Kitty was perched on the steps of the staircase, whistling to herself and thinking how the crimson runner needed to be cleaned as she opened her mail. She scoffed as her long-limbed U.S. Marshal of a husband confidently strolled through the doors. She shook her head and went back to reading a letter from Panacea Sykes.

Matt frowned at his wife's lukewarm reaction. Her eyes hadn't lit up at the sight of him. He didn't receive a heartwarming smile from her. "Morning, Kitty."

"Don't tell me you can remember my name."

His sureness in sharing an enjoyable morning with her decreased immensely. He sighed and propped his arms on the wooden railing. His wife didn't look at him, and he realized that he had underestimated her discontent over him being absent for the last couple of days. "Thought we might have a little breakfast together." He watched her, still unenthusiastic and intensely gazing at a letter. He fearfully gulped in response to her briefly cutting her stunning eyes at him and adeptly ripping into the envelope with the sharp letter opener.

"Well, we might, except I'm already spoken for," she informed him.

"Oh, you are," he grumbled.

"Mm-hmm," she answered coolly.

He parted his lips to deliver his apology to her when Doc Adam's voice rang through the establishment. Matt rolled his eyes. He should have known. He crumpled at his wife's enthusiastic response to the physician, turning and looking at the older man in time to see him smugly swipe at his mustache. He greeted the physician and attempted to ignore how much it aggravated him that his wife was fumbling with the mail in her lap and gathering her skirt to stand with a radiant smile on her face.

Doc nodded at Matt and smiled at the redhead. "Sure you're all ready?"

"Just about," she replied. "Just get my hat on."

Doc cleared his throat as he watched the woman gracefully climb the stairs. He could feel the tension and tugged at his ear. He didn't want to suffer through a breakfast with a quarrelling married couple. Doc slipped his hands into his pockets and met the younger man's eyes. "Well, I suppose you're gonna horn in."

"Thought I might if the lady doesn't mind," Matt countered, wanting to make up for the missed time with his wife over scrambled eggs, ham, flannel-cakes, and coffee. He turned his head and optimistically viewed her on the second level of the saloon.

"Well, we'll settle that right now," Doc declared, adjusting his stance and squaring his shoulders. He knew very well that Matt could lift him with one arm and toss him like a ragdoll, but he would put up a fight for Kitty's wishes. "Kitty!" he yelled.

"Yeah?" Kitty turned as her fingers fiddled with her stylish hat.

"If you'd rather have breakfast with just me alone, now, don't hesitate to tell him so," Doc advised her.

She popped her hat onto her head and began slipping her hands into her gloves, staring at the two men fighting for her company. She grabbed her reticule and sauntered toward them. The redhead stopped in front of her husband and fixed her eyes on him. "I'm not the least bit flattered that one of you wants to use a flannel-cake as a peace offering for being a jackass. Let's go to breakfast, Doc," she said and took his offered arm.

His eyebrows shot up into his silvery hairline as his eyes flashed with sympathy to the overgrown delinquent with a badge on his shirt. Doc put his hand on his face, scrubbing his fingers over his mouth and chin. He led her out, leaving Matt at the stairs. He walked alongside Kitty and uttered her name hesitantly. He didn't wish to be on the receiving end of her fiery temper.

"I'm fine, Doc."

"Kitty, I know better."

She sighed. "He hasn't stayed with me in a couple of nights," she disclosed.

It wasn't unusual for Matt to be away from her because of his job. He studied her, putting his hand on her back as they crossed the street. He realized there was something else bothering her.

Kitty looked at him. His face had that soft, imploring expression that she'd seen plenty of times over the years. He'd be her confidant. Galen Adams was one of the few men that understood what it meant to listen. "He shoved a deed at me, told me he had to sleep at the jail because of a prisoner, and walked out, Doc."

"A deed?"

She nodded her head.

"Just walked out?"

"I'll see you later, Kitty," she mocked.

Doc bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from chuckling at her imitation. He cleared his throat to fully regain his composure and glanced at her before speaking to Obie Collins. He listened to the man blunder his acknowledgement of the redhead. He noticed his date bristling at being called Mrs. Marshal. Doc squeezed her arm and narrowed his eyes on Obie. "For heaven's sake, Obie, stick with calling her Miss Kitty!" he barked and pulled her away. He looked behind him and shook his head. Doc adjusted his hat and decided on a light-hearted approach with his irritated companion. "Kitty, you don't want land with a two-story house to fill with a dozen or so children belonging to that nincompoop?"

Her face contorted with disapproval. "Doc, a dozen?" she protested. "I'm not halfway through with the first one. A dozen…barefoot and pregnant," she mumbled under her breath. She recoiled at the notion of being pigeonholed into that representation of a female.

"Not a dozen then," Doc settled with a slight nod of his head. "What about acreage with a two-story house?"

