A/N: Thank you all for reading (and reviewing), Merry Christmas and I hope you enjoy the final chapter of this story.

"So what's next for you, June?" veteran Dewton Sheriff Hank Walker asked.

Newly appointed Elodie Sheriff Jesse Mayer Jr. leaned back in his chair and took a thoughtful sip of his drink. He didn't answer immediately, nor did Hank see any reason to rush him.

Short of hands, seeing as he'd locked up the majority of the able-bodied men in Elodie, Sheriff Mayer had asked for Sheriff Walker's help. Dewton wasn't exactly a final destination, circuit judges didn't come by often enough. But they wanted to get the trial over with before winter set in hard. Since they'd had a few warm days that had melted the snow in spots, they figured on transferring their prisoners to the nearest city that was expecting a judge sometime soon.

Seeing as Sheriff Walker already had to make the journey for the three men he had in lockup, there was no good reason not to help Sheriff Mayer out with his prisoner transfer problem while he was at it. With Christmas been and gone, rustling up deputies in Dewton shouldn't be too difficult, especially since most young men were eager for a paying job that would take them to a city. Deputies Jake and Steve Williams were out right now, rounding up prospects while the two sheriffs conversed and made their plans over cups of strong, freshly brewed coffee.

"There's not much future in Elodie," Sheriff Mayer said finally, "She's a dying town, and all these arrests have only hastened her end. I reckon I'll stay on as sheriff until she turns into a ghost town, which shouldn't be too long now... then..." he shook his head, "I don't know."

Sheriff Walker took a slow, thoughtful drink, staring into the middle distance as he did so.

"You know," Walker said as though the thought had only just now occurred to him, though he'd been thinking on it for a couple of weeks now, "Dewton's getting bigger all the time. Seems to me that I could use a full-time deputy. The Williams' boys are good in a pinch, but they've got other things to do than attend to the day-to-day stuff around here. You wouldn't happen to know where I could get a reliable, polite, relatively experienced man of the law that could earn people's respect without making them afraid of him sometime in the next... oh, year or so... would you?" he looked sidelong at Mayer, who happened to be sitting in the deputy's chair already, it being the only other one in the room.

"That depends," Mayer replied, fully aware of the invitation but not admitting to such, "You don't have any place for a widow and her grown son to set up house, would you?"

"Well," Walker answered, scratching his chin thoughtfully, "I know a fella livin' about fifteen miles outside of town, has a little horse ranch. He's got some spots you could build a nice house, and a wife with a new baby that could probably use an experienced mother around to help her. You'd wind up staying in town overnight sometimes on account of the distance, and you might want a pair of horses so you could switch off... but I know a place you could keep horses in town, and I happen to know that ranch has some good ones you might be allowed to use in exchange for a little work now and then."

"What kinda work?" Mayer asked, as though he didn't know.

"Well, it seems our rancher friend is good at business... not so good with horses."

"I'm good with horses," Mayer replied.

"Can you pick good studs and train yearlings?"

"I've done it before," Mayer answered, "Besides, I learn quick."

"Then I suggest you drop by the Kailen-Tanner place. Clint Tanner will be interested in talking to you. Though I'd be sure and ask Laura Tanner how she feels about it. That man may own the deed and horses on paper, but sure as shootin' she runs the place as much as he does."

"That sounds mighty interestin'," Mayer said, "I'll have to think it over."

Candy was asking the doctor when he could go home long before he was remotely well enough to travel. When he was finally strong enough, he asked Mr. Cartwright if he could go home. He knew a buckboard would have to be rented. He knew it would be a rough journey in his present condition. And he knew that, once home, he couldn't earn his keep. But he didn't want to be in Dewton anymore. The Ponderosa was his home now, and he missed it desperately. More than that, he couldn't stand that the Cartwrights were staying on in Dewton solely on his account. Joe and Hoss had concocted several excuses for why they weren't going home, but Candy knew they were all fibs at best.

"Of course we'll bring you home," Mr. Cartwright said, in response to the hesitantly worded request.

