badge, hat, and the vest in her lap with infinite tenderness,. The bereaved widow had run her fingers over the pitiful remnants of her husband, and had sat in the same chair, not eating, not drinking, not speaking to anyone for two full days.

After they were over, she had laid down on her bed for a brief, restless sleep, with the help of the sedatives Doc had supplied her with. When she awoke, Kitty had valiantly dragged herself out of bed and tried to go on living, knowing that it was what Matt would have wanted her to do. But despite her best efforts, her grief was too overwhelming. She lasted a total of thirty seconds behind the bar at the Longbranch before she needed to excuse herself to go into her private office to weep. When her customers and other people of Dodge spoke to her, it was clear that her mind was constantly wandering and that she was not registering a single word they said. No one ever saw her smile or laugh. She walked about like a woman in a dream – or rather, a nightmare.

Then, five days ago, Doc Adams had walked into the nearly empty Longbranch and found the redhead sitting at one of the tables, staring off into the distance as she had become prone to doing. On the table was an untouched meal which the concerned Sam had laid out in front of her some hours ago. Doc seated himself across from her, and had just started racking his brain for some topic of conversation that might interest her for at least a minute, when he suddenly noticed that her eyes were even more glazed than usual. Instinct taking over, he leaned forward and felt her pulse and hot hand, and became frightened. A mild illness had been sweeping through Dodge for several days, causing no trouble to most people; but in Kitty's melancholy state, it had the potential to be very bad.

He instructed Sam to carry her to his office and sent Festus for Ma Smalley. With the kindly woman's help they had put her to bed, and Doc began trying to save the girl whom he loved as an adopted daughter. Kitty dutifully drank down the concoctions he put to her lips and did not flinch when his hypodermic syringes painfully injected other medications into her arms. She did not so much as whimper when he placed uncomfortably cold compresses on her fevered head.

But it all proved to be in vain. Her temperature grew, and she lost her grip on reality. For forty-eight hours, her mind confused by delirium, Kitty had called out for Matt desperately and repetitively. Doc, his own heart shredded by her cries, tried to quiet her, to no avail. At last, the remainder of the widow's strength had ebbed, and she had lain still. A quick examination proved that she was at death's door. And now the old physician sat by her bedside, waiting for the inevitable to come.

….

There was a knock at the door of the sickroom. With weariness, Doc murmured,

"Come in."

The hinges creaked, and the door swung open to reveal a red-eyed Ma Smalley and a worried Father Andrew.

"After…after what you told me this afternoon, Doc, I thought it would be a good idea to bring Father here, for…for the last rites," the lady explained.

The physician touched his mustache and held back his tears.

"That was a mighty fine idea," he said.

"And Doc, I brought over a plate for you. You need to eat, and then get some fresh air. You have not been out of this office for almost a week!"

Doc nodded. He had no appetite, but he realized that he desperately needed an excuse to get out of the room before Father Andrew began his prayers. No one in Dodge had ever seen him cry, and he had no intention of breaking that tradition now. Besides, he knew that if he lost the last bit of his composure, he would be of no use to anyone for several days, and as the only doctor in a hundred mile radius, he could not afford himself that luxury. Thus, he went into the other room and picked at the food that Ma Smalley had brought, and then wandered out of the front door of the office.

He gazed up at the stars and breathed a prayer that poor Kitty not suffer much in her last agony and that she be reunited with Matt in heaven immediately afterwards, and then, in a half-hearted effort to stretch his legs and clear his head, wandered down the stairs. He determined that he would walk a few paces down the street and then return, and resume his vigil at Kitty Dillon's bedside until she expired.

He walked as far as the livery stable, and, turning on his heel, started to trek towards his office. It was then that he heard tired hoof-beats in the distance, and saw a man and horse come into view on the shadowy street.

Judging from the shape and pace of the horse, it seemed to be a rather sickly animal. It struggled under the weight of its tall rider. The man was bareheaded, and slouched forward as if he had been on horseback for hours and was completely exhausted.

