This chapter is almost all flashback. Sorry, not sorry. xp

Fall, 1863

Wyatt tried to act nonchalant about driving the buckboard into Pella for a new ploughshare. True, he had to take James along, but it was finally a real errand involving the wagon, and he got to drive - provided he didn't do anything to make James think he needed to take over. It was sort of nice having James along anyway. This was the first time James had shown much interest in going to town since he was wounded.

Wyatt worried a little about his brother's arm. They said he came close to losing it and might never have the full use of it again. He tried not to let his worry show in front of the younger kids. Or in front of James. His elder brother needed the luxury of believing that Wyatt didn't understand the gravity of his wound either.

They made it to town without any major incident. Wyatt smiled a little to himself as he hopped down and tied off the reins. James didn't even say anything critical once they arrived (he had had a few things to say along the way about Wyatt depending on the reins too much instead of using his voice). They headed right into the store.

There, Wyatt let his brother take the lead. James wasn't the most talkative Earp at this point, but he was older, and the store owner would respect him more.

While he waited, Wyatt noticed a boy with strawberry blond hair. One with eyes staring intently in his direction. More a young man than a boy, he decided. The young man wore an apron, so he must be a clerk or the owner's son. Wondering what the staring was about, Wyatt walked right up to him.

"Hi."

"Hi," the young man answered, looking a little nervous. "I don't remember seeing you here before."

"I've been in before with my pa," Wyatt said. "I'm an Earp. We have a farm northeast of here."

"Right. I'm Lewis."

"Wyatt." Wyatt put out his hand and they shook. Lewis had a firm handshake. So did Wyatt.

"Wanna see something?" Lewis asked abruptly. He let go of Wyatt's hand a little slowly. Their fingers rubbed each other's palms a bit.

Wyatt looked back toward James, who was still talking with the owner, and didn't look like he'd be done for a while. "Sure."

Lewis led Wyatt through a door behind the counter and along a hallway. "Wait here," he said.

Wyatt waited while Lewis ducked through a door and returned a moment later with a .22 rifle. Its dark barrel glinted in the light from the hall lamps.

"My pa got me this for my birthday," Lewis said proudly. "It's a Winchester long. You can hold it."

Duly impressed, Wyatt held out his hands to receive the rifle. Lewis's fingers brushed against his again; they were neither soft nor rough. Wyatt ran a hand along the satiny gunstock and then fitted his hand around the grip, resting his finger on the trigger.

"Try sighting it," Lewis urged. "It's not loaded. I haven't even fired it yet."

Wyatt lifted the butt of the rifle to his shoulder and sighted along the barrel. It felt good. Such a smooth, pretty object - and so hard and deadly at the same time. It was a thing of beauty.

He felt Lewis's hand on his arm, lifting a little, adjusting. "Make sure it's not against your collarbone," he said softly, resting his hand on Wyatt's shoulder and nudging the gun butt down slightly. "Otherwise, the kick will give you a heck of a bruise."

"Right..." Wyatt knew that already. He looked up to say something to that effect. Lewis's face was inches from his own.

Never before had Wyatt gotten so familiar with someone older than him so quickly. Lewis was interesting. Exciting. He was pleasant to look at, too, with light brown eyes in his well-proportioned face. The fuzz of a premature mustache graced his upper lip. Wyatt felt a strange desire to touch this young man. A hope that Lewis would not remove his hand from Wyatt's shoulder.

"I'm going to try it on rabbits," Lewis said, not breaking eye contact. "After I practice up. I sure would like someone to come along with me."

Wyatt opened his mouth to answer, but he heard footsteps behind him. He and Lewis turned toward the sound to see James coming toward them. Wyatt unconsciously stepped back from Lewis.

"We're leaving," James said simply. "Give the boy back his gun."

A little sheepish for reasons he didn't understand, Wyatt handed back the .22. "Thanks for showing me," he said in a low voice.

"Sure thing," Lewis answered. "Let me know if you can come hunting sometime."

"All right."

"He's got responsibilities on our farm," James said. "He won't have time for things like that. Have a good day." With that, he clamped his good hand down on Wyatt's shoulder and steered him back to the front of the store.

"Hey, let go of me," Wyatt said, wriggling out of James's grasp.

James didn't try to renew his grip. He nodded to the store owner and led the way outside. The new ploughshare was loaded in the buckboard already.

Wyatt started for the side of the wagon where he had tied up the reins, but James beat him to it, gathering up the reins himself.

"What's wrong?" Wyatt asked. "Aren't you going to let me drive back?"

"Maybe later. I want to talk to you."

Wyatt fell silent and waited while James got the team turned onto the road. His brother had sounded serious, but Wyatt didn't think he had done anything wrong.

When they got out onto the track that would take them back to the farm, James said, "Have you taken an interest in any girls here in town while I was gone?"

It seemed like something meant to distract him from the real topic, and Wyatt felt impatient. "Not really."

"But you like girls? Think they're pretty?"

