6th story, Two Wolves by sablecain
Title: Two Wolves
Fandom: Magnificent Seven
Author: sablecain
Artist: bookaddict43
Disclaimer: The mag7 belong to Mirish, MGM, Trilogy and all those big names. No copyright infringement intended
Character/Pairing: Ezra Standish
Rating: PG-13 for violence and language
Warnings: violence and language
Summary: sequel to ‘The Samaritan’s Choice’-someone’s out for revenge and Ezra is their target
Authors Notes: Very deep thanks go to NotTasha for her willingness to beta for me. She rocks.
He jerked with each blow. Swaying from the branch they’d tied him to. His wrists were slick and numb where the rope cut into them. His shoulder excruciating as each movement wrenched it awkwardly, bone grinding against bone. His leg burned and throbbed in time with his racing heart.
There were questions, demands that he didn’t have the strength to answer and details that he wouldn’t share even if he did.
Then he was falling. Screaming as he hit the ground hard. Someone kicked him and before he could recover, the strap wrapped around his neck. He struggled against it, but it was cinched tight, choking him, cutting off his air, pulling his head up from the dirt, straining his neck even as someone planted a foot between his shoulder blades and held the rest of his torso in place.
He gasped for breath, but the belt tightened. Something hard bit the back of his neck. His vision dimmed. He heard the angry voice yelling at him to answer, but he had no voice.
No air.
No sight.
He was going to die.
Ezra jerked awake with a huge gasp for breath, pushing himself up and out of the bed. Outside, thunder rocked the night, so close and so loud the floor shook beneath his bare feet.
It was a dream.
Just a dream.
He tried to calm himself, jumping as another boom of thunder rattled the windows.
It wasn’t a dream, reality reminded him as his thigh throbbed and his shoulder cramped achingly. It was a memory.
Shakily, Standish felt his way across his room to the rocking chair beside the window. Lightning split the sky and illuminated the small room for a second, providing reassurance that he wasn’t going to run into anything. He picked up a quilt, a gift left for him by Mrs. Potter and wrapped it around his bare torso. Comforted by its warmth, he sat in the chair and watched as the storm opened up a deluge on the sleeping town.
It’d been almost a month since the attack outside of Bainbridge. His wounds were mostly healed. His wrists bore only fine, fading scars. His thigh only pained him if he spent much time on his feet or in one position, but his shoulder ached continually, especially when it rained.
Reaching up with his good arm, Ezra gently massaged the strained, abused joint still trying to chase away the fear left over from the dream…the flashback.
Lightning crackled again, followed by a rumbling crash.
Outside, he saw movement and watched as Vin darted through the downpour. Tanner’s wagon wasn’t water tight. Not for rain this hard. Ezra wondered if the tracker would seek shelter in the jailhouse where JD was on duty for the night.
Wincing, Ezra squeezed a particularly tender spot on his shoulder. He’d never told the others the details of his attack. He’d claimed not to remember all of it. Recognizing Tom Wyler and knowing that his attackers had been after the land deeds, that’d been enough to stop any other questions. He couldn’t find the words to tell them anything more. They knew enough, almost everything.
They knew about him being strung up and beaten. They knew about the belt. It was the little things he hadn’t shared. The way Wyler had placed the gun to his head and pulled the trigger, laughing when the chamber echoed emptily. Or the fact that they’d dragged him by the neck, forcing him to scramble on his dislocated shoulder and wounded leg before they’d stomped on his back, holding him down while they’d simultaneously pulled his neck up, virtually hanging him as he lay in the dirt, broken and bleeding.
There was no way Ezra could share it all. No way he could ever tell the other six men he respected and fought beside, how very helpless he’d felt in those moments. How he had been so resigned to die.
He had been ready to give up, to let go. He’d prayed for it to end. He’d been ready and willing to run out on all of them.
Shame and fear ate at him now to remember the pain, terror and desolation. His weakness. It wormed into his mind and nagged at him, drawing him into a melancholy hopelessness he couldn’t seem to shake.
As the rain continued and the thunder and lightning fought, Ezra battled his own demons of fear and anger. Whoever was behind his attack was still out there somewhere in the night. Larabee suspected Guy Royal, but there was no proof. Standish knew that Wyler had had a contact back here in Four Corners. He wondered still if he was a target. A loose end waiting to be tied up and finished off.
Fear clinched at him and Ezra pulled the quilt tighter around his trembling frame. If he could, he’d never leave his room again, but he knew that wouldn’t work. None of his fellow peacekeepers would leave him be if he even tried that plan of action.
Instead, in the morning, he’d paste on a smile and take a seat downstairs. He’d force himself to eat breakfast, to avoid unwanted inquiries over his health and to go through the motions of living while the past haunted every moment of his days and nights.
Weary and overwhelmed with a depression he couldn’t fight, Ezra stayed in the motionless rocking chair and watched the storm rage outside even as it raged within.
Ezra eyed himself carefully in the mirror, making sure his green jacket set squarely and was buttoned correctly. Other than the dark circles beneath bloodshot eyes, and hair that was a little too long for a gentleman, he looked normal.
His room was dim in the gray morning light. Rain continued to fall outside, thundered continued to rumble. He hadn’t bothered to light a lamp as he got ready for the day. He didn’t want to see the scarce furnishings or be reminded that he was still trying to replace items destroyed when his room had been ransacked. He reached out and ran gentle fingers over the waxy carved surface of the jade ball he’d won before the attack, tracing the detailed dragon’s tail. His fingers trembled slightly and he paused, squeezing his hand into a tight fist and relaxing again, pleased to see he’d regained some control. Quickly, he put on his gun belt, suppressing shiver when he touched the cold metal of the of the buckle. One more deep breath and he was ready to head downstairs.
Because of the rain, the saloon was packed. Many of the new settlers were still in town, stocking up on supplies and preparing before heading out to their new homesteads. Though Ezra had protected the land deeds it’d taken time to sort out the deeds and get them to their proper owners. Judge Travis was being meticulous about the process and it had dragged the procedure out by days. Most of the newcomers were still clearing their land and living in town until that part of the task was completed. A small ‘wagon village’ had been set up on the south side of the burg where the settlers had circled their wagons.
This morning, as Ezra made his way carefully down the stairs, it seemed as if there were a couple of hundred people crammed into the place. Ezra knew that was impossible, but for the first time in a very long time, Ezra was antsy and nervous in the crowd instead of ready to embrace it.
“Morning Ezra!” Buck’s boisterous greeting sounded over the other noisy patrons. Ezra forced a smile.
“Good Morning, Mr. Wilmington. Mr. Sanchez.”
Buck nodded over his plate, waving his fork in the air and talking with his mouthful. “Grab an order from Inez while she’s still got food.”
“I’m fine thank you.” Ezra pulled out a chair and sat beside Josiah who was busy devouring his own meal.
A cup of steaming tea and a plate of toast were set in front of him and he looked up in surprise to see Inez smile as she moved away through the crowd.
Buck stared at Ezra and then at Inez a moment before attacking his eggs with even more gusto. “Crazy storm we’re having.”
“Yes,” Ezra sipped his tea, his eyes scanning the room of strangers for familiar faces.
“Keep you awake last night?” Josiah questioned casually, but when Ezra glanced at the preacher he read the concern in the man’s eyes.
“It interrupted my slumber a couple of times,” Ezra admitted.
“Damn near knocked me out a bed.” Buck shook his head.
“Even drove Vin inside.” Josiah waved his fork.
Standish picked at his toast, not hungry but feeling Josiah’s scrutiny.
The batwing doors clamored back and forth as Chris and Vin entered. Weaving through the people, Chris frowned before he found an empty chair and pulled it over to the table where Ezra and the others sat. Vin followed suit.
Rain dripped from both men as they shucked their hats off and rubbed cold hands together for warmth.
“Ain’t fit out there,” Vin complained snagging a biscuit from Buck’s plate.
“Miserable,” Ezra agreed.
“Too many people in here.” Tanner glanced around the room.
“You think there’s gonna be trouble?” Buck asked, taking a look around for himself.
“No sense borrowing any.” Josiah leaned back as one of the girl’s Inez had taken on while the settlers were in town set full plates in front of Chris and Vin. She blushed at Vin’s quiet Thank you and hurried away.
“Nathan’s already got him a couple of patients this morning,” Chris told them. “Couple of hands fighting over something stupid. Knocked each other around good.”
“That’s been happening at least once a day since they all got here,” Buck acknowledged, refocusing on his food yet again.
Ezra drifted as he listened to the other’s talk. He knew JD had probably gone on to bed after a night on patrol. Buck would be heading out after breakfast if Chris pushed it, but usually when the weather was this disagreeable, they stayed in unless trouble called them out.
His eyes danced around the room again as he took another sip of tea. He inhaled sharply as his heart suddenly raced. At the far table…that face. God. He knew that face.
“Ezra? You okay?”
He didn’t hear Josiah’s question. Didn’t realize his hand had started shaking so badly that Sanchez had gently reached over and taken the cup out of his hand.
“Ezra?” It was Vin’s voice that pulled him back. Somehow Ezra forced himself to look at the tracker.
“What is it?” Chris questioned.
“It’s him.” Ezra hear the fear in his own voice.
“Who?”
“Tom Wyler.”
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Chuck Miller sat at a crowded table sipping his coffee casually as he watched for his target. Around him, the din of noise rose and fell. Low murmurs of conversation, metal forks scratching against metal plates. Chairs scrapping the floors, all the while the wind and rain howled with the thunder outside. He ignored it all and focused on what he was there for…revenge.
It’d been nearly a month since he’d lost Tom. It’d taken two days for the news of Tom’s death to reach him and by the time he’d reached Bainbridge, his brother had been buried, his reputation ruined, labeled as an outlaw.
Anger fueled Chuck’s grief, driving him out of town before anyone there recognized him or lumped him in with his brother’s crimes. Not that he hadn’t been involved. They had always been a team. Tom’s job protected them from suspicion while Chuck kept a low profile in nearby townships. Chuck had just borrowed his mother’s maiden name so that they weren’t immediately connected. It’d always worked perfectly for them, especially when he was hiding in Four Corners during this last job.