Christmas had been and gone. There had apparently been a party in the lobby of the hotel, but Candy had stayed in the room he was borrowing from Lue Artly and slept through most of it. Joe saved him some leftovers of the food that had been served, and Candy had to admit that it was good, though he -like the Cartwrights- had become somewhat spoiled by Hop Sing's cooking.

The journey home proved to be more painful and exhausting than Candy had expected. He spent most of the daylight hours curled up in the back of the buckboard, trying not to make any noise that might be mistaken for a plea that Hoss -who was driving most of the time- stop their progress.

And he spent the nights being miserably cold, because his still-healing body wasn't able to warm itself as well as usual. But Mr. Cartwright had warned him what it would be like, and asked if he was sure he wanted to go home despite all of that. Candy had answered yes. Mr. Cartwright had the courtesy, or perhaps the kindness, not to ask him if he'd changed his mind.

In the evenings, trying to warm up with a camp fire and coffee before going to sleep, the Cartwrights exchanged stories. Candy listened only vaguely, usually half-asleep where he lay. They talked about the Christmas when the boys had bought Mr. Cartwright a horse, and another when a lame horse had made Mr. Cartwright late getting home. They mentioned women with names like Sally, Elizabeth and Susie May. They talked about the Christmas after the boys' ran their first cattle drive without their father along to guide them. And they talked about their first Christmas after Adam left home, both for college and then for the sea. Sleepy, hurting and not really listening, Candy nonetheless got the impression that Joe seemed to get thrown from his pinto an awful lot in those stories.

Sometimes after the Cartwrights had bedded down, Candy lay awake because he was hurting too much to sleep, and he wondered how things would have turned out if his life had happened differently. If his parents hadn't died one just a few years after the other when he was so young. If he hadn't spent so much time on his own. If he hadn't bounced from the care and training of one soldier to another, not really belonging to any of them, never sure if they liked him or merely felt obligated to make sure he survived when he was under their watch.

Some of them had been very clear about how they felt, but those were the best ones, even if they didn't like him. Some made it perfectly clear that they felt put upon to have to take care of him, that they'd rather he didn't exist, and wished he'd stop bothering them. But it was the ones who disliked him without openly admitting it that had really hurt. He'd grown attached to so many, only to have them one day turn on him like rabid animals, saying they'd never wanted him around. A couple of them had even struck him to prove their point, though of course they hadn't done so publicly.

And then there were the ones who really seemed to care about him. Some said they did. But inevitably they all left. Some of them died, some were reassigned, others just seemed to lose interest in him after awhile. In all cases, he had purposely isolated himself more and more, to avoid the pain of being left behind, and the greater agony of sudden betrayal of trust.

Because it was all he'd ever known, it had always seemed normal to him. But somewhere in the back of his mind was a memory of family he wished sometimes that he could forget. If he could forget, it would be less painful not to have it. At first, being around the Cartwrights had hurt, because it reminded him so strongly of what his life had been before his parents had died, when there had been people who really cared about him. It terrified him, most of all because it awakened feelings in him that he didn't want, because they were the kind that got him hurt.

Not just hope for something better, but a feeling of devotion, and respect, and a certain kind of awe. Before he knew it, he'd befriended the youngest Cartwright, and offered his unreserved loyalty to the family in its entirety. He hadn't planned it that way, it just sort of... happened. It had taken more time for him to build up his trust enough that he wasn't scared to death every second of losing what he'd found on the Ponderosa. A place where he belonged. Not just somewhere to live for awhile, but a home, complete with people he cared for every bit as deeply as family.

There was no sacrifice he would not make for that.

He still had the occasional relapse. Something would happen and he would suddenly find himself drowning in the old fear of being unwanted, outcast, and forgotten. He found himself terrified that he would lose the respect or trust and thus the privileges and affection the Cartwrights had bestowed on him. It could shake him up inside so badly he felt like running. But it had been a very long time since he'd threatened to quit, because he knew he no longer needed an excuse to stay.

He belonged. That was enough.