"Sure, I guess so. So what?"

"Want to get married some day?"

"Some day. What's this about?"

James took his time answering. His left arm wasn't strong enough to hold up the reins, so he rested it on his leg. Wyatt longed to take the reins from him, but he wouldn't do his brother such an indignity.

At last, James spoke again. "When I was in the infantry, I saw a lot of things... things you couldn't imagine."

Wyatt forgot about everything else. James hadn't talked about the war at all, especially not anything he'd seen. Their mother had forbidden the younger children from asking him about it. He waited anxiously for whatever came next.

"A lot of the men were pining for their girls, their wives. Some of them couldn't seem to wait to get back to them, and they'd find someone nearer at hand to get friendly with. But the women were few and far between. Sometimes the boys would joke about getting themselves wounded so some pretty nurse would take care of them. But anyway, some of them reckoned it wasn't fair to their wife or sweetheart for them to give affection to another woman while they were far from home. Some stayed faithful through self-discipline. Others turned to each other for relief." He swallowed and watched the team plodding along for a while.

Wyatt wasn't sure exactly what James was saying, but he was fascinated and remained silent.

"Even in absence of a war or a similar situation, some men will seek out that sort of attention from other men. Some even go so far as to act like a woman for their male friends. I believe that's the sort the Bible calls 'effeminate.'"

Wyatt vaguely remembered hearing the term. James was probably right. He looked away from his brother's face, feeling a little embarrassed.

"From what I've seen, it's a practice that leads to more of the same, and once a fellow's caught up in it, he can't seem to shake loose of it. That's why I think it's very important to guard yourself against that sort of thing. Do you understand?"

Wyatt cleared his throat and tried to make his voice sound relaxed. "Sure."

"So... how long have you known that boy at the general store?"

"Huh?" Wyatt had forgotten all about the incident. A little stunned, he stammered, "Oh, I'm not sure I ever saw him before today."

"He seemed awfully friendly with you."

Realization hit Wyatt and his face flushed hot. "Aw, hell, Jim! he's not one of those effeminates." He wasn't sure whether or not that was true, but he certainly didn't want James thinking so.

"You watch your mouth," James snapped. "You're not old enough to curse. Now, look - maybe I'm wrong about that boy. I hope I am. But to be safe, I don't think you should associate with him."

"That's ridiculous! He was just showing me his gun. He got a brand-new Winchester twenty-two for his birthday. If I had a gun like that, I'd want to show it to everyone!"

"Would you invite a stranger to go hunting with you?"

"I might if I didn't have brothers. Or if my older brothers were off at the war."

James eyed him askance. "I just think it's best if you keep your distance. If you say that you will, I'll talk to Pa about getting you a new gun."

Wyatt still thought the whole thing ridiculous - at least, he hoped it was - but the suggestion that he might get a shiny new gun of his own was a great temptation. "Well... I don't know. You were kind of rude to him, and maybe all he wanted was to be friends."

"It's a fair-sized town. I'm sure he has other friends. Do we have a deal or what?"

"I guess so," Wyatt said with a sigh. "But I still say you're wrong."

"And I still say, better safe than sorry. I'm your elder brother, and I reckon I know what's good for you." James held out the righthand reins to him.

Wyatt took the reins and waited while James gathered the other set from his left hand in his right and passed them over, too. He started to relax a little, now that James was letting him drive again. And the prospect of the new gun stayed near the forefront of his mind. Still... he wondered what would have happened if James hadn't interrupted him and Lewis.

July, 1878

Wyatt saw Doc some little way ahead, perched on his horse and sipping something - probably whiskey - from a flask. He cut the figure of a gentleman brought low by the vice of the lawless West. As they drew closer, Doc wheeled his horse onward, keeping a perfect, upright posture in the saddle, even posting to the quick trot, something Wyatt hadn't seen often among the citizens of Dodge.

Damn, he looks good.

"What are you thinking about?" asked James.

Wyatt realized he was smirking. "Oh..." He glanced at his brother and let his smirk stretch a little wider. "Mattie."

James smiled. "Got it pretty bad for her, huh? Going to call her Missus soon?"

"Maybe." Wyatt looked ahead at Doc again. "We'll see."

I feel like this chapter could have been a one-shot.

Note: The Winchester long .22 rifle is a real gun. I don't know much about them... just used my Googling skills. xD

For those interested in horsemanship: In English riding, knowing how to "post a trot" is essential. Basically, you stand slightly in the stirrups every other stride to prevent bouncing up and down on the saddle. In western riding, horses with a smoother trot are much preferred, because it makes posting unnecessary (and is just more comfortable). Posting is optional in western riding, though if the horse has a rough trot, it can be difficult to "sit." Doc is from the old South, and the east coast at that, so he would likely have learned English, or the "saddle seat" style developed on southern plantations before adjusting to a western saddle. Look up a video of saddle seat riding. You won't be sorry for spending two minutes imagining it's Doc on the horse. xD