Their plan. It would have worked if not for that damned tight lipped southerner and his fellow peacekeepers. Now it was time to have some fun with the bastard before he tore him apart.
Chuck knew he looked a lot like his older brother. When they’d been little, folks had often mistaken them for twins despite the three year age difference. It was one of the reasons he’d had to clear out of Bainbridge as soon as he’d found out Tom had been buried already. Sticking around would have raised questions once people really took the time to look at him.
He saw movement at the top of the saloon’s staircase and smiled behind his mug. There he was.
Chuck felt like a hunter watching his prey. He enjoyed seeing the stiffness visible as Standish slowly descended the stairs. He could see the shadows under those green eyes and for a moment he even caught a glimpse of the man’s insecurity. Ezra Standish had not yet recovered from his attack, Miller could see that plain as day and he intended to use every weakness against the man.
It didn’t matter to him that Vin Tanner was the man who’d actually pulled the trigger. All that mattered to Chuck was that Standish had been at the center of it all. The defiant, arrogant bastard could have just handed over the land deed and walked away but he hadn’t and now Chuck intended to make the man pay dearly for his choice.
He watched Standish settle in at the table, greeting his fellow peacekeepers and accepting the measly meal offered by the pretty barmaid. The Southerner was skittish as a wild mustang about to be saddled. It surprised Chuck a bit that none of the men presumably close to the gambler seemed to notice the man’s unease.
Miller looked up at the entrance of Larabee and Tanner watching carefully as both scanned the room’s occupants and then headed for the same table as the others. Neither man seemed to notice him. Then again, he was an expert at blending in to his surroundings. Tom had always been the attention seeker, ready and willing to thrust himself into the public eye. Chuck continued to remain content behind the scenes and because of that, he knew now, that his plan to bring down Standish and Tanner would work perfectly.
Thunder rolled outside, shaking the building as Chuck slowly lowered his mug of coffee. He tipped his hat back from his face, allowing his features to be visible even in the saloon’s pale light, and fixed his stare on Standish. He knew it wouldn’t take long and was rewarded not two minutes later when Standish’s wide green eyes met his.
Chuck tipped his head to the side and grinned, knowing that his smile was a mirror of his brother’s. His grin broadened as the color melted out of the gambler’s face and his hands visibly trembled.
Waiting only a second more, Chuck ducked his head and moved swiftly out of his seat, sliding behind a group of three men who’d just stood up to leave. He kept himself well hidden as the men at Standish’s table began to react and was outside before any of them caught sight of him. It had begun.
“Ezra,” Vin leaned close to Standish. “Wyler’s dead.”
Ezra shook his head, his gaze still fixed across the room. “He’s there.” He started to point, but his hand shook so badly he grasped at the table in a frantic effort to still it.
As a group, they heard his derringer rig engage.
Josiah was fast, grabbing Ezra’s wrist before the southerner had an opportunity to raise his weapon. Buck gently pried the gun from Ezra’s white knuckled grip. “He’s not here, Hoss.”
Chris was looking across the room, but the crowd of strangers showed no sign of anyone even resembling Tom Wyler.
“Ezra.”
It must have been his tone because Standish suddenly inhaled sharply. His eyes danced frantically around the room before briefly meeting Chris’.
“Tom Wyler’s dead,” Larabee calmly repeated Vin’s earlier statement.
Standish shivered once before pulling his mask of control back into place. “Of course, gentle men.” He pulled away from Josiah and took his derringer from Buck, slipping it into his pocket as he rose from the table. “My apologies.”
He was to the door before any of the men at the table recovered enough to follow. Vin was first to move, waving the others to stay. “Let me talk to him.”
He found Ezra just outside the saloon, standing on the walkway looking lost. Rain water poured off the overhang, creating a roaring curtain of water.
“Do you think I’m addled?” Ezra’s voice was low and fearful.
Vin grinned. “No more than any other day.”
Ezra huffed a laugh, smiling weakly as Tanner hoped he would. “I swear he was just sitting there, grinning at me over a cup of coffee.”
Vin didn’t say anything for a moment. Maybe he should have let Josiah handle this and yet…he’d seen the shadows in Ezra’s eyes. He knew that underneath the usual act of confidence, Standish had not moved past what had happened back in Bainbridge. “Having nightmares?”
Ezra looked away, reaching out and letting the cascade of water run over his hand.
Tanner watched the water coat pale, shaking fingers. “They’ll fade,” he said finally.
“Promise?”
The vulnerability of Ezra’s whispered plea tore at Vin, revealing just how much Standish was hiding. Before Vin could answer they heard a shout and both men looked up to see JD splashing through the rain and running across the muddy street.
“Did y’all hear?” he asked, splashing them both as he jumped through the runoff and shook himself off.
“Hear what?” Tanner wiped the water JD had splashed from his face.
“One of the new settlers lost their place to fire last night.” JD gasped out the words excited by the latest activity.
“In this?” Ezra questioned motioning to the downpour.
“Lightning hit?” Vin proposed.
JD shook his head, sending rain water spraying again. Both Tanner and Standish stepped back but couldn’t avoid another shower. “They don’t know yet. Only had the framing for the home up so far. They might have lost the whole lot if the rain hadn’t come.”
JD looked from one to the other. “Everything okay here?” he asked suspiciously.
“Well enough, Mr. Dunne.”
JD seemed to take Ezra’s response at his word, nodding once. “Chris inside?”
“Yup.” Vin nodded.
“Gonna tell him about the fire and get something to eat. Dang, I’m cold.”
Dunne was still talking as he entered the saloon, leaving Ezra and Vin alone again. Ezra shifted uncomfortably under Vin’s intense gaze.
“I assure you, I am fine.”
Vin held up a hand, cutting off Ezra’s statement. “You decide you need someone to listen, you know where to find me.” He patted Ezra’s arm lightly and followed JD back into the saloon.
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It was noon before the storm moved on and the rain tapered off, leaving a wet , muddy mess behind. Chris decided they needed to check out the burned settlement and took Vin and Ezra with him.
“You sure you should take Ez?” Buck had questioned quietly before they’d ridden out.
Chris had merely glared. “Better to keep an eye on him. I need the rest of you to keep order here.”
Word of the fire was spreading through town quickly and settlers were obviously agitated at the news. It was hard enough having so many extra people in town, adding worry and fear to the mix only upped the need for a strong sense of order. Chris hoped that the Seven of them could pull it off.
They rode in silence, carefully steering their mounts along the rutted muddy path. The air was cool but comfortable.
Chris caught Vin shooting the occasional concerned glance at Ezra but for his part, the Southerner appeared content and calm.
“Any theories?” Chris asked, directing his question at both of the men.
They were passing another homestead currently under construction. The family obviously living out of the two covered wagons set up under two large trees. Lumber was piled high beside a half finished frame for a small home. Two small children splashed in fresh puddles while their mother struggled to keep a weak campfire going.
The children spotted the peacekeepers and stopped their play to start at the strangers passing by. Their sudden quiet alerted their mother. She abandoned the struggling flames and took three steps closer to her children, placing herself between them and the mounted men.
Ezra tipped his hat and the lady’s face lit with recognition. She smiled, her posture relaxing and raised her hand in a small wave. The children, following her cue, waved exuberantly.
Vin chuckled and waved back. “Could have been lightning,” he offered the suggestion again once they were out of sight of the women and children. “Need to check it out though.”
They passed two more new homesteads along the trail in various stages of development before they reached the burned out property. Pulling to a stop, they stared at the devastation.
Vin caught the anger in Larabee’s expression, the memories. “You alright?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Chris answered too quickly.
Ezra offered a small stiff shrug as Larabee dismounted, then carefully slid off his own horse.
“And you?” Tanner questioned Standish, recognizing the physical care the southerner was taking.
“Quite fine, Mr. Tanner.”
Vin doubted the truth of either answer, but didn’t push the subject.
They split up as they checked out the property.
Once a home in progress, the whole acreage had been scorched bare. The frame was nothing but a pile of sodden ash. The earth was black where the flames had raced across the lawn, burning everything in their path.
“Were they living in wagons?” Chris asked.
“According to Mr. Dunne, yes,” Ezra answered. He removed his hat and rubbed absently at his aching head, oblivious that he was telegraphing his discomfort to the others. “The Johnstons had enough time to escape the flames, but it was a close call- the wagon shows signs of being singed.”
“Where are they now?” Chris kicked a charred clump of wood with disgust.
“Town.” Ezra slipped his hat back on.
Chris turned to Vin. “Find anything?”
Shaking his head, Tanner looked around again. “Nothing obvious. Storm’s made a mess of it all.”
“Could have just been the storm itself.” Chris sighed.
“Could have.”
Unsettled without a definitive answer, Chris waved them back to the horses. “Nothing more we can do here.”
The ride back to town was just as quiet as the ride out had been. Ezra knew the other two were watching him. He made a point to sit tall in the saddle despite the ache in his leg and throbbing in his shoulder. They had all witnessed a brilliant display of his weakness already this day, he didn’t care to announce another.
He didn’t understand what had happened at breakfast. He knew Tom Wyler was dead. He’d been there. He’d felt the man jerk away from him, heard the impact of the bullets and he’d watched the man die, but he would have sworn on his mother that Tom Wyler had sat across the room from him this morning. Was he being haunted? Was he seeing things? God, was he losing his mind?
Ezra glanced at Chris and Vin. How long would they others standby him if they knew he was going insane?
He shook the frightening thoughts away before he started imagining nightmare scenarios of asylums. He couldn’t let that happen. Not ever. He’d get through this, he promised himself. He could hold it together long enough for the fear to pass. He would get through it.
Town was bustling by the time the trio returned. The afternoon sun had come out and was already quickly drying out the town. Ezra took his time in the livery, enjoying the task of caring for his horse. He brushed Chaucer thoroughly, using his good arm.
