She let herself into his room on The Seraphine's second floor. Kitty slipped her hands behind her back, resting against the wooden door, inhaling the woody, citrus notes of his shaving cream. His conker-brown leather travel bag, a gift from her, sat on the foot of the bed.

He blotted the residual thick lather from his suntanned skin and momentarily glanced at her. "Kitty, I'm sorry for...I didn't mean to hurt you," he uttered, looking away as his guilt for his inexcusable behavior overcame him.

Kitty put her hand up. "I know. Matt, you weren't yourself." She eased down onto the full-size mattress, folding her hands in her lap. "You still wanna know who Henri Broussard is?" she asked, twisting her ring around her finger. "He hasn't been in my bed, Matt, and I haven't been in his. He's taken me to dinner a handful of times."

"How do you know him?"

"I knew him when I was a girl. Matt, he was my first," she revealed in a quiet voice, looking up at the sound of the razor falling into the wash basin, meeting his perplexed expression in the mirror.

"Kitty, you told me Cole Yankton was."

"I told you Cole was the first grown man. Henri was just turning seventeen when we," she trailed off, knowing he hated to think of the men she'd intimately known before him. "I suppose I loved Henri then, but I was too young to know what love really was. He gave me the money to get away from Panacea. I planned on goin' to San Francisco, but I met Cole along the way. You know the rest."

He buried his face into the cotton wash rag, wiping the lather from his face. Matt couldn't rub off the unease he felt from her telling him how she knew the Frenchman. She had never mentioned him before. He hadn't been bothered by her past dalliance with Ad Bellum, but Henri Broussard wining and dining his woman had him nettled. "Kitty, he was your first—"

"Matt, let's not talk about Henri. I came here to talk about us."

Matt tossed the cloth aside and turned around, gesturing for her to speak.

"I knew how things had to be with us, and it was all right."

"Until it wasn't."

"I can't see you lying in the street with a bullet in you again. I've died a little each time Doc's taken a bullet outta you. I know what that badge means to you," she murmured. "I thought that someday things would change. Matt, we're not gettin' any younger." Kitty looked at him, brushing away the tears on her cheek.

"Kitty, what do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me you'll give me everything I've wanted over the years. I'll go back to Dodge with you if say that."

"I can't."

"Tell me, Matt, please," she begged. She considered telling him she was with child, but she wasn't ready. She didn't want to force his hand unless she absolutely had to. Kitty wanted him to choose her of his own free will.

"You know how I feel, but, Kitty, I can't give you what you want. I got a job, and I got to do it," he told her. He didn't know how many times he'd said that phrase to her through the years. He watched tears glisten in her azure eyes. Her auburn head sorrowfully dipped. He swallowed the emotion rising in his throat. "You have a man that wants to marry you. Marry him, Kitty. He can give you everything you want."

Her sobs filled his ears and broke him into pieces. He took his hat off the coatrack, placing it onto his head. His fingers clutched the doorknob, and he walked out of his room. He had a train ticket to buy.

He hesitated outside the door, sounds of her retching hitting his ears. Matt fought the urge to go to her, to take her in his arms, and to tell her he could give her all she wanted. He'd never lied to her, and he wouldn't start now. He tugged his Stetson down low, hiding the tears stinging his eyes.

Kitty took pride in her ability to be a strong woman in the world. She had always been able to present a strong façade. Panacea Sykes had taught her how to master the art of smokescreens. She'd learned that lesson better than the ones of always having a starched petticoat and carrying a clean linen handkerchief.

As he looked upon her with those brown eyes that reminded her of the earth after a gentle rain, she felt herself crumbling on a darkened balcony of a watering hole in the French Quarter. There was something about the man that made her bare her soul. She didn't have to hide from Henri Broussard. She was threadbare and vulnerable, chest cracked open and heart bleeding from the man that regrettably still had a firm grasp on her.

"Kathleen," he whispered.

She didn't mind him using her given name. She liked the way it rolled off his tongue, slow like molasses and sweet like marmalade.

"You haven't asked me."