Kitty was silent for several moments until she let out a significant sigh. "Eighteen-year-old Kitty wanted that. That girl was naïve enough to believe a husband and a home would fix all of her problems. It doesn't fix it all, Doc."

Doc cocked a brow, angling his head at her. She spoke like she was a middle-aged woman looking back on her life. He stopped walking as soon as she stopped. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, watching her press her back against the wall of one of the abandoned buildings on the route to Delmonico's and stare at the ground. He wondered what was coursing through that clever mind of hers.

"Doc, it'll all change."

"Of course, it will, Kitty. You're having a child."

She let her gloved hand fall to her middle and shifted her eyes upwards to meet his. "What if it's…what if it's too much?" she asked, hating all the doubts the deed had placed in her mind.

"Why in thunder would it be too much, Kitty? It's not too much to have a home, a loving husband, and a baby."

"Doc, I've been playing house with Matt. I don't know how to be a wife. Not one that sits at home, does all washing, cooking, sewing, and cleaning. I don't know if I can do it. What if he realizes that I'm no good at all?"

"For heaven's sake, Kitty," he uttered. "You've been with that man for nearly ten years. He knows what woman he married. He hasn't ever tried to change you. Has he?"

She shook her head. "But, Doc, maybe he's changed his mind."

"I'll have no more of this, Kitty," he told her with a stern edge to his voice. "As your physician, it's my medical opinion that you stop thinking this way. It'll do you no good."

"Doc, I can't stop. I can't sleep sometimes because I'm thinking about how different everything will be."

Doc took her hand and held it. "Everything is changing, Kitty. You're going through more changes than Matt. It's not fair, but it's the truth. You're in unfamiliar territory. He is too. The two of you need to talk to each other and navigate through this together. Now, I'm starved." He offered his arm to her. "I expect you to eat two breakfasts. You'll need the strength."

"For what?" she inquired, hooking her arm with his and matching his stride.

"You'll need strength to get through that thick skull of Matt's when you talk to him," he told her with a wink. Her laughter was music to his ears. That melodic amusement signified that she felt a bit better after sharing her worries with him.


The saloon proprietor used to love Saturday nights - the jaunty piano music, the raucous crowd of regular customers, cowhands, and gamblers, beer and whiskey sales through the roof, and a good time being had by all. She had been on her feet for hours until she took residence at a table in the far corner. Each note of the piano hit a nerve. The boisterous laughs of handsy cowboys grated on her. She blew out an annoyed breath and stood up from the table, maneuvering herself through the crowd until she made it to the end of the bar. Kitty waved to one of her barkeeps. "I need a break, Sam," she told him. "Will you be alright?"

"Go on, Miss Kitty. Rudy and I can handle the crowd," he replied with conviction.

She smiled gratefully and made her way to the stairs, taking each one carefully until she disappeared into her sanctuary. Kitty collapsed onto the chaise lounge and leaned over to untie the laces of her heels. "Oh," she murmured as she noticed the slight indentions on her smooth leg. She could hear Doc's nagging in her head about her staying off her feet. Kitty loosened the laces and tugged her shoe off, cursing under her breath at the difficultly and the urgent knock at her door. "Come in. Come in," she groaned in irritation and slammed the shoe onto the floor. She looked back at the entryway to see her husband with his head warily peeking around the wooden door.

"Oh, Matt, for heaven's sake," she muttered and worked out the soreness in the ball of her foot.

"Well, they said you were in here and said you might take a shot at me," he told her as he entered the room, closing the door behind him.

"It's a wonder I didn't," Kitty mused aloud and grimaced.

He debated on retreating as he held his hat in his hand. His wife was still cross with him. He hung up his hat and cautiously glanced at her, hoping she didn't have her derringer.

"Why don't you pour us a drink," Kitty instructed and shifted until she was farther back on the chaise lounge and resting comfortably.

"Okay," he responded and poured one glass. He'd let her have a sip of whiskey if she wanted. He'd let her have anything if it brightened her mood.

She placed her hand on her round belly, smoothing her palm in slow circles to ease the jabs. "That crowd down there sure got me on edge," she admitted. "I just had to get away from 'em for a few minutes."

"Listen, I don't blame ya," Matt told her and handed her the tumbler, taking it back after she took a nip. He nodded his head after she thanked him. "Kitty," he started as a knock at the door interrupted him.

Kitty sat up with a furious look on her beautiful face. "Oh, so help me if that's some," she trailed off as Matt put his hand up and instructed her to take it easy. She let out a tiny sigh of relief that it wasn't anyone at the door for her. She allowed Matt to let the stranger into the room since the young man sounded sober. Kitty intently listened to the conversation and relaxed once she realized that her husband wouldn't be leaving to take care of a problem. The cowboy wanted information and went on his way.