“You’ll stick by me, won’t you?” he whispered as Chaucer nudged him gently, searching for a treat. “You don’t mind that I’m going insane do you?”
Chaucer raised his head and butted Ezra’s chest as if to say ‘don’t be stupid’.
Ezra grinned and rewarded the horse with a sugar cube. “I think you’re impossible.” He patted Chaucer affectionately.
He turned to go and found Nathan standing at the end of the stall, arms crossed in front of him. “I think you’re damn impossible.” The healer’s voice rose.
Chaucer pranced at the disturbance, but stilled with a reassuring pat from Ezra. Before Standish could worry about how much Nathan had just overheard, Jackson was already ranting.
“I can’t believe you went riding so far out. You know you should be taking it easy still.”
Ezra raised both hands in a sign of surrender. “I can assure you, it was an easy ride. Mr. Larabee kept a casual pace in deference to my limitations.” He didn’t really know if that was true, but he had recognized that Larabee had set a much slower pace than he normally rode.
Nathan’s eyes narrowed as he tried to ascertain whether or not Ezra was being truthful.
“You’re not hurting?” he finally questioned more calmly.
Ezra hesitated just enough for Nathan to roll his eyes. “Come on then.”
“Where?” Ezra followed despite the suspicion in his voice.
“To my clinic. I got some liniment that might help the ache in both your shoulder and your leg.” He waved an arm in Ezra’s direction. “And don’t even try to deny they’re bothering ya.”
Twenty minutes and one familiar lecture later, Ezra was carefully making his way down the steps outside Jackson’s clinic, a small tin of liniment in his possession. He knew Jackson meant well. The healer was still dealing with the guilt of not coming to Ezra’s aid immediately. Of course, Nathan hadn’t known it was Ezra who’d been injured but no matter how many times he was reminded, Jackson still seemed to take on Ezra’s injuries as if he himself were responsible.
It was an effort to appear casual on the stairs instead of cautious. Between the long ride and the climb up to the clinic, Ezra’s leg was dragging, but he did the best he could. His stomach growled noisily as he finally reached the last step and settled on solid ground, reminding him that it’d been hours since his meager breakfast. Though he didn’t feel a real desire, he knew he needed to eat.
He started across the road, glancing up toward the saloon and a group of strangers on the walkway. One paused and glanced his way.
Ezra froze in pace, his breath stolen by fear as he stared again at Tom Wyler. He tried to remind himself it wasn’t possible, but it was too late.
Hands were on him, pushing, hitting. Feet kicked and stomped at him. The flashback came instantly. Ezra’s knees hit the ground hard as he went down under the onslaught of remembered blows. His eyes, though fixed on where he’d seen Wyler, were now unseeing of anything other than the chaotic assault of memories.
Chris sighed wearily as he exited the sheriff’s office, leaving Josiah inside to guard the new prisoners.
Two of the new settlers, single men who had yet to officially settle on their land, had gotten into a knock-down drag-out fight over one of Inez’s girls. Larabee wiped a hand over his face. He’d be more than thankful to get these folks out to their land and staying there, out of town for the most part. Four Corners wasn’t big enough for the increased population. Oh, he realized that Mary Travis and a few others were excited over the potential growth the new settlers represented, but all he could see were the problems that came with them.
Turning away from the office, Chris spotted Ezra stepping off the stairs, coming from Nathan’s clinic. He’d heard Jackson was upset that he’d taken Ezra out to the Johnston homestead, he’d gotten an earful from the healer while Ezra had still been in the livery, but Standish appeared no worse for wear from the ride.
He watched, frowning as Standish stopped suddenly in the middle of the street. Chris followed Ezra’s line of sight, but didn’t see anything except a group of men walking along toward the saloon.
He turned back in time to see Ezra collapse onto the muddy road, almost as if someone had knocked the southerner’s legs out from under him. Concerned, Chris hurried to Ezra’s side.
“Ezra,” he called as he approached. “You okay?” Had the gambler’s leg injury flared up again? Was he sick? “Ezra?”
Chris reached out, lightly touching Standish’s shoulder only to be shocked by Ezra’s reaction.
The Gambler scrambled, flinching away even as he lashed out, catching Chris who’d bent over to touch him, with a solid blow to the solar plexus. “Gah, Ezra!” Chris raised his voice and tried to grab Standish, but Ezra struck out again, just missing him.
“Damn.”
Ezra heard the one voice, distinct above the blend of the others taunting him but he couldn’t focus on it. Someone touched him, his bad shoulder, he couldn’t. He would not allow himself to be strung up again. They’d have to kill him this time. He struck out, connecting once with one of them. He heard his name again and something nudged at the back of his mind. He swung again, blindly fighting a foe that was only in his mind. Part of him knew this, but he couldn’t stop.
Chris could see that others were noticing Ezra’s behavior now. They didn’t need a scene. Ezra would be mortified, but he could also see quite clearly the blank, terrified stare in Standish’s eyes.
Larabee had heard about such things. Had seen it happen more than once to soldiers after the war. One man had been trapped in a battle long ended, continuing only in his memory.
Ezra wasn’t there beside him in Four Corners. He was back on the trail outside of Bainbridge nearly a month ago-when he’d been ambushed and attacked.
Chris saw Vin headed their way with Buck. Wilmington was already misdirecting curious onlookers.
“Ezra!” Chris growled the name, unsure now if he needed to be harsh or gentle as his friend skittered further away from him. “Standish!” He tried one more time, sinking down to his knees, close to Ezra but not touching him.
Ezra seemed to still a moment, his eyes fixed on Chris.
It was like watching the curtain rise on a stage show, as the vacant look in Ezra’s eyes was replaced gradually by one of confusion, fear and then pain.
“Chris?” his voice was horse and shaky.
“You back with me now?” Larabee held up his hands to warn Vin back.
Ezra saw the motion and spun around, calming only when he recognized Tanner and Wilmington.
Chris waited for an answer, careful to remain motionless unless Ezra was actually looking at him.
Ezra nodded slowly.
“You have a flashback?”
Chris’ question made Ezra jerk as if he’d been struck , but the Southerner nodded again.
“You alright now?”
As quick as a finger snap, Ezra’s whole posture relaxed. He staggered slightly as he rose to his feet. “Nothing a bath and a clean set of clothing can’t fix.” He flashed a smile that failed to be convincing, and raised two fingers in his customary salute before limping stiffly the rest of the way across the street and into the saloon.
Vin reached out and pulled Chris to his feet. They watched Ezra go with shocked expressions before Buck finally turned to Chris.
“What the hell just happened here?”
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Ezra bathed quickly and efficiently, thankful to find the bath house empty of any other patrons. He didn’t think he could feel any more vulnerable than he already did and the ideas of being naked in front of anyone right now, made him cringe. It wasn’t an option.
He tried to convince himself that there was no way he could have actually seen Tom Wyler again. What the hell was going on?
The nightmares, as disturbing and painful as they were could at least be understood. The memories were still too fresh in his mind…but the flashbacks hitting him squarely during the day…those he didn’t comprehend, nor the ‘sightings’ of Wyler.
He was falling apart.
Ezra dressed carefully, thankful for a clean change of clothes. He dressed plainly, donning his simple brown jacket. He didn’t want to stand out right now. The last thing he needed was to draw more attention to himself.
His leg throbbed painfully with every move. As stiff and sore as it’d been following this afternoon’s ride, his fall and scramble in the mud afterwards had wrenched the healing muscle. He briefly considered getting out the cane that Jackson had insisted he use for the first three weeks after his injury, but that would just be yet another sign of weakness.
He didn’t know what to expect from Chris and the others now and it worried him. Larabee had seemed to actually understand what had been happening earlier in the street, but how long would he allow Ezra to continue on with his duties in town?
Gathering his dirty clothing, Ezra folded them carefully to avoid getting mud all over himself again. His mind raced with questions.
Just what was he going to do if Chris told him he could no longer be one of the seven peacekeepers? Was it finally time to pull up stakes and move on?
The idea of riding out on the trail by himself almost sent Ezra into renewed panic. He’d been alone when he’d been ambushed. He couldn’t face riding alone again right now.
He didn’t know what he was going to do. The weight of his hopelessness and confusion intensified as he put on his hat and headed out of the bathhouse.
Chuck Miller was pleased with himself as he rode out of Four Corners. He’d see what his brief glance at Standish had done. The results of his plan were turning out so much better than he’d expected. Standish was obviously on the edge of a full breakdown. Chuck smiled and reconsidered a moment- did he want to actually kill Standish or drive him so far into insanity the man would be institutionalized by his friends and family? As satisfying as it would be to see the fancy man wallowing in the filth of an asylum- no, the man needed to die.
Chuck kept his horse on the road until he was nearing his destination, then carefully, he slipped into the woods. He was thankful the sun had come out and dried up the land so thoroughly after the storm. If the weather stayed dry enough, he knew, his fires would do the job that he and Tom had started. They’d chase the new settlers off the land for good.
Chris, Vin and Buck sat at a table in the corner of the saloon sipping bad whiskey in silence. They’d watch Ezra head to the bathhouse, limping severely but refusing to make eye contact with any of them.
“What are we going to do?” Buck broke the silence first. When no one answered, he went on. “I’ve never seen Ezra look like that before. What’s going on with him?”
Chris twisted his glass between his fingers. “It’s the attack.”
“What about it?”
“He’s reliving it,” Vin answered.
“What, like he’s remembering it?” Buck shoved his drink away from him a bit as if he was finished with it. “Don’t expect him to forget anytime soon.”
“It’s more than that,” Chris sipped his drink before continuing. “Seen it in soldiers after the war.”
Vin nodded. “Not just remembering…reliving,” he emphasized the last word.
“Like he’s back there during the attack again?” Buck got it. “Feeling the same fear, pain and everything just keeps happening all over again?”
“Yup.” Chris glanced toward the bar seeing Josiah as the preacher got a drink and headed toward them.