"What?" Her brows wrinkled. Her head fizzed from the two Sazerac cocktails she'd consumed.

He leaned in and put his lips close to her ear, whispering, "You haven't asked anything of me. You never have, Chérie, but ask me. Ask me if I'm the man that will do what Matt Dillon won't," he dared, trailing his fingers up her arm.

His warm breath made her earring dance against her neck and sent a shiver up her spine. His scent of tobacco and vanilla dazed her senses. She closed her eyes, trying to regain control of herself. "I can't."

"Why can't you, Kathleen?" He took her hand in his and caressed her palm with his finger. "I'm the man that will do what he won't."

"Henri, I need more time," she insisted in a hushed tone.

"I want to show you that a man will do anything for the woman he wants to be with, Chérie. I've always wanted you."

For a moment, she believed her heart stopped beating.

He stepped closer to her, not leaving an inch of space between them. "I'll give you time. I've waited a lifetime for you. I won't push."

"Like hell you're not pushin'," Kitty murmured, touching the olive skin of his cheek, placing her lips against his.

His lips parted under hers, warm and inviting. He deepened the kiss, intending to make her forget her heartache.

She focused on the gentle, alluring pleasure growing more powerful the longer the kiss went on. Kitty pulled back, breathless and shaken. She ran her tongue along his lower lip, pulling on it slightly before releasing it and recapturing his mouth.

Henri Broussard tasted of bourbon, cinnamon, and promise.

A whiff of cheroot smoke burned her nostrils. She closed her eyes, breathing in and out slowly to subdue her queasiness.

Travelers rushed by her. A train whistle blew. Her eyes scanned the crowd. He stood out like a sore thumb.

He smelled her perfume, strong and robust yet delicate like her. Matt turned, stepping in front of her. He knew it was goodbye. His head bowed as he cupped her jaw and smoothed the rough pad of his thumb over her soft cheek. He stared at her lacquer covered lips and voicelessly asked for permission, closure to their shared years.

Kitty sunk into the pools of blue, staring into the eyes that could either drown her or save her. She yielded against her better judgement. She always did when it came to what he wanted. He lowered his head. Her quivering breath warmed his cheek. He kissed her gently, tasting, savoring, and committing the essence of her to his memory.

She broke the kiss, pressing her nose against his while catching her breath. "It's hard to throw away fifteen years. I love you, Matt. I don't think any woman has ever loved a man like I've loved you," she whispered. "Tell me," she implored one final time. "Tell me not to marry Henri Broussard. Tell me you'll give me what I want. Stay here with me, Matt, please…I'm begging you."

He solemnly shook his head.

"Matt, I'm—"

Her announcement died on her tongue as she searched his eyes, hardened and unfeeling. Kitty dropped her head, searching for courage as she chewed her lip. She raised her head, locking her blue eyes onto his. "I have to tell you somethin', Matt."

He sighed heavily and hooked his thumbs into his belt, hovering over her. "There's nothing you can say to make me stay here, Kitty."

"Listen to me a minute, please."

"Honey, I think you've said it all. I've got to go back to Dodge."

She licked her lips and tasted the salt of her tears rolling down her face. Her hand unconsciously drifted, resting over her abdomen. "Dammit, Matt. Please, listen to me."

"Kitty, you've known all along what it meant to be with me. I can't give you more than I have," he confessed. "What one man won't do, another will." His voice was deeper than normal, thick and coarse. He could have sworn he heard her heart shatter.

She tilted her head, gazing up at him. Henri's words coursed through her mind. She drew in a strengthening breath, setting her shoulders and pursing her lips with resolve. "You're right, Matt. I'm not asking too much. I've just been asking the wrong man."

Matt's long legs stretched onto the padded seat. He drowned out the mindless chatter of the train's passengers. He tipped his Stetson down over his eyes, thinking of her.

He'd been the bad guy. He'd taken the black eye. He'd been the son of a bitch. He'd pushed her into another man's arms. His payment for the dozens of sacrifices she'd made loving him.

She didn't realize it was what she'd needed from him.

He'd done it, so she wouldn't have to love him anymore.