Part 12

Noon

"This is not...fair," Ezra groaned, turning restlessly to one side. His various tubes and wires tangled around each other.

Patiently, as he had been doing all morning, Vin straightened out the tangle and smoothed the blankets up over the miserable undercover agent. "Want ta' try some more water?" he asked gently. Glancing over at the rolling table, he added, "or apple juice?"

Ezra just groaned again and buried his sweaty face in the pillows. Vin sighed and eased back into the chair. He couldn't blame Ezra. The hospital staff had started him on small amounts of liquids around eight that morning. The first few sips of diluted apple juice had gone down well, but within a half-hour Ezra was plagued again by the violent nausea and vomiting. The vomiting continued long after the scant contents of his stomach had been emptied in painful dry heaves. Concerned that the blood vessel in his throat would re-open, the hospital staff increased the IV fluids and the anti-nausea drugs, but still encouraged him to take in fluids orally. After a couple of hours of this, whatever energy Ezra had managed to recover through the night had been exhausted, and he curled up in his bed, gray-faced and sweating.

Vin, who was a lot like Ezra in a lot of ways, understood that the Southerner was humiliated at having others see him in his weakened condition. Ezra was like a wild animal when he was sick, preferring to crawl into his den with no one bothering him until he recovered. Vin was much the same way. Unfortunately, the worse Ezra felt, the more the hospital staff poked and prodded him, causing him to retreat further and further behind his poker mask.

There was a light tap on the door and it swung open to admit the blond-haired Dr. Baker, followed by Chris. The doctor had a clipboard in his hands and was studying it with a frown. Chris looked worn out, although he had apparently found a chance to run down to his truck for a change of clothes.

"Where's Bucklin?" Vin asked.

"Changing." Chris cocked his head at the doctor. "Dr. Baker here just discharged him."

There was a groan from the huddled pile of misery in the bed. "Unfair," Ezra gasped. "Mr. Wilmington consumed...double the amount of that Epicurean disaster than I did..."

"There's no telling the way an individual will react to a toxin," Baker said. He was still frowning at the chart, but he finally put it down on the foot of the bed. "Not feeling very well, are you, Mr. Standish?"

"Right now I'm wishing...that Mr. Larabee would follow through on his frequently-expressed...intention to shoot me."

Baker chuckled at the mock-glare Larabee threw at his patient. "You've had a rough morning. Your body needs rest. I'm going to stop the PO fluids for now and give you a sedative. We'll try again in a couple of hours to get you to drink something."

Ezra sighed. "Fine."

Baker raised his eyebrows. "Fine? Now I know you aren't feeling well. Dr. Murray warned me you'd be trying to sneak out of the hospital by now."

"If he could stand up, he would be," Chris quipped.

"I understand you two were fishing up in Wyoming?" Baker asked Chris and Vin. "Catch anything?"

"Caught a mess of trout," Vin answered.

"I love fresh trout," Baker admitted.

"Vin's got a great way of cookin' it, fried up with onions and garlic and some salt pork-" Chris stopped as he was pinioned by an emerald glare from the bed. He grinned. "Sorry, Ezra," he apologized.

Ezra closed his eyes. "Mr. Larabee. . When I recover from this...ailment...I have every intention of strangling both of you...with my bare hands."

Both his teammates grinned and the doctor laughed outright. "Well, I'd better do my part so that you can get back on your feet to do that," he commented, picking up the clipboard. He caught Chris' eye, then Vin's. "Gentlemen, if I might see you outside?"

"Oh, of course. Discuss my case behind closed doors," Ezra grumbled. "I am, after all, only the patient here."

Vin patted his leg through the blanket. "Be right back, Pard."

"The nurse will be in with that sedative," Baker said. He looked inquiringly at his patient. "You aren't going to protest?"

Ezra shook his head. "Right now, Sir...you could kill me...and I'd not only thank you, I'd leave you all my worldly goods."

"Hmm, tempting offer. But killing patients wreaks havoc on my malpractice insurance," the doctor quipped. He smiled sympathetically. "Hang in there, Mr. Standish, you should start to feel better soon."

"Be good," Chris ordered, following the doctor and Vin out the door. Once it had swung closed, he eyed the doctor steadily. "What's wrong?"

Baker took a deep breath. "I'm not exactly sure," he admitted. "He should be responding better than he is." He frowned. "And his blood work keeps coming back with abnormalities. Significantly different than Mr. Wilmington's results, or the results of anyone else who has been treated for this toxin."

"What's that mean?" Vin asked.

His concern was mirrored on Chris' face. "Doctor?"

"I'm going to knock him out for awhile, let his body get a chance to rest," Baker said slowly. "That may be all that's needed...but in the meantime, I want to run some more tests. We might be dealing with something more than just food poisoning here."

777777

Buck eased himself down into the chair beside the bed. His muscles ached with fatigue, but he was afraid if he lay back down in the bed someone would take it in their head to keep him in the hospital. Bad enough Chris was insisting that he go to the ranch instead of his own place.

He reached over and picked up the newspaper a volunteer had brought by that morning. Chris had obviously thumbed through it but not read it carefully; the folds were still intact. Buck glanced at the front page then leafed through to the second section, the "City/State" section.