“Well…shit.” Buck sat back in his chair, obviously trying to wrap his mind around the whole idea. “What do we do?”
Vin and Chris shrugged together as Josiah pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Why the deep contemplation?” he asked before taking a long drink. He wiped the back of his hand over his mustache. “Why so glum?”
“Ezra,” Chris answered simply.
“Is our brother in need of some counsel?” Sanchez grinned but the smile gradually faded as he listened to Chris recount what had happened in the street.
“Can you fix him?” Buck blurted when Chris finished.
Josiah shook his head, his eyes sad and worried. “I’m not sure it’s a matter of ‘fixing’ our brother so much as it’s about making him feel safe enough to move past what happened.”
“How exactly do we do that?” Chris demanded.
Josiah smiled again, a little sadly. “We watch his back, look out for him and be there for him when he needs to talk.”
Buck grabbed his drink again, almost spilling it. “But Ezra don’t like to open up or talk much about what happened. He clams up if’n you ask.”
“Then we just need to be ready and remember no matter how hard he tries to push us away- we don’t let him.”
“Why would he push us away?” Vin asked.
“He’s feeling real vulnerable right now. What would you do?”
Josiah’s question left them sitting in silence again.
Wanting to avoid any further attention, Ezra slowly made his way around to the back of the saloon. It was a task to climb the stairs yet again but by going up the back way he could take his time and lean heavily against the wall for support.
He was breathless and frustrated by the time he reached his room.
Dinner hour was approaching. but he wasn’t about to face the others yet. He knew they were talking about him by now.
‘What do we do about Ezra?’
Exasperated, Ezra grabbed the bottle of whisky Nathan had left on his dresser for ‘medicinal’ purposes. Due to Nathan’s caution, the bottle was still three quarters of the way full.
Staring at the amber liquid, Ezra decided it would do nicely for his evening meal. He sat in his rocking chair, moving only to raise the bottle and drink deeply. He knew he should be rubbing liniment into his aches and going to bed. He should be drinking some of the soothing tea that Jackson had left for him, but none of it mattered anymore.
He was so tired of being exhausted. Tired of being afraid. Ezra took another long swig, enjoying the burning warmth of the drink. He grasped onto the feeling, pushing the fear into the corners of his mind and letting the alcohol fuel the fire of anger that was just beginning to ignite within him.
Ezra held onto the anger and let it grow.
Why had he been on the trail to Bainbridge by himself anyway? Why were none of the other six there to back him up? Hadn’t Judge Travis recognized that he would have been in danger once he had the deeds in his possession? If not, why not? The man was supposed to be wise after all, wasn’t he?
Why had Chris insisted that Ezra be the one to go anyway? Why? Because Nathan had taken it upon himself to lash out at Ezra at every turn that week. So Ezra was sent away as if he was the problem, unprotected, into a dangerous situation. Then, after he was attacked, no one bothered to come for him. He’d been left there for three whole days, dying.
The emotions churned within, crushing logic and fact, twisting and morphing both into blame and bitterness. The bitterness warmed him, quashing the fear and giving him something to cling to.
No one had even bothered to thank him for saving the stupid land deeds, he thought, tipping the bottle back again. He should have let his attackers have the damn things the first time they’d asked. Oh, and they’d asked quite politely first. It wasn’t until he’d denied knowing what they were talking about that Tom Wyler had simply said, “Have it your way,” and shot him in the leg.
He should have just ridden away and washed his hands of the whole matter and the whole town of Four Corners once and for all.
That’s what he’d do, he decided, the alcohol dimming his memory to his earlier fear of being alone again. He’d get well enough and then he’d get the hell out of this town.
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Chris was in the jailhouse ready to head out on the night’s patrol when he heard the rider coming into town fast. He met the frantic man in the street, barely getting out of the way as the exhausted horse was pulled to a sudden stop. The animal was panting heavily, dangerously even, as its owner was already trying to steer it around Chris and into motion again.
“There’s a fire! Fire!” the rider screamed. He was just a kid. Maybe thirteen at the most, Chris realized. He reached up and grabbed the reins and patted the sweating animal soothingly.
“Easy,” he ordered both man and beast.
“Our land!” The boy jumped from the horse, frantically searching the dark buildings and deserted street. “it’s burning!” There were tears in his eyes.
Chris could hear footsteps and knew without looking it was Vin. He put a hand on the youngster’s shoulder. “Where?”
The boy quivered under his hand, trembling with fear, exertion and worry. “Out by the Johnston’s.” He swallowed back a sob.
“What’s going on?” Tanner arrived, his mare’s leg in hand.
“Fire at the…” Larabee looked at the boy for an answer.
“Myles,” the boy answered, sniffing loudly and wiping the back of his arm across his face. “My dad is Jonathan Myles.”
“I’ll get the others.” Tanner ran for the boarding house.
“You think you can calm down enough to lead us back to your place?” Chris asked the blond-headed boy. The kid’s hair stuck up wildly, his eyes still red from lack of sleep and tears.
He gulped. “Yes, sir.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jon.”
“Ok, Jon, Head to the livery and get a fresh horse. Tell them Chris sent you.”
“Yes sir.” Calmer now, but still humming with suppressed energy, Jon obeyed.
Buck turned up first, followed by everyone else but Ezra. It didn’t take long for everyone to mount up.
“Where’s Ezra?” JD was the first to point out the Southerner’s absence.
“Didn’t wake him,” Vin explained. “Know he was hurting from the ride out earlier and didn’t think he’d be up for another one. Not like this.”
“Probably right,” Nathan agreed, securing his medical pack in his saddle bags. “Anyone hurt at your place?” He turned his attention to Jon Myles.
“Not when I left.” Jon chewed at his lip, twisting at the reins of his borrowed horse.
“Let’s go,” Chris directed.
They rode out of town fast but safe, Chris keeping a pace that wouldn’t harm them or the horses. He knew the urgency, yet also knew there was probably nothing they could do, even as a group, to save the family’s property, but maybe they’d be able to help in some way.
Ezra watched the commotion from his rocking chair. He saw the rider arrive and Tanner run for the others. He watched, waiting for someone to pound on his door and tell him to get moving. The notice never came. They didn’t need him.
‘You wouldn’t do much good right now anyway,’ he reminded himself.
Nathan had probably told them to let him sleep. Whatever the problem was- he couldn’t handle a ride that harsh or fast, not yet. Not after the ride earlier today.
Frustrated and trying to be logical, his drink-clouded mind chose to focus only on the simple fact-they’d left him behind, alone- again.
The sun was up by the time the beleaguered group rode slowly back into town. Exhausted, filthy and weighed down by the futility of their efforts, no one spoke.
The Myles’ property was a loss. The lumber they’d painstakingly stocked for a home, had burned like a giant bonfire. The peacekeepers had arrived in time to help Jonathan Myles and his wife move two of their three wagons out of reach of the flames and keep their other six children out of harm’s way but the family had lost most of their possessions and one of their horses to the fire.
Chris and Vin had listened to Mr. Myles’ description of the sudden fire, Tanner shaking his head. “Nothing natural about the way that woodpile is burning,” he muttered to Chris.
The fire, for all appearances, had been set.
Now, riding into the waking town, concern chewed at Larabee’s mind. Did they have a fire starter loose in Four Corners? How were they going to figure out who it was? How were they going to stop him?
Ezra sat at a corner table in the saloon instead of his usual one, the one Chris usually picked when he wanted to wallow in drink and anger. Ezra figured it was his turn. A bottle of whiskey sat on the table, already half empty. He ignored the toast and tea Inez had brought out to him despite his curt refusal.
He watched as Chris, Vin and Buck came into the building together. Their shoulders sagged with weariness. They looked done in from the night and Ezra had to push aside his concern. He didn’t care, he reminded himself.
The place was crowded again, but this morning the tone of the patrons was different. Instead of the normal easy gossip and everyday frustrations being passed around, this morning-the murmuring had taken on a tense frantic edge. News of the two fires had spread almost as quickly as the flames themselves. Ezra watched it all from his corner, wondering when the worry would erupt into shouting and full out fear.
“Morning, Ezra.”
Ezra looked up, startled from his thoughts by JD’s sudden appearance at his table. The boy looked like he needed a good bath. Soot and dirt lined his face and clothes, but none of it seemed to bother Dunne.
“Hmm.” Ezra grabbed his whiskey and took a long sip straight from the bottle.
JD’s eyes widened. He frowned. “Is that your breakfast?”
“It’ll do,” Ezra admitted, scowling as Dunne pulled out a chair and sat down. He didn’t want JD’s company or anyone else’s. How come folks left Larabee alone when he sulked in a corner but not him?
JD watched him in uncharacteristic silence. Ezra tried not to notice the dark circles under Dunne’s expressive eyes or the worry lines wrinkling his young skin. On second thought, the boy looked like he needed to go to bed.
The silence wore at him, it was too unlike JD to simply sit there and stare.
Ezra set the bottle back on the table. “What do you want, Mr. Dunne?” He kept his voice harsh and impatient. He wanted to be alone.
“I’m worried about you.”
It was all Standish could do to control his reaction to JD’s honest statement. It was definitely not what he expected.
“There is no need for you to waste your concern on me,” he replied, his tone a little gentler.
“Yeah, well.” JD didn’t look away. “It’s not like you to drink your breakfast.”
“I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”
“Maybe not.” JD shrugged. “But too bad.”
Ezra gaped at the young man.
JD smiled slightly. “I’m tired, Ez. I spent the night watching a family’s new land burn up. I don’t want to watch you destroy yourself, too.”
Standish blinked. Why did JD have to push him? “Then maybe you need to find someplace else to sit for your morning meal.” He pushed back.
Dunne needed to go away. If he had to be cruel to make that happen- he would do it.
“Nah, I’m good here.”
JD waved at Buck, signaling the ladies’ man over.
“Mr. Dunne, did it ever occur to you that I chose this particular seat because I wanted to be alone?” Ezra felt like the wall he’d carefully constructed with his anger the night before was about to cave in on him.
