The force of the door slamming closed was strong enough to knock the tan Stetson off the peg. He glanced behind him, dragging his eyes up from her heels, to the folds of her black skirt, the fluffy hand muff, and finally to her furious face. He stiffly rose from the chair and winced from the pain of the simple action. "What's the matter now? I haven't even seen you today."

She pursed her lips indignantly and glared at her husband. He hadn't returned to her after his nightly rounds, and she wrongly presumed he'd decided to sleep on the cot in the jail. She had been educated on her husband's whereabouts on her way to his office. "You keep stalking around in the dead of night, and you won't be around to see me."

"Oh, that. You heard about that," he flatly mumbled and arranged completed paperwork into a stack, shuffling the documents into a folder. Matt foolishly thought his wife wouldn't find out. He believed he could hide it from her and save her from worry. He ambled to the filing cabinet, moving like an arthritic old man. He stifled a groan as he knelt down to put away the paperwork.

Kitty followed him the short distance and wondered how many bruises were covering his body from the night's incident. She noticed the gash close to his hairline and assumed he'd suffered a mild concussion. She wanted to care for every contusion yet another part of her wanted to beat him sense into him. "I stumbled over Louie Pheeters."

"Well, now, you see, I wasn't alone. Louie was with me."

His indifference and joking exacerbated her emotions. "I just don't understand men," she muttered, shaking her head at his nonchalance.

"Kitty, if you don't, I don't know who does," he teased, hating his choice as her eyes narrowed and darkened a shade.

"It isn't brave, you know, running around by yourself. It's kind of stupid!" she shouted at him. "You said you'd hire a deputy, Matt," she reminded him as he laboriously rose to his full height.

"I will, Kitty," Matt assured. "After this is over," he added.

Her lips settled into a stern line and glared at his mulishness. "Who's after you? Do you know?" she asked, rounding on him as he sluggishly made his way to the work table in the middle of the room.

"Kitty, when a man's trying to shoot you from ambush, kind of hard to tell who he is. He was riding a horse. That's all I know." He knew it wasn't Henry Cairn or Jake Fogle.

"Well, that means he'll ride back and try it again." Her voice rose a pitch with distress.

"Maybe he will," Matt said.

"You know he will!"

"Kitty, look, there's always gonna be somebody. That's just the way this job is. And I can't run around and hide. And believe me, there isn't a crowd big enough to get lost in if somebody really wants to kill me," he told her. He'd said that to her in so many different ways over the years.

"You're very comforting," she responded derisively.

"You've known that all along."

"But I don't have to like it," she said faintly and stared at him with unshed tears in her eyes. "I'll never like it."

He sighed and combed his fingers through his hair. He chewed the inside of his cheek and realized the attempt on his life was the first one since she became pregnant. He softened, comprehending all the fresh fears and worries coursing through her mind. "Kathleen, come here," he spoke softly and pulled her to his chest, embracing her.

"Matt, you have to be careful. I want our baby to know its father."

"I know. I want to know our baby," he whispered into her hair and leveled his hand up and down her back. "I will know our baby, Kitty," Matt promised, placing his hand on the side of her belly. "I'll be at your side when the time comes. All right?"

Kitty tilted her head up to look at him and weakly nodded her head. "All right."

"I don't want you to worry. I'll find out who's after me and take care of him," he vowed and kissed her tears. He hated how she stared at him as if she was trying to etch his face into her memory. "I'll be careful."

"You can't be. You don't know who's after you," she choked out, sniffling and burying her face into his chest. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of him, holding onto him as tightly as she could. She knew he'd distance himself from her to keep her out of harm's way until the danger was gone.

Doc moseyed into the Long Branch and swiped his mustache as he dodged Gus' mopping of the floor. He waved to Sam at the bar and sauntered to the table Kitty occupied, pulling out a chair and dropping into it. He set his medical bag on the table, and he quietly observed the redhead, staring off into space with her hand resting over her belly. He'd stopped in to see how the stubborn, overgrown U.S. Marshal was and decided he needed to check in on his favorite redhead. A weighty sigh escaped him as he noticed the puffy bags under her eyes. "Kitty," he spoke, raising his voice and repeating her name when she didn't respond.

She startled and turned her head. "Oh, Doc," she gasped. "Morning. Want some coffee?"

"No, no," he replied with shake of his graying head. "I want to know how you're doing."

"Fine."

He smirked. "Kitty, did you sleep last night?"

"Yes," she lied without batting an eyelash. For the last two nights, she'd scanned every unfamiliar face in her saloon and wondered if she was looking at the man that wanted to take her other half away. Kitty had tossed and turned, going over and over the long list of her husband's enemies until the morning light streamed into her rooms. It didn't help that Matt wasn't there to put her mind at ease.

"You have to rest, Kitty."

"Doc, I can't rest when someone's trying to kill my husband."

He dug in his bag and tossed the package onto the table. "I want you to take that tonight."