The headline blared up at him: LOCAL ENTREPENEUR ARRAIGNED ON FEDERAL WEAPONS CHARGES. Under the two-column heading was a large black and white photo, obviously from stock footage.

"Oh, shit," Buck breathed. The picture had been taken at some large social event. Marcus Hoyt, resplendent in black-tie, beamed at the camera, his arm possessively around the slender shoulders of the young woman with him.

The caption read "Marcus Hoyt and his niece Sarah Bryant at last month's Jubilee Ball to benefit AIDS research."

'Sarah.'

The newspaper dropped from nerveless fingers as his mind flashed back...

~~Hoyt had invited "Edward Steen" to join him for a day of spring skiing at his lodge at Keystone. Surprisingly, he'd also made a point of requesting Steen's bodyguard/assistant, "Brian Jakes", come along. "He don't usually seem to notice I exist," Buck had commented on the drive.

It was a small party, less than a dozen people. Most of them were gathered around the massive stone fireplace in the living room when Buck and Ezra arrived. Hoyt immediately offered hot buttered rum. Ezra raised an eyebrow and commented he usually preferred his apris-ski drinks to be just that.

Buck wandered out onto the deck that surrounded three sides of the lodge. He leaned against the cedar railing and stared at the mountain towering above.

"Mr. Jakes?"

He turned at the hesitant feminine voice. "Sarah!" he gasped, then quickly recovered himself. "Ms. Bryant, I mean." He flashed his best grin. "Beg your pardon for bein' so forward."

She laughed. 'Oh, hell, she even laughs like Sarah,' Buck despaired.

Sarah Bryant was wearing a royal blue sweater with cream ski pants. A cream-colored parka was slung over her shoulders. Buck remembered the silk blouse he'd "helped" Adam pick out for his mama that last Christmas. It had been just that shade of blue...

"You're staring at me, Mr. Jakes." Dimples deepened as she smiled. "Do I have dirt on my nose, or something?"

Buck had to smile. "No way. I was just...admirin' your sweater."

"I bought it in Switzerland last year. It's my favorite color," she explained.

"I know," Buck said, then shook his head. "I mean-"

She ignored his discomfiture as she came closer to him. "I'm glad you came."

He raised his eyebrows. "So you're the reason I got an invitation?"

She tilted her head to one side and smiled a little. "I enjoyed our talk at the party the other night. So, do you ski?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do." 'This is a mistake,' Buck thought. He indicated the mountain behind them. "Care to join me on the run, Ms. Bryant?"

"Only if you call me Sarah," she pouted. "Ms. Bryant makes me sound like an old maid schoolteacher."

"An' you surely aren't that...Sarah." Buck took a deep breath. "I'm...Brian."

She smiled again. "I know."

The afternoon was wonderful. By accident or design, they were separated from the rest of the party most of the day. Buck was uneasy when he realized it had been hours since he'd seen Ezra. "It's gettin' late," he told Sarah, glancing at the setting sun. "I'd better go track down Edward. He's got some shin-dig tonight."

"The cocktail party at the Regency," Sarah said knowingly. "Uncle Marcus said he was inviting him." She hesitated. "Do you have to go, too?" She rushed on before he could say anything, "Because I hate cocktail parties...so crowded and smoky...I-" she turned pink. "I was wondering if you and I could have dinner."

Buck was wrapped in the warmth of her smile. He could hear himself saying, "I reckon we could manage that."

7777777

Buck walked out into the living room of the penthouse, wondering-not for the first time-who the hell decorated a room in white leather, smoked glass and chrome. Ezra was standing at the windows, staring out at the lights. Only one small lamp was turned on and the room was full of shadows.

"You're going to be late for your party."

"And you don't want to be tardy for your dinner engagement."

It was the first thing Ezra had said since Buck had told him about his dinner plans on the drive back from Keystone. Wilmington walked over to the wet bar and poured himself a drink. "You going to be okay on your own?"

"I'm quite sure I can manage. It's you I am concerned about."

Buck flushed. "Ez-"

"This is not a good idea, Mr. Wilmington."

Buck slammed the glass down. "Damn, Ezra, we have a job to do, remember? How can it hurt getting close to Hoyt's niece?"

Ezra turned to look at him. "Because you aren't getting close to her because of who she is, Mr. Wilmington, but because of who she is not."

Anger rolled through Buck. "I know what I'm doin'," he snapped. "If gettin' close to her gets us some information-"

"That might be Brian Jakes' excuse," Ezra said softly. He turned back to the windows and Buck could barely hear his words. "But you aren't Brian Jakes. And the Buck Wilmington I know couldn't 'use' any woman...much less one that so strongly resembles someone he cared for so deeply."

The anger drained away from Buck. "I know she's not Sarah," he sighed.

"Remember that, Buck. Remember who she isn't. And...remember who you are."~~

"Buck?"

Wilmington looked up, startled. Vin was standing in the open doorway of his room, pushing a wheelchair in front of him. Tanner was staring at him in concern. "You ready, Pard?"

Buck took a deep breath. He picked up the newspaper and rolled it tightly, hiding the photograph. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "Let's get out of here."

tbc...