“yup.” JD ignored the obvious prod to leave.
Within minutes Ezra’s ‘private’ table was crowded. Chris and Vin had joined Buck after JD’d signaled him over and Josiah and Nathan had come in shortly after. Instead of finding another, larger table in the crowded room, they’d chosen to pull up chairs and squeeze around the smaller one where Ezra sat.
Knowing it would do no good to protest to the group and too stubborn to leave, Ezra continued drinking his whiskey and tried his best to remain ambivalent toward the group. He listened as they discussed the fire in hushed voices, conscious of the tension in the room around them.
“Did you see the way the flames traveled up the wood pile?” Buck asked.
“Following the trail,” Vin answered.
“Trail?” Nathan stabbed his eggs, casting a glance at Ezra’s ignored plate of toast as the Southerner took another sip of his breakfast. “What would cause the fire to do that?”
“Alcohol,” Josiah answered.
“Oil,” Chris added.
“So it was definitely set by someone.” JD sighed over his empty plate. “But why?”
“We know that someone didn’t want those land deed to ever get into the settlers hands to begin with,” Josiah pointed out, eyeing Ezra carefully.
Ezra ignored the urge to react to the reference to his attack.
“But if Guy Royal was behind that…why would he burn the settlers out now?” Buck shook his head. “He’s destroying the land that he wanted to get his hands on so badly.”
“Land can recover, “Vin reminded.
“Yeah but when?” JD asked.
“It’d take time, but with work, it’d come around again. Sometimes better.”
“What do you think, Ezra?” Chris surprised them all by addressing Standish directly regardless of his lack of interaction with them.
Ezra stared at Larabee a moment, his mind racing with panic even as he carefully schooled his expression to reveal nothing.
Purposefully, he reached forward and picked up the bottle of whiskey. Slowly, he rose to his feet, wobbling slightly at the wave of dizziness that swept over him. Clearing his throat he looked at Larabee.
“I have no theories on the matter,” he stated sharply, then turned and weaved his way through the crowd and out the batwing doors.
Buck sat back in his chair. “That went well.”
[ part one][ part two]
Fandom: Magnificent Seven
Author: sablecain
Artist: bookaddict43
Disclaimer: The mag7 belong to Mirish, MGM, Trilogy and all those big names. No copyright infringement intended
Character/Pairing: Ezra Standish
Rating: PG-13 for violence and language
Warnings: violence and language
Summary: sequel to ‘The Samaritan’s Choice’-someone’s out for revenge and Ezra is their target
Authors Notes: Very deep thanks go to NotTasha for her willingness to beta for me. She rocks.
He jerked with each blow. Swaying from the branch they’d tied him to. His wrists were slick and numb where the rope cut into them. His shoulder excruciating as each movement wrenched it awkwardly, bone grinding against bone. His leg burned and throbbed in time with his racing heart.
There were questions, demands that he didn’t have the strength to answer and details that he wouldn’t share even if he did.
Then he was falling. Screaming as he hit the ground hard. Someone kicked him and before he could recover, the strap wrapped around his neck. He struggled against it, but it was cinched tight, choking him, cutting off his air, pulling his head up from the dirt, straining his neck even as someone planted a foot between his shoulder blades and held the rest of his torso in place.
He gasped for breath, but the belt tightened. Something hard bit the back of his neck. His vision dimmed. He heard the angry voice yelling at him to answer, but he had no voice.
No air.
No sight.
He was going to die.
Ezra jerked awake with a huge gasp for breath, pushing himself up and out of the bed. Outside, thunder rocked the night, so close and so loud the floor shook beneath his bare feet.
It was a dream.
Just a dream.
He tried to calm himself, jumping as another boom of thunder rattled the windows.
It wasn’t a dream, reality reminded him as his thigh throbbed and his shoulder cramped achingly. It was a memory.
Shakily, Standish felt his way across his room to the rocking chair beside the window. Lightning split the sky and illuminated the small room for a second, providing reassurance that he wasn’t going to run into anything. He picked up a quilt, a gift left for him by Mrs. Potter and wrapped it around his bare torso. Comforted by its warmth, he sat in the chair and watched as the storm opened up a deluge on the sleeping town.
It’d been almost a month since the attack outside of Bainbridge. His wounds were mostly healed. His wrists bore only fine, fading scars. His thigh only pained him if he spent much time on his feet or in one position, but his shoulder ached continually, especially when it rained.
Reaching up with his good arm, Ezra gently massaged the strained, abused joint still trying to chase away the fear left over from the dream…the flashback.
Lightning crackled again, followed by a rumbling crash.
Outside, he saw movement and watched as Vin darted through the downpour. Tanner’s wagon wasn’t water tight. Not for rain this hard. Ezra wondered if the tracker would seek shelter in the jailhouse where JD was on duty for the night.
Wincing, Ezra squeezed a particularly tender spot on his shoulder. He’d never told the others the details of his attack. He’d claimed not to remember all of it. Recognizing Tom Wyler and knowing that his attackers had been after the land deeds, that’d been enough to stop any other questions. He couldn’t find the words to tell them anything more. They knew enough, almost everything.
They knew about him being strung up and beaten. They knew about the belt. It was the little things he hadn’t shared. The way Wyler had placed the gun to his head and pulled the trigger, laughing when the chamber echoed emptily. Or the fact that they’d dragged him by the neck, forcing him to scramble on his dislocated shoulder and wounded leg before they’d stomped on his back, holding him down while they’d simultaneously pulled his neck up, virtually hanging him as he lay in the dirt, broken and bleeding.
There was no way Ezra could share it all. No way he could ever tell the other six men he respected and fought beside, how very helpless he’d felt in those moments. How he had been so resigned to die.
He had been ready to give up, to let go. He’d prayed for it to end. He’d been ready and willing to run out on all of them.
Shame and fear ate at him now to remember the pain, terror and desolation. His weakness. It wormed into his mind and nagged at him, drawing him into a melancholy hopelessness he couldn’t seem to shake.
As the rain continued and the thunder and lightning fought, Ezra battled his own demons of fear and anger. Whoever was behind his attack was still out there somewhere in the night. Larabee suspected Guy Royal, but there was no proof. Standish knew that Wyler had had a contact back here in Four Corners. He wondered still if he was a target. A loose end waiting to be tied up and finished off.
Fear clinched at him and Ezra pulled the quilt tighter around his trembling frame. If he could, he’d never leave his room again, but he knew that wouldn’t work. None of his fellow peacekeepers would leave him be if he even tried that plan of action.
Instead, in the morning, he’d paste on a smile and take a seat downstairs. He’d force himself to eat breakfast, to avoid unwanted inquiries over his health and to go through the motions of living while the past haunted every moment of his days and nights.
Weary and overwhelmed with a depression he couldn’t fight, Ezra stayed in the motionless rocking chair and watched the storm rage outside even as it raged within.
Ezra eyed himself carefully in the mirror, making sure his green jacket set squarely and was buttoned correctly. Other than the dark circles beneath bloodshot eyes, and hair that was a little too long for a gentleman, he looked normal.
His room was dim in the gray morning light. Rain continued to fall outside, thundered continued to rumble. He hadn’t bothered to light a lamp as he got ready for the day. He didn’t want to see the scarce furnishings or be reminded that he was still trying to replace items destroyed when his room had been ransacked. He reached out and ran gentle fingers over the waxy carved surface of the jade ball he’d won before the attack, tracing the detailed dragon’s tail. His fingers trembled slightly and he paused, squeezing his hand into a tight fist and relaxing again, pleased to see he’d regained some control. Quickly, he put on his gun belt, suppressing shiver when he touched the cold metal of the of the buckle. One more deep breath and he was ready to head downstairs.
Because of the rain, the saloon was packed. Many of the new settlers were still in town, stocking up on supplies and preparing before heading out to their new homesteads. Though Ezra had protected the land deeds it’d taken time to sort out the deeds and get them to their proper owners. Judge Travis was being meticulous about the process and it had dragged the procedure out by days. Most of the newcomers were still clearing their land and living in town until that part of the task was completed. A small ‘wagon village’ had been set up on the south side of the burg where the settlers had circled their wagons.
This morning, as Ezra made his way carefully down the stairs, it seemed as if there were a couple of hundred people crammed into the place. Ezra knew that was impossible, but for the first time in a very long time, Ezra was antsy and nervous in the crowd instead of ready to embrace it.
“Morning Ezra!” Buck’s boisterous greeting sounded over the other noisy patrons. Ezra forced a smile.
“Good Morning, Mr. Wilmington. Mr. Sanchez.”
Buck nodded over his plate, waving his fork in the air and talking with his mouthful. “Grab an order from Inez while she’s still got food.”
“I’m fine thank you.” Ezra pulled out a chair and sat beside Josiah who was busy devouring his own meal.
A cup of steaming tea and a plate of toast were set in front of him and he looked up in surprise to see Inez smile as she moved away through the crowd.
Buck stared at Ezra and then at Inez a moment before attacking his eggs with even more gusto. “Crazy storm we’re having.”
“Yes,” Ezra sipped his tea, his eyes scanning the room of strangers for familiar faces.
“Keep you awake last night?” Josiah questioned casually, but when Ezra glanced at the preacher he read the concern in the man’s eyes.
“It interrupted my slumber a couple of times,” Ezra admitted.
“Damn near knocked me out a bed.” Buck shook his head.
“Even drove Vin inside.” Josiah waved his fork.
Standish picked at his toast, not hungry but feeling Josiah’s scrutiny.
The batwing doors clamored back and forth as Chris and Vin entered. Weaving through the people, Chris frowned before he found an empty chair and pulled it over to the table where Ezra and the others sat. Vin followed suit.
Rain dripped from both men as they shucked their hats off and rubbed cold hands together for warmth.
“Ain’t fit out there,” Vin complained snagging a biscuit from Buck’s plate.
“Miserable,” Ezra agreed.