Doc, however, had more pressing things on his mind than surveying the stranger any further. He directed his anxious gaze towards his own windows, and hastened his pace.

He was surprised, therefore, when the rider suddenly pulled up his horse right besides him, and in a clear, confident voice said,

"Evening, Doc!"

The physician instinctively wheeled around, and in the faint light of the streetlamp, found himself looking at a very familiar face.

For a second, he thought his legs might actually buckle beneath him.

Then, regaining his voice, he gasped out,

"Matt!"

The man on the horse chuckled.

"You are a sight for sore eyes, Doc. It is good to be home, among friends again." With that, Matt Dillon dismounted and began to tie the animal to a post.

"Matt…what…how…we all thought you were dead…"

"The wanted man I was tracking bushwacked me and left me for dead, but before he did, he exchanged his clothes and horse with mine. I woke up in a remote camp of Indians who had been so good as to find me and take me back with them and nurse me back to health. I only regained enough strength to start riding back to Dodge the day before yesterday."

"And in the meantime, one of the criminal's enemies caught up to him, and killed him while he was wearing your clothes and riding your horse," Doc said, beginning to put the pieces together. "And then the family came upon him, buried him, and brought back the horse and your things, leaving us to think that you were gone."

"Guess so," the Marshal nodded. He glanced towards the Longbranch. "I'll talk to you later, Doc. Right now, there is something I need to do."

Doc knew that 'something', meant seeing Kitty. And his heart faltered within him when he realized that he would have to be the one to turn his friend's sweet homecoming into bitter grief.

"Matt."

The lawman turned towards his friend a little impatiently.

"Yes, Doc?"

"There…there is something that you need to know…about Kitty. She's not at the Longbranch."

"Where is she?"

"Up in my office." He paused, then said the dreadful words. "She's dying, Matt."

As expected, Marshal Dillon's whole body quaked as if a strike of lightening had passed through him.

"What?" he gasped out.

"She's fading fast, Matt. She tried to be brave, she really did. But the grief of losing you was too much. She caught what should have been a mild case of the ague, but her body was too worn down to fight it properly. I'm not expecting her to last till morning."

"I must see her," Matt pleaded.

"Of course. But prepare yourself. She looks very, very sick, and she's been fully unconscious for almost two days now."

Grasping the marshal's elbow, the doctor compassionately steered him up the stairs.

…..

Three hours later, Doc found himself wishing that Matt's homecoming had been delayed by a few more days. It had been hard enough for him to watch Kitty dying, but to helplessly stand by and observe Matt watch Kitty dying was ten times worse.

Despite the vague, unscientific hopes that had filled Galen Adams' heart when he had brought the marshal to the bedside of his critically ill wife, no miracle had taken place. Kitty still lay burning up with fever with closed eyes, unaware of her husband's presence. Doc had ushered all the other visitors out of the room for a good hour in order to allow Matt the opportunity to whisper to her freely and to press as many tender kisses as he wanted upon her lips, but even those interventions had failed. He and Father Andrew had filed back into the room to keep the couple company. Despite their presence, the lawman still knelt by his wife's bedside, her hand in his, tears running down his usually stoic face.

"Kitty, please, please wake up," Matt murmured for what had to be the hundredth time. "O God, please don't take her. Kitty, come back to me, please, darling."

"Matt," Doc said, a catch in his voice. "I really do not think that she can hear you. She's too far gone. It's too late." He looked away before his eyes could meet the marshal's stricken ones.

Father Andrew walked up behind the grieving husband and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Keep trying, Matt. It may be true that Kitty belongs more to the next world than to this one at this point, but love and prayer are some of the very few things which can cross the boundaries which death lays out. I am sure that in some way, she'll always be able to hear you."

The lawman gratefully nodded, and recommenced whispering to his beautiful bride and the Almighty by turns.

