The moon hung in the sky, scarcely illuminating Front Street. The street was quiet and empty because of the late hour. The redhead sat on the balcony of the Long Branch Saloon and gazed at the hazy waning gibbous moon. She brought the glass of rye whiskey to her lips and recalled what Céline had told her about the moon phase when she was a little girl in New Orleans. The Louisiana Creole housemaid informed Kitty that a waning gibbous was a time to look inward, to reevaluate goals, to be grateful, and to readjust intentions moving forward. "To Céline, introspection, and intentions," Kitty said aloud, shaking her head ruefully as she drank a small sip of the liquor. She regretted her choice and swallowed painfully slow, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back against the wall as the uneasiness ended.

With a heavy sigh, she ran her fingertip along the rim of the drinking glass. Kitty felt like she had done enough self-reflection to last her a lifetime. She couldn't think of any goals to reconsider. She owned a successful business, had a decent sum in the bank, and a roof over her head. She tossed her long hair over her shoulder and let her thoughts drift to her U.S. Marshal. He'd been away for three weeks. He had gone to Hays City for a trial and wound up staying for two judgements. The marshal barely had time to scrub away the trail dust before he had to leave again. Matt hadn't had any time to see her, and she hadn't paid attention to Festus' yammering to know if Matt had to go back to Hays City or go off in some other direction. Either way meant more waiting for him. All she seemed to do was wait – wait for him to return, wait for him to leave, or wait for the next bullet. Kitty shuddered at the thought of the next inevitable injury and tugged the frilly dressing gown tighter around her. She would be grateful when he returned to her.

Kitty sat up straighter at the sound of hooves hitting the dusty earth. Her breath hitched at the sight of him, riding into town hell-for-leather. She noticed the foamy lather of sweat on the American Quarter Horse's buckskin coat. She knew Matt Dillon had her on his mind and bit her lip in anticipation. The redhead settled back, listening to the creak of the stable doors and Matt's firm instructions to Louie Pheeters on how to take care of his horse. She snickered at hearing Louie ask if he was in a hurry to see her. She didn't want to think about how many times Louie saw Matt trudging up and down the rear stairway of the saloon. Kitty scooted closer to the railing and craned her neck in an effort to hear the exchange better.

"I am, Louie," Matt answered the drunkard.

"I won't keep you, Marshal. She's been missing you."

A ghost of a smile settled onto the lawman's handsome face as he turned away from Louie. "I know. I've been missing her too," he whispered and set his eyes on the saloon, hurrying to his destination. He took the stairs two at a time and used his key to unlock the door. Matt stepped inside and breathed in deeply, inhaling the feminine scents of jasmine and roses as he hung up his hat and coat. The marshal shed his gun belt and boots, assuming his redhead would be asleep considering the hour. He padded to her bedroom and furrowed his brow at the sight of the empty bed. "Where the hell?" Matt muttered to himself, observing the open window and contorting his body through the frame.

He grinned like a lovestruck kid at the sight of her. He stood silently and drank in how gorgeous she looked in the moonlight as she stared at him over her shoulder. The loving smile on her face had been what he thought about every night while he was away from her; the other things he thought flushed his cheeks crimson. Matt eased down onto the wooden planks behind her, letting out a contented sigh as she settled against him.

"Welcome home, stranger," she murmured, tilting her head to look at his face and moaning softly as his lips captured hers. His tongue slipped into her mouth, gentle but demanding. She melted into him and placed her hand on his cheek, deepening the kiss until she was breathless. She quivered from the rush and the chill in the September air as his lips brushed along her jaw and throat. He tugged on the silky sash of her emerald green robe. "Matt," she whispered huskily as he slid his palm across her middle to push the material away from her body. "Wait," she pleaded.

He stopped suddenly and looked at her with wide, piercing eyes as his hand rested over the slight swell of her abdomen. She bit into her bottom lip and met his eyes, placing her hand atop of his and nodding her head. Kitty allowed the revelation to wash over him. From experience, she knew he would need a few minutes. She sat up, scooting away from him and offering him the forgotten glass of whiskey.

He took the crystal cut tumbler out of her grasp and downed it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Come here," he drawled hoarsely, tugging on her hand and drawing her into his lap. "How? When?"