“Too many people in here.” Tanner glanced around the room.
“You think there’s gonna be trouble?” Buck asked, taking a look around for himself.
“No sense borrowing any.” Josiah leaned back as one of the girl’s Inez had taken on while the settlers were in town set full plates in front of Chris and Vin. She blushed at Vin’s quiet Thank you and hurried away.
“Nathan’s already got him a couple of patients this morning,” Chris told them. “Couple of hands fighting over something stupid. Knocked each other around good.”
“That’s been happening at least once a day since they all got here,” Buck acknowledged, refocusing on his food yet again.
Ezra drifted as he listened to the other’s talk. He knew JD had probably gone on to bed after a night on patrol. Buck would be heading out after breakfast if Chris pushed it, but usually when the weather was this disagreeable, they stayed in unless trouble called them out.
His eyes danced around the room again as he took another sip of tea. He inhaled sharply as his heart suddenly raced. At the far table…that face. God. He knew that face.
“Ezra? You okay?”
He didn’t hear Josiah’s question. Didn’t realize his hand had started shaking so badly that Sanchez had gently reached over and taken the cup out of his hand.
“Ezra?” It was Vin’s voice that pulled him back. Somehow Ezra forced himself to look at the tracker.
“What is it?” Chris questioned.
“It’s him.” Ezra hear the fear in his own voice.
“Who?”
“Tom Wyler.”
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Chuck Miller sat at a crowded table sipping his coffee casually as he watched for his target. Around him, the din of noise rose and fell. Low murmurs of conversation, metal forks scratching against metal plates. Chairs scrapping the floors, all the while the wind and rain howled with the thunder outside. He ignored it all and focused on what he was there for…revenge.
It’d been nearly a month since he’d lost Tom. It’d taken two days for the news of Tom’s death to reach him and by the time he’d reached Bainbridge, his brother had been buried, his reputation ruined, labeled as an outlaw.
Anger fueled Chuck’s grief, driving him out of town before anyone there recognized him or lumped him in with his brother’s crimes. Not that he hadn’t been involved. They had always been a team. Tom’s job protected them from suspicion while Chuck kept a low profile in nearby townships. Chuck had just borrowed his mother’s maiden name so that they weren’t immediately connected. It’d always worked perfectly for them, especially when he was hiding in Four Corners during this last job.
Their plan. It would have worked if not for that damned tight lipped southerner and his fellow peacekeepers. Now it was time to have some fun with the bastard before he tore him apart.
Chuck knew he looked a lot like his older brother. When they’d been little, folks had often mistaken them for twins despite the three year age difference. It was one of the reasons he’d had to clear out of Bainbridge as soon as he’d found out Tom had been buried already. Sticking around would have raised questions once people really took the time to look at him.
He saw movement at the top of the saloon’s staircase and smiled behind his mug. There he was.
Chuck felt like a hunter watching his prey. He enjoyed seeing the stiffness visible as Standish slowly descended the stairs. He could see the shadows under those green eyes and for a moment he even caught a glimpse of the man’s insecurity. Ezra Standish had not yet recovered from his attack, Miller could see that plain as day and he intended to use every weakness against the man.
It didn’t matter to him that Vin Tanner was the man who’d actually pulled the trigger. All that mattered to Chuck was that Standish had been at the center of it all. The defiant, arrogant bastard could have just handed over the land deed and walked away but he hadn’t and now Chuck intended to make the man pay dearly for his choice.
He watched Standish settle in at the table, greeting his fellow peacekeepers and accepting the measly meal offered by the pretty barmaid. The Southerner was skittish as a wild mustang about to be saddled. It surprised Chuck a bit that none of the men presumably close to the gambler seemed to notice the man’s unease.
Miller looked up at the entrance of Larabee and Tanner watching carefully as both scanned the room’s occupants and then headed for the same table as the others. Neither man seemed to notice him. Then again, he was an expert at blending in to his surroundings. Tom had always been the attention seeker, ready and willing to thrust himself into the public eye. Chuck continued to remain content behind the scenes and because of that, he knew now, that his plan to bring down Standish and Tanner would work perfectly.
Thunder rolled outside, shaking the building as Chuck slowly lowered his mug of coffee. He tipped his hat back from his face, allowing his features to be visible even in the saloon’s pale light, and fixed his stare on Standish. He knew it wouldn’t take long and was rewarded not two minutes later when Standish’s wide green eyes met his.
Chuck tipped his head to the side and grinned, knowing that his smile was a mirror of his brother’s. His grin broadened as the color melted out of the gambler’s face and his hands visibly trembled.
Waiting only a second more, Chuck ducked his head and moved swiftly out of his seat, sliding behind a group of three men who’d just stood up to leave. He kept himself well hidden as the men at Standish’s table began to react and was outside before any of them caught sight of him. It had begun.
“Ezra,” Vin leaned close to Standish. “Wyler’s dead.”
Ezra shook his head, his gaze still fixed across the room. “He’s there.” He started to point, but his hand shook so badly he grasped at the table in a frantic effort to still it.
As a group, they heard his derringer rig engage.
Josiah was fast, grabbing Ezra’s wrist before the southerner had an opportunity to raise his weapon. Buck gently pried the gun from Ezra’s white knuckled grip. “He’s not here, Hoss.”
Chris was looking across the room, but the crowd of strangers showed no sign of anyone even resembling Tom Wyler.
“Ezra.”
It must have been his tone because Standish suddenly inhaled sharply. His eyes danced frantically around the room before briefly meeting Chris’.
“Tom Wyler’s dead,” Larabee calmly repeated Vin’s earlier statement.
Standish shivered once before pulling his mask of control back into place. “Of course, gentle men.” He pulled away from Josiah and took his derringer from Buck, slipping it into his pocket as he rose from the table. “My apologies.”
He was to the door before any of the men at the table recovered enough to follow. Vin was first to move, waving the others to stay. “Let me talk to him.”
He found Ezra just outside the saloon, standing on the walkway looking lost. Rain water poured off the overhang, creating a roaring curtain of water.
“Do you think I’m addled?” Ezra’s voice was low and fearful.
Vin grinned. “No more than any other day.”
Ezra huffed a laugh, smiling weakly as Tanner hoped he would. “I swear he was just sitting there, grinning at me over a cup of coffee.”
Vin didn’t say anything for a moment. Maybe he should have let Josiah handle this and yet…he’d seen the shadows in Ezra’s eyes. He knew that underneath the usual act of confidence, Standish had not moved past what had happened back in Bainbridge. “Having nightmares?”
Ezra looked away, reaching out and letting the cascade of water run over his hand.
Tanner watched the water coat pale, shaking fingers. “They’ll fade,” he said finally.
“Promise?”
The vulnerability of Ezra’s whispered plea tore at Vin, revealing just how much Standish was hiding. Before Vin could answer they heard a shout and both men looked up to see JD splashing through the rain and running across the muddy street.
“Did y’all hear?” he asked, splashing them both as he jumped through the runoff and shook himself off.
“Hear what?” Tanner wiped the water JD had splashed from his face.
“One of the new settlers lost their place to fire last night.” JD gasped out the words excited by the latest activity.
“In this?” Ezra questioned motioning to the downpour.
“Lightning hit?” Vin proposed.
JD shook his head, sending rain water spraying again. Both Tanner and Standish stepped back but couldn’t avoid another shower. “They don’t know yet. Only had the framing for the home up so far. They might have lost the whole lot if the rain hadn’t come.”
JD looked from one to the other. “Everything okay here?” he asked suspiciously.
“Well enough, Mr. Dunne.”
JD seemed to take Ezra’s response at his word, nodding once. “Chris inside?”
“Yup.” Vin nodded.
“Gonna tell him about the fire and get something to eat. Dang, I’m cold.”
Dunne was still talking as he entered the saloon, leaving Ezra and Vin alone again. Ezra shifted uncomfortably under Vin’s intense gaze.
“I assure you, I am fine.”
Vin held up a hand, cutting off Ezra’s statement. “You decide you need someone to listen, you know where to find me.” He patted Ezra’s arm lightly and followed JD back into the saloon.
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It was noon before the storm moved on and the rain tapered off, leaving a wet , muddy mess behind. Chris decided they needed to check out the burned settlement and took Vin and Ezra with him.
“You sure you should take Ez?” Buck had questioned quietly before they’d ridden out.
Chris had merely glared. “Better to keep an eye on him. I need the rest of you to keep order here.”
Word of the fire was spreading through town quickly and settlers were obviously agitated at the news. It was hard enough having so many extra people in town, adding worry and fear to the mix only upped the need for a strong sense of order. Chris hoped that the Seven of them could pull it off.
They rode in silence, carefully steering their mounts along the rutted muddy path. The air was cool but comfortable.
Chris caught Vin shooting the occasional concerned glance at Ezra but for his part, the Southerner appeared content and calm.
“Any theories?” Chris asked, directing his question at both of the men.
They were passing another homestead currently under construction. The family obviously living out of the two covered wagons set up under two large trees. Lumber was piled high beside a half finished frame for a small home. Two small children splashed in fresh puddles while their mother struggled to keep a weak campfire going.
The children spotted the peacekeepers and stopped their play to start at the strangers passing by. Their sudden quiet alerted their mother. She abandoned the struggling flames and took three steps closer to her children, placing herself between them and the mounted men.
Ezra tipped his hat and the lady’s face lit with recognition. She smiled, her posture relaxing and raised her hand in a small wave. The children, following her cue, waved exuberantly.
Vin chuckled and waved back. “Could have been lightning,” he offered the suggestion again once they were out of sight of the women and children. “Need to check it out though.”
They passed two more new homesteads along the trail in various stages of development before they reached the burned out property. Pulling to a stop, they stared at the devastation.
Vin caught the anger in Larabee’s expression, the memories. “You alright?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Chris answered too quickly.
Ezra offered a small stiff shrug as Larabee dismounted, then carefully slid off his own horse.
“And you?” Tanner questioned Standish, recognizing the physical care the southerner was taking.