Kitty shook her head and pushed the packet away. "I don't want sleeping powders, Doc."

The physician muttered under his breath about her obstinacy and rubbed his cheek. "Let me take you to breakfast."

"Not hungry."

"Doc, she didn't eat last night," Sam called out from behind the bar.

"I did," Kitty fired back, scowling at her bartender as he approached the table. She knew Sam had the best intentions, but he didn't need to be a tattletale.

"Miss Kitty, a pretzel isn't dinner," he respectfully disputed and set a tray onto the table. He poured the freshly made coffee into the cups, giving one to Doc Adams and the other to Kitty.

"Thank you," Doc said and critically eyed his friend. She didn't touch her coffee. He exchanged a look with Sam and dug into his pocket, taking out a coin. "Sam, go to Delmonico's. Get Kitty breakfast and bring it back, please. Up to her room," he added with a decisive bob of his head.

"Doc, I don't want any breakfast. I can take care of myself."

"Oh, I know you can," Doc responded. Her crossed arms and recalcitrant expression irked him. He slammed his hand on the table and barked at her. "But by thunder, you're not doing a very good job!"

She flinched at the noise and huffed, shooting a glare Doc's way. "Sam," she called out. "Give Doc back his money," she instructed, rolling her eyes as Sam ignored her and continued out the entrance. "I don't want breakfast, Doc," Kitty repeated. "I don't want to go up to my room. I want this to be over. I want Matt to be alright. I want," she stopped as her voice cracked, casting her eyes downward and staring at her wedding band.

Doc rested his hand over hers. "I know, Kitty. C'mon with me," he pleaded and stood, grabbing his bag and offering his hand to her. "Thank you," he whispered as she took his hand and slipped his arm around her waist, leading her upstairs and into her rooms.

As he waited for her to change, he heard Sam's knock at the door. He let the barkeep inside and waited for him to set the out-tray down. He slipped a sleeping powder into the coffee after filling the cup. "Don't look at me that way, Sam. She doesn't want it, but she needs it. After she falls asleep, I'll stay with her for a while."

Sam nodded his head. "Tell her not to worry about business. I can handle it," he told him and left the room.

Doc stirred the black coffee and heard her footsteps coming closer. He glanced behind him, smiling at her as she lifted the cover off the plate. "Scrambled eggs."

"Runny scrambled eggs," she complained.

"More nutritious than a pretzel," he retorted and pulled the blankets back.

She pushed the sleeve of her husband's shirt back and sat down, picking up the fork and eating breakfast. The redhead knew Doc wouldn't leave her alone until she followed his orders. She finished the food and coffee in minutes. "Happy?"

"As a pig in mud," he told her with a wink and watched her settle into bed. He sat down on the edge and pulled the covers over her.

"Are you tucking me in?"

He nodded. "Want a bedtime story?" he sardonically asked and chuckled at the smirk curling on her lips. "I'll stay with you until you fall asleep, Kitty."

"Doc, I won't sleep," she said as her eyelids contradicted her. She sunk into the comfort of the eiderdown mattress and warmth of the blankets, fighting to keep her eyes open.

"I know you won't," he whispered and silently watched her lose the battle against sleep. He chastely kissed her forehead and relocated to an armchair.

After an hour, he was wholly satisfied that his patient was soundly asleep. He pushed himself out of the chair and made his way downstairs. His pace quickened as a volley of gunshots hit his ears. He hurried towards the group of men gathering around a wagon near the post office. The physician was relieved to see the U.S. Marshal standing tall. He glanced at Quint, checking the unfortunate soul's pulse that had taken two of Matt's bullets then was run over by the wagon. Asper shook his head grimly. His pulse was weak. He was minutes from death.

"Why'd you try to kill me?" Matt questioned the stranger as he took his last breath.

"Matt," Doc said, seeing the blood coming from his bicep.

"Just a graze, Doc. I'm not as bad off as he is," he replied, motioning to the dead man. He sighed and told the bystanders to take him to Percy Crump. He put his hand over arm to quell the bleeding and headed down the street.

"Matt, where do you think you're going?" Doc bellowed. "I need to take a look at that!" His definition of a graze was far different from the Marshal's delineation.

Matt turned around and walked up to Doc. "I'm going to the Long Branch. Tell Kitty's it's finished."

"You will not."

He furrowed his brows, squaring up to the old man and resting his hands at the front of his belt. He cringed as the movement reignited the scorch of pain. "I will," he opposed.

"No, you will not. She's asleep, and she needs the rest, Matt. If you wake her up, I'll shoot you myself."

The younger man smirked. As much as Doc kept him alive, he threatened to kill him just as much. "What if I sit with her until she wakes up? Would that suit you, doctor?"

"Fine. That'd be just fine," he muttered and watched Matt walk away from him, giving him enough time to let him believe the argument was finished. "After I clean that wound, you can sit with Kitty!"