She chuckled softly, getting comfortable in his lap and resting her head against his shoulder. "I think you know how, Cowboy. Your birthday," she answered, letting her fingers comb through his dark hair. "I was supposed to be the only one givin' a gift that night."

Matt grinned, remembering the night of his belated birthday celebration with her. He fondly recalled a bottle of champagne and a scant amount of lace. He placed his hand over the swell again and kissed her softly. "Kitty, when will," he wondered until her finger came over his lips to quiet him.

"Late February or close to it," she disclosed with a shrug of her shoulders and knew he was calculating the time in his head. "But Matt…don't," her voice splintered. She didn't want him to get his hopes up like he had in the past. She'd spent the last weeks trying not to get her own hopes up. Kitty felt tears pooling in her eyes and shut them quickly, turning her face into his shoulder and feeling his strong arms wrapping around her to comfort her.

He rubbed her back in slow circles as her tears soaked his vest. "Kitty, it'll be different this time."

She lifted her head and looked at him with watery eyes. "You don't know that, Matt."

"You don't know that it won't," he countered and delicately swiped the tears running down her cheeks. He pressed his lips to her forehead and held her until she settled.

Dr. Galen Adams glanced behind him as his office door came open. His spectacled eyes set on one of the finest ladies he'd ever known. To him, she was glowing and radiant. The lavender dress she'd chosen seemed to set her auburn tresses more aflame and enhance her captivating blue eyes. "Morning, Kitty. You're late," he admonished and continued organizing his well-worn leather medicine bag.

Kitty blanched at his words and glanced down, smoothing the front of her dress. She shook her head at her silliness and closed the door. She cleared her throat. "Late for what?" she asked, nervously adjusting the cameo brooch at the neckline of her dress.

"Breakfast. Our date, remember?"

"Sorry, Doc. I had a late start this morning."

"I saw your late start," he quipped with a sly grin and stepped over to the cabinet for supplies. He assumed Matt had returned sometime in the dead of night. "I'll forgive you this once."

"I appreciate that, Curly," she replied with a soft laugh and sat down at the older man's roll top desk. She browsed over the scattered bits of paper and unopened mail.

Doc closed the cupboard and eyed the redhead for several minutes as she picked up and examined one of his letters. He scrubbed his hand over his mustache and stepped closer to the young woman. He'd recognized a few changes in her behavior that had begun a month or two ago. Doc decided to confirm his suspicions. "How about lunch later? I heard there'll be antelope stew on the menu at Delmonico's. I can't remember the last time I had a good antelope stew. Wouldn't it be wonderful if the new cook gets the root vegetables fork tender and the chunks of antelope aren't too gamey? Remember when the antelope meat tasted like it was still bounding across the prairie? I hate gamey antelope. Don't you, Kitty?" he paused and studied her carefully.

Kitty put down the envelope and felt her stomach churning as the physician rambled about what used to be one of her preferred dishes. Her eyes fluttered as she willed the strength to not lose her breakfast of coffee and toast. She swallowed the bitterness rising in her throat and thrust her hand out, clamping it over Doc Adams' arm. "That's enough. You've found me out, Doc," she declared as the wave of queasiness subsided. She disliked that her aversion to whiskey and antelope stew seemed to be indications to her condition to one of the men in her life. "First morning in weeks that I haven't been too sick, and you talk about," she paused and waved her hand, "that stew."

He wordlessly apologized by patting her hand then broke into an ear-to-ear grin. "By golly, Kitty! It's wonderful. Just wonderful! Have you told Matt?"

She nodded. "I told him last night. Doc, what if I – I lose this one?" she questioned somberly and let her hand fall to the rounding swell. "I can run a saloon, but I can't carry a baby to term."

"Now, just hold it right there," Doc commanded. He sat on the edge of the desk and reached out to take her hand, holding onto her slender fingers. His heart ached at the sight of tears forming in her eyes and threatening to fall. "I'm gonna tell you something," he told her and retrieved a clean handkerchief from his pocket, offering it to her. "I've lived quite a bit longer than you have, Kitty, and I know something to be true. If you think something hard enough and strong enough…you'd be amazed an awful lot of times it turns out just the way you think it will, and the way it ought to. And here's what I mean. We're gonna hold on to the thought that everything's gonna be all right. We're gonna hold onto it - you and me - just as strong as we can until you bring a healthy baby into this world. Is that all right with you?" he asked, squeezing her hand and meeting her eyes.