Matt turned and sympathetically observed his wife, hanging his holster on a nearby hook. He took a drink of his whiskey and sat down on the edge of the lounger. "Now, what can I do for you?" he asked sincerely and hoped she'd allow him to make up for his earlier missteps.

"I don't know, Matt. I don't feel like myself lately," she divulged and adjusted the pillow behind her back.

"It's alright, honey," he soothed and lifted her legs into his lap. "You feel however you want."

She stared at him as he massaged the arch of her foot. Kitty let her head fall back on the cushion and silently cursed him for being so sweet to her. She chewed on her bottom lip and rested her hand over belly, debating on having the talk they needed to have. She blew out a breath that stirred the copper fringe on her forehead. "Matt, you didn't have to lie to me."

He abruptly stopped his ministrations to her puffy ankle and jerked his head toward her. "Kitty, I didn't lie to you."

"You did," she reiterated and lifted her head to look at him. "You told me you didn't want me to sell the Long Branch."

Matt furrowed his brows. "I didn't lie to you, Kathleen."

She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and rolling her eyes at him. "You did lie to me, Matthew."

"How did I lie?"

"You want me to sell. You want a wife that stays at home with the baby, has supper waiting on you when you come, mends all your—" she yelped as he pinched her pinky toe to shut her up. Her eyes narrowed on him, and she pulled her foot away. "Matt, I can't be that wife for you. I don't want to. Maybe I'm too spoiled from living in town all these years. I don't believe I know how to be a wife of any kind," she concluded, yelping a second time from him pinching her toe.

"Kitty, I didn't know I wanted a wife until I met you," he told her truthfully. He'd known his share of women before her, but none had ever made him consider settling down. Dolly Winters had been the worst to try. He glanced at her and naughtily grinned, running his hand slowly up her leg. "You know how to be a wife. You wait for me without a stitch on." He painfully groaned as her small foot jammed into his stomach. He met her incensed glare and regretted his choice to change the course of the conversation, catching her frenzied, angry mutterings about his thick skull and how she was more than a plaything. "Dammit, Kitty. What's gotten into you?" he asked, grabbing a hold of her foot before she could get off the lounger.

"Let go of me, Matt!" she hissed, drawing her leg up to get her foot out of his grasp. She grunted in frustration when he tightened his grip. "Let go!"

"Not until you tell me," he growled and seized her other foot before she decided to kick him. She could kick like a mule considering all the practice she'd had handling grabby cowboys, buffalo skinners, and other unsavory characters. Matt kept a firm hold while she futilely struggled. He heard her cry of defeat and watched her toss head back into the headrest. "Kathleen, what has gotten into you?"

She panted from her exertions and stared at the ceiling, catching her breath. "That damned deed, Matt!"

"I was trying to be a good husband. I thought that's what you'd want for us. I thought you'd be happy," he told her, eyeing her cautiously. He knew from experience that she could have an ounce of fight left in her. He was grateful when she unclenched her fists and let her arms fall to her sides.

"Matt, you didn't ask me if that's what I wanted," she lamented.

Matt sighed, resting his hands on her legs and playing with the material of her skirt. "Kitty, I didn't have to ask. You talked about a drive windin' up a hill leading to a house made of logs and stone. Said you'd want a garden of wildflowers – larkspurs, Indian blanket wildflowers, primrose, and," he stopped as he heard her muffled crying. He leaned forward and placed his hand on her back. "Honey, what's the matter?"

She'd forgotten telling him that, but she remembered as soon as he started. Kitty thought about that moonlit night on a blanket with him a handful of years ago. She'd consumed too much sipping whiskey and dreamily revealed the fantasy of a perfect life that she'd held onto since growing up in Louisiana. Her crying turned into sobbing as she thought about the first baby she'd lost – undoubtedly conceived under the stars on the prairie. She struggled to remind herself to accept how things had turned out.

"Kitty," he whispered and spread his palm, leveling his hand and smoothing it back and forth between her shoulders. "Please tell me what's the matter."

She moved her face from the pillow and looked at him through teary eyes. "You. That's what's the matter," she wailed as mascara and kohl liner ran down her face.

"I didn't mean to make you cry," he returned, pulling her into his arms and lightly stroking the falling tears away. Matt held her to him until her weeping subsided. He listened to her peaceful breathing and kissed her head. "I'll sell the land."

"No, Matt. Don't sell it. It's ours," she said and circled her finger around one of the buttons on his shirt, looking up at him. "I still want that dream with you."

He smiled at her. "Good. That's settled." He breathed out a sigh of relief and began planning in his mind. Matt hoped his duties as marshal wouldn't interfere with taking his wife the five miles outside of town to see the property.