“Quite fine, Mr. Tanner.”
Vin doubted the truth of either answer, but didn’t push the subject.
They split up as they checked out the property.
Once a home in progress, the whole acreage had been scorched bare. The frame was nothing but a pile of sodden ash. The earth was black where the flames had raced across the lawn, burning everything in their path.
“Were they living in wagons?” Chris asked.
“According to Mr. Dunne, yes,” Ezra answered. He removed his hat and rubbed absently at his aching head, oblivious that he was telegraphing his discomfort to the others. “The Johnstons had enough time to escape the flames, but it was a close call- the wagon shows signs of being singed.”
“Where are they now?” Chris kicked a charred clump of wood with disgust.
“Town.” Ezra slipped his hat back on.
Chris turned to Vin. “Find anything?”
Shaking his head, Tanner looked around again. “Nothing obvious. Storm’s made a mess of it all.”
“Could have just been the storm itself.” Chris sighed.
“Could have.”
Unsettled without a definitive answer, Chris waved them back to the horses. “Nothing more we can do here.”
The ride back to town was just as quiet as the ride out had been. Ezra knew the other two were watching him. He made a point to sit tall in the saddle despite the ache in his leg and throbbing in his shoulder. They had all witnessed a brilliant display of his weakness already this day, he didn’t care to announce another.
He didn’t understand what had happened at breakfast. He knew Tom Wyler was dead. He’d been there. He’d felt the man jerk away from him, heard the impact of the bullets and he’d watched the man die, but he would have sworn on his mother that Tom Wyler had sat across the room from him this morning. Was he being haunted? Was he seeing things? God, was he losing his mind?
Ezra glanced at Chris and Vin. How long would they others standby him if they knew he was going insane?
He shook the frightening thoughts away before he started imagining nightmare scenarios of asylums. He couldn’t let that happen. Not ever. He’d get through this, he promised himself. He could hold it together long enough for the fear to pass. He would get through it.
Town was bustling by the time the trio returned. The afternoon sun had come out and was already quickly drying out the town. Ezra took his time in the livery, enjoying the task of caring for his horse. He brushed Chaucer thoroughly, using his good arm.
“You’ll stick by me, won’t you?” he whispered as Chaucer nudged him gently, searching for a treat. “You don’t mind that I’m going insane do you?”
Chaucer raised his head and butted Ezra’s chest as if to say ‘don’t be stupid’.
Ezra grinned and rewarded the horse with a sugar cube. “I think you’re impossible.” He patted Chaucer affectionately.
He turned to go and found Nathan standing at the end of the stall, arms crossed in front of him. “I think you’re damn impossible.” The healer’s voice rose.
Chaucer pranced at the disturbance, but stilled with a reassuring pat from Ezra. Before Standish could worry about how much Nathan had just overheard, Jackson was already ranting.
“I can’t believe you went riding so far out. You know you should be taking it easy still.”
Ezra raised both hands in a sign of surrender. “I can assure you, it was an easy ride. Mr. Larabee kept a casual pace in deference to my limitations.” He didn’t really know if that was true, but he had recognized that Larabee had set a much slower pace than he normally rode.
Nathan’s eyes narrowed as he tried to ascertain whether or not Ezra was being truthful.
“You’re not hurting?” he finally questioned more calmly.
Ezra hesitated just enough for Nathan to roll his eyes. “Come on then.”
“Where?” Ezra followed despite the suspicion in his voice.
“To my clinic. I got some liniment that might help the ache in both your shoulder and your leg.” He waved an arm in Ezra’s direction. “And don’t even try to deny they’re bothering ya.”
Twenty minutes and one familiar lecture later, Ezra was carefully making his way down the steps outside Jackson’s clinic, a small tin of liniment in his possession. He knew Jackson meant well. The healer was still dealing with the guilt of not coming to Ezra’s aid immediately. Of course, Nathan hadn’t known it was Ezra who’d been injured but no matter how many times he was reminded, Jackson still seemed to take on Ezra’s injuries as if he himself were responsible.
It was an effort to appear casual on the stairs instead of cautious. Between the long ride and the climb up to the clinic, Ezra’s leg was dragging, but he did the best he could. His stomach growled noisily as he finally reached the last step and settled on solid ground, reminding him that it’d been hours since his meager breakfast. Though he didn’t feel a real desire, he knew he needed to eat.
He started across the road, glancing up toward the saloon and a group of strangers on the walkway. One paused and glanced his way.
Ezra froze in pace, his breath stolen by fear as he stared again at Tom Wyler. He tried to remind himself it wasn’t possible, but it was too late.
Hands were on him, pushing, hitting. Feet kicked and stomped at him. The flashback came instantly. Ezra’s knees hit the ground hard as he went down under the onslaught of remembered blows. His eyes, though fixed on where he’d seen Wyler, were now unseeing of anything other than the chaotic assault of memories.
Chris sighed wearily as he exited the sheriff’s office, leaving Josiah inside to guard the new prisoners.
Two of the new settlers, single men who had yet to officially settle on their land, had gotten into a knock-down drag-out fight over one of Inez’s girls. Larabee wiped a hand over his face. He’d be more than thankful to get these folks out to their land and staying there, out of town for the most part. Four Corners wasn’t big enough for the increased population. Oh, he realized that Mary Travis and a few others were excited over the potential growth the new settlers represented, but all he could see were the problems that came with them.
Turning away from the office, Chris spotted Ezra stepping off the stairs, coming from Nathan’s clinic. He’d heard Jackson was upset that he’d taken Ezra out to the Johnston homestead, he’d gotten an earful from the healer while Ezra had still been in the livery, but Standish appeared no worse for wear from the ride.
He watched, frowning as Standish stopped suddenly in the middle of the street. Chris followed Ezra’s line of sight, but didn’t see anything except a group of men walking along toward the saloon.
He turned back in time to see Ezra collapse onto the muddy road, almost as if someone had knocked the southerner’s legs out from under him. Concerned, Chris hurried to Ezra’s side.
“Ezra,” he called as he approached. “You okay?” Had the gambler’s leg injury flared up again? Was he sick? “Ezra?”
Chris reached out, lightly touching Standish’s shoulder only to be shocked by Ezra’s reaction.
The Gambler scrambled, flinching away even as he lashed out, catching Chris who’d bent over to touch him, with a solid blow to the solar plexus. “Gah, Ezra!” Chris raised his voice and tried to grab Standish, but Ezra struck out again, just missing him.
“Damn.”
Ezra heard the one voice, distinct above the blend of the others taunting him but he couldn’t focus on it. Someone touched him, his bad shoulder, he couldn’t. He would not allow himself to be strung up again. They’d have to kill him this time. He struck out, connecting once with one of them. He heard his name again and something nudged at the back of his mind. He swung again, blindly fighting a foe that was only in his mind. Part of him knew this, but he couldn’t stop.
Chris could see that others were noticing Ezra’s behavior now. They didn’t need a scene. Ezra would be mortified, but he could also see quite clearly the blank, terrified stare in Standish’s eyes.
Larabee had heard about such things. Had seen it happen more than once to soldiers after the war. One man had been trapped in a battle long ended, continuing only in his memory.
Ezra wasn’t there beside him in Four Corners. He was back on the trail outside of Bainbridge nearly a month ago-when he’d been ambushed and attacked.
Chris saw Vin headed their way with Buck. Wilmington was already misdirecting curious onlookers.
“Ezra!” Chris growled the name, unsure now if he needed to be harsh or gentle as his friend skittered further away from him. “Standish!” He tried one more time, sinking down to his knees, close to Ezra but not touching him.
Ezra seemed to still a moment, his eyes fixed on Chris.
It was like watching the curtain rise on a stage show, as the vacant look in Ezra’s eyes was replaced gradually by one of confusion, fear and then pain.
“Chris?” his voice was horse and shaky.
“You back with me now?” Larabee held up his hands to warn Vin back.
Ezra saw the motion and spun around, calming only when he recognized Tanner and Wilmington.
Chris waited for an answer, careful to remain motionless unless Ezra was actually looking at him.
Ezra nodded slowly.
“You have a flashback?”
Chris’ question made Ezra jerk as if he’d been struck , but the Southerner nodded again.
“You alright now?”
As quick as a finger snap, Ezra’s whole posture relaxed. He staggered slightly as he rose to his feet. “Nothing a bath and a clean set of clothing can’t fix.” He flashed a smile that failed to be convincing, and raised two fingers in his customary salute before limping stiffly the rest of the way across the street and into the saloon.
Vin reached out and pulled Chris to his feet. They watched Ezra go with shocked expressions before Buck finally turned to Chris.
“What the hell just happened here?”
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Ezra bathed quickly and efficiently, thankful to find the bath house empty of any other patrons. He didn’t think he could feel any more vulnerable than he already did and the ideas of being naked in front of anyone right now, made him cringe. It wasn’t an option.
He tried to convince himself that there was no way he could have actually seen Tom Wyler again. What the hell was going on?
The nightmares, as disturbing and painful as they were could at least be understood. The memories were still too fresh in his mind…but the flashbacks hitting him squarely during the day…those he didn’t comprehend, nor the ‘sightings’ of Wyler.
He was falling apart.
Ezra dressed carefully, thankful for a clean change of clothes. He dressed plainly, donning his simple brown jacket. He didn’t want to stand out right now. The last thing he needed was to draw more attention to himself.
His leg throbbed painfully with every move. As stiff and sore as it’d been following this afternoon’s ride, his fall and scramble in the mud afterwards had wrenched the healing muscle. He briefly considered getting out the cane that Jackson had insisted he use for the first three weeks after his injury, but that would just be yet another sign of weakness.
He didn’t know what to expect from Chris and the others now and it worried him. Larabee had seemed to actually understand what had been happening earlier in the street, but how long would he allow Ezra to continue on with his duties in town?
Gathering his dirty clothing, Ezra folded them carefully to avoid getting mud all over himself again. His mind raced with questions.