…

The first rays of sunlight shone through the window. Doc wearily glanced out of it towards the horizon. It was shocking to him that Kitty was still lingering.

"Doc!" Matt's insistent, frightened voice pierced his consciousness. "Her breathing is fading!"

Whirling around, the physician hurried over to the bed. He knew that there was nothing he would be able to do, but it would soothe Matt if Kitty were attended by him in her last moments.

Mrs. Dillon's breathing was indeed different. Rather than the wheezy, heavy breaths that she had been taking for several days, they were much quieter, and regular. Doc put a hand on her forehead, and found it to be covered with moisture. Grasping his stethoscope, he listened to her heart and lungs. He straightened up for a moment, stared at the redhead, and then bent over her again. He began to run his practiced fingers over her lymph nodes, which until then had been quite swollen, a look of disbelief on his face.

As he poked and prodded, suddenly, Kitty's eyelashes fluttered open. With great difficulty, her blue eyes focused on the whiskered, familiar face in front of her.

"Doc," she croaked.

Matt, kneeling out of her line of sight, caught his breath at this unexpected development, his heart pounding so hard against his ribs that he felt certain that everyone in town could hear it. He wanted to stand up and lean over her and call her attention to himself, but at the moment, his legs were paralyzed from a mixture of fear and hope.

"Young lady, you have given us quite a scare." The physician said soothingly to the invalid, tears of happiness clouding his pupils. "I thought for certain that we were going to lose you."

"I…I was going to let go…but I felt Matt so near me….almost thought I could hear his voice again…he kept asking me to stay…and that gave me the courage to hold on," Kitty whispered, every word clearly costing her an ounce of strength, strength which she did not have.

Doc nervously glanced down at her. He then put a hand on her shoulder, and said in a serious voice,

"Kitty, you are in no condition to weather a shock, but I must tell you some surprising news. But you absolutely cannot allow yourself to become overly excited or hysterical. You are so weak that any sudden movements or bursts of emotion could send your heart into a fatal arrhythmia. Do you understand me?"

The redhead nodded feebly.

"Matt is not dead."

Pain instantly filled her face.

"Don't lie to me, Doc," she murmured. "I know you want to give me strength to survive this illness…but don't lie to me."

"Slowly move your head to the right and look there, if you do not believe me."

Kitty did as she was told. Her blue eyes fell upon her husband – her exhausted, tear-stained husband. She drew in a sharp breath.

"Easy, easy," Doc softly coached her. "Remember what I said."

"Matt!" she whispered in a tone of awe, disbelief, and sheer happiness.

"It's going to be alright, Kitty. I'm alright. Listen to Doc. No tears or sobs, my dear. Not now."

"Matt," she only said again, slowly reaching out and touching his face with her fingertips. He took her hand and kissed it.

"Oh thank God," he murmured in a trembling voice, clasping her hand in his and pressing his cheek against it. "Thank you, God! And thank you, Kitty, for coming back to me!"

"You know I always do," she said, with a faint ghost of a smile upon her face.

….

During the next several days, Kitty regained her strength. Doc often found himself smiling at the couple as he watched them from across the room. Who would have thought that Marshal Dillon could be such a tender nurse? The lawman scarcely left his wife's side, and insisted on feeding her spoonfuls of broth himself. He was besides himself with happiness on the day that she finally mustered enough strength to sit up by herself in the bed. Since most people in Dodge still thought him dead, Matt had the liberty of staying at Kitty's bedside constantly. Only when she was almost well did he emerge from Doc's office and allow the town to discover that he was, indeed, alive.

At the end of a week, the redhead was as vivacious as ever. Doc had never been so happy as the day that she walked out of his office, arm-in-arm with her husband, after giving him a peck on the cheek and a grateful 'thank-you' for his care.

He watched Matt escort her down the street with pride. All was right in Dodge again, and he could not be more grateful.