"But not now. You're a marshal that needs to stay in Dodge. Not miles out of town," she decided and frowned at how he spoke her name to reason with her. She knew he was growing frustrated with the ebb and flow of her moods and unable to fix her troubles. Kitty pushed herself off his chest. "Matt, you're not ready to retire. I know better than to ask that of you. You'd hate to think someone lost his life because you weren't here to stop it. You'd blame yourself. I won't allow it."

"Kitty, our lives are changing. I'm not ready to retire, but I'll hire a deputy. He can handle town when I'm at home with you and our child. I'll take you out to see the land."

She was touched by his resolve, but realism was at the forefront of her thoughts. "Matt, it'll be winter soon. It would be crazy to start building a house."

Matt sighed. "Kitty, listen," he began.

"No, you listen. I do not want to live in a dugout. I refuse to have a gopher as a roommate. We'll make the Long Branch as much of a home as it can be until we figure it all out," she settled, cocking a brow at him and daring him to challenge her.

"All right. That's what we'll do," he conceded, letting her believe the matter was put to rest. He thought about how surprised his stubborn wife would be when he showed her the acreage and bit back the grin growing on his lips.

She felt his arms wrap around her and relaxed against him, sighing contentedly since her mind was at ease.

"Kitty," he whispered into her ear.

"Hmm?"

"Don't doubt that you know how to be a wife. You're exactly what I need. Always will be. I'm a better man because of you," he finished and pressed his lips to hers.

She returned the kiss and stroked his face, pulling back and staring into his eyes. "Sometimes, you know just what to say," she acknowledged and unpinned her updo.

"It's early."

"I'm not going back down," she told him, holding the hairpin between her teeth as her fingers searched for the other holding the bun in place. "I know I look a fright. All that crying earlier," she mumbled and cursed under her breath, dropping the pin in her mouth as she searched for the errant pin.

He leaned over and found the pin, plucking it out for her and watching her hair tumble down. "You do," he teased, faltering as she gave him a dirty look. "A good-looking fright," he bashfully corrected.

Kitty rolled her eyes at his effort. "I'll get you taught one day. Oh," she gasped and put her hand over the spot where a strong kick landed. "I think this little one is liable to have her daddy's long legs."

Matt grinned. He referred to the baby as a girl, and Kitty had begun doing the same. He placed his hands over her belly and rested his chin in the crook of her neck, waiting patiently to feel a kick or a punch. After a minute or two, he felt the baby's movement and looked at his wife in amazement. "That's her?"

Kitty dipped her head and radiantly smiled at him. "That's her," she confirmed.

"By golly, Kitty," he murmured and chuckled, feeling another jab. He shifted on the chaise lounge and let his wife settle into his abandoned spot. He put his head on Kitty's chest and let his hand stay glued to her middle. "Kitty, that's our baby," he uttered.

She laughed softly and ran her fingertips through his hair. "It is, honey," she replied.

"You've been feeling her move around for weeks?"

"Mmhmm. She gets restless when I'm still. Her little jabs will get stronger."

"By golly," he hummed.

His astonishment warmed her heart. She kept running her fingers through his disheveled curls and recognized that with each kick Matt felt that the baby was becoming real to him.

He raised his head and looked at his wife. "Are you scared?" he asked and sat up. He expected her not to be. There wasn't much that shook her.

She thought about what Doc had said to her earlier in the day. "Terrified," she answered, noticing the disbelieving look on his handsome face. "I am, Matt. I don't know how to be a mother. I know how to serve cold beer and hot coffee." She noticed how quiet he'd become and took his hand, tangling her fingers with his and nudging him. "Are you?"

"What?"

"Are you scared?"

He averted her inquisitive eyes and set his jaw, looking straight ahead. He focused on one of her perfume bottles. "Kitty, I'm a United States Marshal. Don't scare easy." Matt arched an eyebrow as his wife's laughter erupted like a volcano. He watched her double over in a tickled fit and fall into his chest. "What's so damn funny, Kathleen?"

She whacked his arm for the use of her full name and straightened, pursing her lips. "You are a terrible liar. It's all right if you're scared, you know. You can tell me."

Matt scrubbed his boot against the hardwood floor. "Kitty," he whined pitifully, knowing she wouldn't let it go and would know if he fibbed again. "That's why I don't play poker with you anymore."

His wife smirked. "It's not my fault you can't hide your tells, mister," she quipped. "You can tell me, Matt. I told you I'm terrified."

He decided to take a page out of her book and rested his hand on her thigh. "I'm scared. I don't know how to be a father. I know how to uphold the law."

Kitty smiled at him. "Well, finally the truth. We'll be scared together."


Author's Note: For this chapter, I borrowed from Chester's Indian, S7.E32. I was also inspired by Johnny Red, S5.E4. It's a habit that I picked up a long time ago and in another fandom to weave dialogue and such from episodes into my writing. Hopefully, I'll post the next installment a bit earlier. Thank you all for the wonderful responses! It makes the work I put in all the more special.