Her fingers touched a wool blanket on the counter of Wilbur Jonas' general store. She smiled at the proprietor and drifted to the back of the store, overhearing the chatter about the attempts on the highly regarded Marshal's life. The man couldn't seem to be killed. She knew it was true. Days ago, he'd thwarted the two attempts. She turned her head and strained to hear.

Her lips formed into a delighted simper at the bits and pieces of conversation. A strategy swiftly took root into the brunette's mind. She left the store and purposely walked to the Long Branch, entering the establishment and walking to the bar. She smiled politely at the bartender. "I'm looking for Kitty Russell."

"Through that door," Sam told her, slanting his head in the direction of the office door since his hands were busy cleaning glasses. "And to your right, ma'am."

"Thank you," she replied and slipped through the doors. She scrutinized the redhead at the rolltop desk. She was surprised at his taste in women.

"Hello," Kitty addressed the brunette and closed her books. She didn't appear to be the type to seek work in a saloon. Kitty couldn't identify why the woman's presence caused her intuition to scream at her. She'd felt off since Matt told her that he was no longer in danger. She wanted to believe him, but she couldn't rid herself of the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"You're Kitty Russell?"

"Yes, I am. What can I do for you?" she inquired.

"I'm Cornelia Conrad. I'm Oren Conrad's widow."

"Oh," Kitty murmured. Matt had killed the woman's husband months ago in the Long Branch. "Won't you sit down, Mrs. Conrad?" she graciously offered.

"No, thank you."

"That was a terrible thing about Oren. I'm—I'm sorry."

"Yes. Well, that's why I came here to see you, Miss Kitty," she enlightened and adjusted her reticule in her grasp.

"I don't understand." Her mind raced as she speculated if Cornelia had been behind it all. She shook away the silly thought of the woman orchestrating a U.S. Marshal's demise. Cornelia probably wanted to know why her deceased husband spent so much time in the saloon.

"Oren gambled a lot in Dodge, didn't he?"

Kitty shrugged her shoulders. She didn't know about Oren's gambling habits. She knew he favored one of her girls and the brand of whiskey he bought. "Well, I only saw him when he was here in the Long Branch."

"Well, he was gambling more and more often lately, but that was no reason for the marshal to kill him."

"Look, Mrs. Conrad, I saw that shooting," she told her and stood up, facing the widow. "The marshal had no choice. He tried to stop Oren, but, well, he drew his gun anyhow," she truthfully recalled the months old event.

"No matter how it happened, you have to admit that it was the marshal who shot my husband down." Cornelia walked past the redhead and fiddled with the string of her handbag, opening it slowly and feeling the weight of the handgun resting at the bottom. "It was the marshal that made a widow woman out of me, nobody else. Good or bad, Oren was my husband, and good or bad, you're the marshal's wife. "

The hair on the back of Kitty's neck stood up. Her breathing accelerated. Her rapid heartbeat rang in her ears. She glanced at the door and took a step as Cornelia turned, pointing the handgun at her.

"An eye for an eye, Mrs. Dillon," Cornelia told her, rounding on her and blocking the doorway.

Kitty composed herself in an instant, glancing at the weapon and Cornelia's dark brown eyes. She held onto the ring on her left hand. "Now, look-," Kitty began.

"The men I hired couldn't kill him. I didn't know you were his wife until a little while ago. I'm gonna do to the marshal just what he did to me," Cornelia declared and stepped closer to Kitty.

"It isn't Oren's death that's bothering you so much. Is it? It's you you're really worried about, not Oren's death," she stated, remembering the things she'd heard about Cornelia Conrad. The woman valued her reputation and standing above all else. "You're a very selfish woman, Mrs. Conrad."

"Never you mind what I am," she responded coldly.

"You may believe in an eye for an eye, but you're not capable of doing it yourself," Kitty assured, locking eyes with the widow. She saw her confidence waver and her hands tremble slightly.

"Oh, yes I am."

Kitty shook her head. "Mm-mm, you're not gonna shoot me."

"That's right, Cornelia," Matt spoke from the half open entryway and opened it wider. "And you're not gonna do a thing with that gun. Suppose you just put it down, huh? Go on," he urged, stepping into the office and advancing on the women.

Matt easily took the pistol out of Cornelia's hands and put it in his pocket, glancing at his wife. "Come on, Kitty," he beckoned and reached out, touching her shoulder and leaving the room with her. He escorted her to the bar and glimpsed at Cornelia as she exited the saloon. He lifted the brim of his hat and propped an arm on the bar, slumping and facing his wife. "Kitty," he said softly and brushed his fingertips over her hand. He felt the clamminess of her ivory skin and noticed her shallow breaths. Alarm shot through him as the color drained from her face, and she swayed into him. "Sam!" he shouted and grabbed her to him as she wilted like a wildflower. "Go get Doc!" he ordered and lifted her into his arms, carrying her up the stairs.

Author's Note: Hopefully, y'all liked how I mashed a couple of plots from episodes together. I borrowed Anybody Can Kill a Marshal (S8.E26) again and Reprisal (S7.E23).