Clint Tanner came to Elodie with reluctance, riding the red dun mare, the dog following at her heels. When he arrived, he had little trouble locating Lacy's, but it was a lot harder to make himself go inside. The dog stood beside him, gazing up at his face expectantly. Finally, he went inside.

"Howdy," said a blond behind the bar who looked far younger than he'd expected.

"Hello there, miss," Clint said, "I... uh... are you Lacy Weston?"

"That's me," she replied, "And you are...?"

"Uh, Tanner. Clint Tanner," he said, shaking off his surprise and approaching the bar, "I was told by Sheriff Mayer that... uh... this might be your dog," he gestured to the animal which had followed him at Heel and now sat beside him, looking for all the world as though he'd never been here before.

"Hardly," Miss Weston said, "He just showed up one day, and started looking after me. He comes and goes as he pleases. I had some troubles here in Elodie... but I'm moving south, where the winters aren't so disagreeable. I suppose I don't really need him anymore," she smiled, and expression tinted by a sadness Clint didn't know, "I'm glad he's found someone who does."

"He's sure been a help around the ranch," Clint admitted, "I sleep better at night knowing he's keeping watch, and I don't mind going out to work in the barn when I know he's near Laura and the baby."

"Sounds like a nice place for him to be," Miss Weston said, almost wistfully.

"I like it," Clint said, then fumbled for something else to say, "By the way... what's his name?"

"Name?" Miss Weston looked blank and wide-eyed for a moment, then she smiled again, "Well, I guess I never gave him one. Everyone just called him Lacy's Dog. Privately I've always thought of him as my guardian angel."

Clint nodded thoughtfully, "I suppose that's a good enough name. Everybody calls the horse I rode in on the Jeff Kailen Mare. I suppose they always will."

"Hasn't she got a real name?" Miss Weston asked.

"Sure does," Clint answered, "But nobody will ever call her by it."

"Well," Miss Weston said, "You want a drink before you get on?"

"I should probably get back home," Clint replied, "My new business partner and his mother just arrived, and I promised to help them get settled."

"You rode all this way just to return a dog?" Miss Weston asked incredulously.

"He's a good dog," Clint said matter-of-factly.

"So he is, Mr. Tanner. So he is."

They'd made it home. Ben and Joe helped Candy inside while Hoss put up the horses. Then they all sat in the living room, enjoying the softness of the chairs and couch, and the warmth of the fireplace.

At Ben's request, Hop Sing served hot coffee, which they all spent more time sniffing and using the mugs to warm their hands than actually drinking, but it served its purpose.

"Y'know," Hoss said, "There's no reason we can't have us a belated New Year's party. We've still got Christmas decorations up, and presents we haven't opened. No reason not to celebrate, right?"

"Sounds good to me, Pa," Joe chimed in.

"I don't see why not," Ben agreed.

Hoss and Joe issued some sound effects of glee. Candy didn't respond to any of it. He seemed pensive, gazing into the fire and not seeming to be paying any attention to them. Or perhaps trying not to show any reaction for some reason. With Candy, one could never be sure.

"Candy?" Ben inquired when Hoss and Joe quieted down.

"Hmm?" Candy blinked and looked over at where Ben was seated, firelight reflecting in his eyes.

"It seems to me that the rest of us have done all the talking for the last several days," Ben said, "Have you got a Christmas story you'd like to share?"

Candy didn't respond at first. For a moment, there was a flicker of that old distrust and fear that used to show in his eyes so often. He blinked, and it was gone, replaced by something unreadable. Joe and Hoss turned expectantly to Candy, waiting for him to say something.

At last, after a seeming eternity, he let out a sigh.

"Well..." he said slowly, "There was this one Christmas when I got shot by a sheriff," he paused to sip his coffee, then added thoughtfully, "It was a good Christmas."

It was amazing how so few words could convey so much. Joe and Hoss looked at each other, evidently not knowing what to make of it, or how to respond. But Ben knew and didn't hesitate.

"That it was," he agreed, "That it was."