Kitty stared at him and skillfully dabbed away the tears to not disturb the liner around her eyes. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, composing herself. Maybe she'd already been holding onto the thought since she'd made it further along than she had before. "All right, Doc."

Doc smiled a satisfied smile and patted her hand. He slid off the desk and slipped his hands into his pockets. He stole a look back at her. "Now, maybe you and that man you love will start to act like you're married finally!"

Kitty jerked her head and glared at him. "Doc," she screeched sternly. "You know the arrangement," she hissed. "It's the way it is."

"I do. I do know the arrangement," he griped and shook his head. "That doesn't mean I don't think it's a silly arrangement from time to time. By thunder…if I was married to the prettiest lady in all of Dodge City," he paused and looked at her, "all of the state of Kansas – well, I'd shout it from the rooftops. I'd let everyone know. That's what I'd do," he resolutely finished.

"But you're not a marshal."

"No. I'm not. I'm a doctor," he conceded and focused on Kitty's stunning face, deciding to save the bulk of his indignation for Matt. "If I was twenty years younger, I'd give that marshal the fight of his life for your affections."

Kitty blushed at his compliment and stood to her feet. "I'd be liable to have a tough time decidin' between the two of you," she acknowledged and pecked him on the cheek. "Come to the Long Branch for a drink later. On the house," she added with a wink.

Doc grinned at her and nodded his head, watching her walk to the door. "Kitty," he called to her and waited for her to turn around. "Hold on to that thought."

"I wll, Doc," she spoke with a brilliant smile gracing her features and closed the door behind her.

The marshal stood in front of the saloon's bat wing doors and surveyed the dwindling crowd. He didn't see Kitty on the floor, at the usual table, or behind the bar. He stepped aside as several cowhands exited the establishment and left the bar uninhabited. He strolled in and acknowledged the barkeep turning off the lamps. "Closing early, Sam?"

"Miss Kitty said to," he informed the lawman and returned to behind the bar. "Can I get you anything, Marshal?"

Matt shook his head. "No. Has she been up long?" he inquired.

"Maybe an hour or so. Doc and Festus left shortly after Miss Kitty went up."

Matt looked up to the second floor, wondering about her well-being. He rested his arms on the bar top. "Sam," he hesitated and contemplated his words. He thumped his fingers on the battered wooden bar top and changed his mind. Kitty would have his hide if he told Sam the news. She would want to tell her longtime employee and friend herself.

"Don't worry, Marshal. I always look after Miss Kitty when you're not around."

Matt tipped his hat in appreciation to the bartender and turned, marching to the stairs and climbing up. As he stepped into the living quarters, his eyes adjusted to the low lamp light. Matt crossed the room and dropped onto the sateen damask chaise lounge. He took his tan Stetson off his head and raked his hand through his hair before he shrugged out of his suede vest. He tossed the hat, grinning smugly as it landed on the hook. He eased out of his boots and left them next to Kitty's discarded heeled leather boots. Matt stretched and scrambled to his feet, making his way to the bedroom. He spied her sleeping form on the brass bed and removed his holster. He stopped at the bureau and set it down, avoiding the ornate dish Kitty kept her rings in. It would be the end of him if he broke or even chipped the trinket dish.

"Matt?"

"It's me, honey," he answered her sleep riddled call of his name as he placed his badge into the jewelry tray. The glint of a diamond shifted his attention away from undressing and climbing into bed. The gold band with an oval diamond surrounded by four double-claw prongs and delicate details along with a cluster of marquise diamonds on each side was still as exquisite as the day he bought it in St. Louis. He picked up the ring and remembered how he put it on her finger close to six years ago. He smiled at the memory as her arms circled around his waist.

"Come to bed," she beckoned and unbuckled his belt in one swift movement, pulling it through the loops and dropping it haphazardly onto the floor. Kitty noticed him holding her wedding band. "Regret it?" she teased and untucked his shirt from his pants. If she was honest with herself, she wasn't teasing at all. Kitty wondered if he had second thoughts about their marriage.

Matt caught the tone of her voice and turned to face her. He gazed into her eyes as she looked up at him. "No, Kitty," he returned and took her hand in his, slipping the ring onto her finger. "You regret it?"

"Well," she replied with a lofty sigh and admired her most treasured piece of jewelry, reminiscing on the December evening. She pursed her lips and slipped her arms around his neck. "I regret not getting a proposal." Her laughter filled the room as soon as her husband spoke her name in that certain exasperated way. "You did not propose to me, Matt. You dragged me to Doc's office."

He grunted in frustration and squeezed her hips. "I didn't drag you. I carried you. There was a foot of snow on Front Street."

The redhead smirked and arched a brow at him. "Before I could blink, the vows were being said," she stated and worked on unbuttoning his shirt.

"I didn't plan on giving you time to fuss about it," he defended his actions. "I didn't want you turnin' me down."

"We were husband and wife, and you ran off right after."

He rolled his eyes at her recollection of their nuptials. Matt watched her nimble fingers unfasten the last button. "I did not run off. I made sure the reverend made the train. I came back to kiss ya, Mrs. Dillon."

"Mr. Dillon, I suppose it'll be quite the story to tell our grandchildren someday," she mused.

Matt grinned down at her. "Yeah, it will," he agreed, face falling as soon as he realized her mood took a sudden, unexpected downturn. Her sadness clung to him and overwhelmed him. "What's the matter?"

Kitty sucked in a breath and ducked her head, pressing her forehead into the middle of his broad chest and holding onto him tighter. She hid her face in the cotton of his long-sleeved shirt.

"Honey," he coaxed and stroked his hand down the length of her hair. "What is it? Kathleen, look at me and talk to me."

"Matt, we'd have a five-year-old," she murmured sadly, raising her head and meeting his concerned eyes. Kitty couldn't ask the question she wanted and sank her teeth into her bottom lip.

He brushed his hand against her cheek and searched her eyes. He could falter in reading his wife but not often. "Kitty, I didn't marry you for that reason. It was one of 'em though." Matt released a hefty sigh when she pulled out of his embrace and stood by the window. He shifted his stance and silently watched the woman he loved, taking steps and closing the distance between them as she wrapped her arms around herself. He hated that she doubted his motivation for taking her as his wife.

"Do you remember the first Ford County Sociable I took you to?"

"The onlyFord County Sociable you took me to," she needled and kept her back to him. She couldn't determine what a dance had to do with his decision to wed her.

Matt ignored her remark and hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. He kept his eyes fixed on her, the woman that made him want things in life he'd never wanted before. "We left the dance early and went to the creek. We talked until sunrise. You told me things you'd never told anyone, and I told you things I'd never told another soul."

She remembered. She told him about her life before knowing him – her gambler father leaving when she was a few months old, her mother's untimely death, her adolescence being dependent on the kindness of strangers or surviving by other means. She shared her dream of buying half interest in the saloon and how maybe one day she would own it outright. She wanted to make something of herself but do it all on her own. He'd shared his own stories – his childhood, his wild days of roaming close to the border and in between, and sowing his oats until he found himself with a badge pinned to his shirt and upholding the oath to the best of his abilities. His strong hands resting on her shoulders broke her thoughts.

"I made up my mind after I escorted you home. You were the one for me, Kitty. I wanted you for the rest of my life, but I didn't know if you'd have me because of the badge. You had dreams you wanted to make come true on your own. I know how much it meant to you to be your own woman, and I didn't want to be in the way of that."

Kitty twisted her body towards him, glancing at him through her lashes. "Matt," she stammered, teary-eyed and overcome at his confession.

"I had to travel to St. Louis at the end of that week. I had a little time on my hands. I explored the city. I passed by a jewelry store and that ring," he stopped briefly to glimpse at the diamond, "caught my eye."

Her breath caught in her throat as realization flowed over her. He had purchased the ring and held onto it for a whole three years. "Oh, Matt," she uttered as he bent his head down to kiss her, soft and slow steadily intensifying his attentions until he was certain the kiss conveyed his love and commitment.

Author's Note: Well, I've completed my first chaptered Gunsmoke fanfiction. I'm not new to fanfiction, but I am new to writing about our favorite U.S. Marshal and saloon proprietor. Be gentle with me, please. I have to credit the writers of S11.E12, The Hostage, since I borrowed lines from that episode. I owe thanks a thousand times over to AZgirl66. She's been my sounding board, proofreader, and encourager.