Just what was he going to do if Chris told him he could no longer be one of the seven peacekeepers? Was it finally time to pull up stakes and move on?
The idea of riding out on the trail by himself almost sent Ezra into renewed panic. He’d been alone when he’d been ambushed. He couldn’t face riding alone again right now.
He didn’t know what he was going to do. The weight of his hopelessness and confusion intensified as he put on his hat and headed out of the bathhouse.
Chuck Miller was pleased with himself as he rode out of Four Corners. He’d see what his brief glance at Standish had done. The results of his plan were turning out so much better than he’d expected. Standish was obviously on the edge of a full breakdown. Chuck smiled and reconsidered a moment- did he want to actually kill Standish or drive him so far into insanity the man would be institutionalized by his friends and family? As satisfying as it would be to see the fancy man wallowing in the filth of an asylum- no, the man needed to die.
Chuck kept his horse on the road until he was nearing his destination, then carefully, he slipped into the woods. He was thankful the sun had come out and dried up the land so thoroughly after the storm. If the weather stayed dry enough, he knew, his fires would do the job that he and Tom had started. They’d chase the new settlers off the land for good.
Chris, Vin and Buck sat at a table in the corner of the saloon sipping bad whiskey in silence. They’d watch Ezra head to the bathhouse, limping severely but refusing to make eye contact with any of them.
“What are we going to do?” Buck broke the silence first. When no one answered, he went on. “I’ve never seen Ezra look like that before. What’s going on with him?”
Chris twisted his glass between his fingers. “It’s the attack.”
“What about it?”
“He’s reliving it,” Vin answered.
“What, like he’s remembering it?” Buck shoved his drink away from him a bit as if he was finished with it. “Don’t expect him to forget anytime soon.”
“It’s more than that,” Chris sipped his drink before continuing. “Seen it in soldiers after the war.”
Vin nodded. “Not just remembering…reliving,” he emphasized the last word.
“Like he’s back there during the attack again?” Buck got it. “Feeling the same fear, pain and everything just keeps happening all over again?”
“Yup.” Chris glanced toward the bar seeing Josiah as the preacher got a drink and headed toward them.
“Well…shit.” Buck sat back in his chair, obviously trying to wrap his mind around the whole idea. “What do we do?”
Vin and Chris shrugged together as Josiah pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Why the deep contemplation?” he asked before taking a long drink. He wiped the back of his hand over his mustache. “Why so glum?”
“Ezra,” Chris answered simply.
“Is our brother in need of some counsel?” Sanchez grinned but the smile gradually faded as he listened to Chris recount what had happened in the street.
“Can you fix him?” Buck blurted when Chris finished.
Josiah shook his head, his eyes sad and worried. “I’m not sure it’s a matter of ‘fixing’ our brother so much as it’s about making him feel safe enough to move past what happened.”
“How exactly do we do that?” Chris demanded.
Josiah smiled again, a little sadly. “We watch his back, look out for him and be there for him when he needs to talk.”
Buck grabbed his drink again, almost spilling it. “But Ezra don’t like to open up or talk much about what happened. He clams up if’n you ask.”
“Then we just need to be ready and remember no matter how hard he tries to push us away- we don’t let him.”
“Why would he push us away?” Vin asked.
“He’s feeling real vulnerable right now. What would you do?”
Josiah’s question left them sitting in silence again.
Wanting to avoid any further attention, Ezra slowly made his way around to the back of the saloon. It was a task to climb the stairs yet again but by going up the back way he could take his time and lean heavily against the wall for support.
He was breathless and frustrated by the time he reached his room.
Dinner hour was approaching. but he wasn’t about to face the others yet. He knew they were talking about him by now.
‘What do we do about Ezra?’
Exasperated, Ezra grabbed the bottle of whisky Nathan had left on his dresser for ‘medicinal’ purposes. Due to Nathan’s caution, the bottle was still three quarters of the way full.
Staring at the amber liquid, Ezra decided it would do nicely for his evening meal. He sat in his rocking chair, moving only to raise the bottle and drink deeply. He knew he should be rubbing liniment into his aches and going to bed. He should be drinking some of the soothing tea that Jackson had left for him, but none of it mattered anymore.
He was so tired of being exhausted. Tired of being afraid. Ezra took another long swig, enjoying the burning warmth of the drink. He grasped onto the feeling, pushing the fear into the corners of his mind and letting the alcohol fuel the fire of anger that was just beginning to ignite within him.
Ezra held onto the anger and let it grow.
Why had he been on the trail to Bainbridge by himself anyway? Why were none of the other six there to back him up? Hadn’t Judge Travis recognized that he would have been in danger once he had the deeds in his possession? If not, why not? The man was supposed to be wise after all, wasn’t he?
Why had Chris insisted that Ezra be the one to go anyway? Why? Because Nathan had taken it upon himself to lash out at Ezra at every turn that week. So Ezra was sent away as if he was the problem, unprotected, into a dangerous situation. Then, after he was attacked, no one bothered to come for him. He’d been left there for three whole days, dying.
The emotions churned within, crushing logic and fact, twisting and morphing both into blame and bitterness. The bitterness warmed him, quashing the fear and giving him something to cling to.
No one had even bothered to thank him for saving the stupid land deeds, he thought, tipping the bottle back again. He should have let his attackers have the damn things the first time they’d asked. Oh, and they’d asked quite politely first. It wasn’t until he’d denied knowing what they were talking about that Tom Wyler had simply said, “Have it your way,” and shot him in the leg.
He should have just ridden away and washed his hands of the whole matter and the whole town of Four Corners once and for all.
That’s what he’d do, he decided, the alcohol dimming his memory to his earlier fear of being alone again. He’d get well enough and then he’d get the hell out of this town.
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Chris was in the jailhouse ready to head out on the night’s patrol when he heard the rider coming into town fast. He met the frantic man in the street, barely getting out of the way as the exhausted horse was pulled to a sudden stop. The animal was panting heavily, dangerously even, as its owner was already trying to steer it around Chris and into motion again.
“There’s a fire! Fire!” the rider screamed. He was just a kid. Maybe thirteen at the most, Chris realized. He reached up and grabbed the reins and patted the sweating animal soothingly.
“Easy,” he ordered both man and beast.
“Our land!” The boy jumped from the horse, frantically searching the dark buildings and deserted street. “it’s burning!” There were tears in his eyes.
Chris could hear footsteps and knew without looking it was Vin. He put a hand on the youngster’s shoulder. “Where?”
The boy quivered under his hand, trembling with fear, exertion and worry. “Out by the Johnston’s.” He swallowed back a sob.
“What’s going on?” Tanner arrived, his mare’s leg in hand.
“Fire at the…” Larabee looked at the boy for an answer.
“Myles,” the boy answered, sniffing loudly and wiping the back of his arm across his face. “My dad is Jonathan Myles.”
“I’ll get the others.” Tanner ran for the boarding house.
“You think you can calm down enough to lead us back to your place?” Chris asked the blond-headed boy. The kid’s hair stuck up wildly, his eyes still red from lack of sleep and tears.
He gulped. “Yes, sir.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jon.”
“Ok, Jon, Head to the livery and get a fresh horse. Tell them Chris sent you.”
“Yes sir.” Calmer now, but still humming with suppressed energy, Jon obeyed.
Buck turned up first, followed by everyone else but Ezra. It didn’t take long for everyone to mount up.
“Where’s Ezra?” JD was the first to point out the Southerner’s absence.
“Didn’t wake him,” Vin explained. “Know he was hurting from the ride out earlier and didn’t think he’d be up for another one. Not like this.”
“Probably right,” Nathan agreed, securing his medical pack in his saddle bags. “Anyone hurt at your place?” He turned his attention to Jon Myles.
“Not when I left.” Jon chewed at his lip, twisting at the reins of his borrowed horse.
“Let’s go,” Chris directed.
They rode out of town fast but safe, Chris keeping a pace that wouldn’t harm them or the horses. He knew the urgency, yet also knew there was probably nothing they could do, even as a group, to save the family’s property, but maybe they’d be able to help in some way.
Ezra watched the commotion from his rocking chair. He saw the rider arrive and Tanner run for the others. He watched, waiting for someone to pound on his door and tell him to get moving. The notice never came. They didn’t need him.
‘You wouldn’t do much good right now anyway,’ he reminded himself.
Nathan had probably told them to let him sleep. Whatever the problem was- he couldn’t handle a ride that harsh or fast, not yet. Not after the ride earlier today.
Frustrated and trying to be logical, his drink-clouded mind chose to focus only on the simple fact-they’d left him behind, alone- again.
The sun was up by the time the beleaguered group rode slowly back into town. Exhausted, filthy and weighed down by the futility of their efforts, no one spoke.
The Myles’ property was a loss. The lumber they’d painstakingly stocked for a home, had burned like a giant bonfire. The peacekeepers had arrived in time to help Jonathan Myles and his wife move two of their three wagons out of reach of the flames and keep their other six children out of harm’s way but the family had lost most of their possessions and one of their horses to the fire.
Chris and Vin had listened to Mr. Myles’ description of the sudden fire, Tanner shaking his head. “Nothing natural about the way that woodpile is burning,” he muttered to Chris.
The fire, for all appearances, had been set.
Now, riding into the waking town, concern chewed at Larabee’s mind. Did they have a fire starter loose in Four Corners? How were they going to figure out who it was? How were they going to stop him?
Ezra sat at a corner table in the saloon instead of his usual one, the one Chris usually picked when he wanted to wallow in drink and anger. Ezra figured it was his turn. A bottle of whiskey sat on the table, already half empty. He ignored the toast and tea Inez had brought out to him despite his curt refusal.
He watched as Chris, Vin and Buck came into the building together. Their shoulders sagged with weariness. They looked done in from the night and Ezra had to push aside his concern. He didn’t care, he reminded himself.
The place was crowded again, but this morning the tone of the patrons was different. Instead of the normal easy gossip and everyday frustrations being passed around, this morning-the murmuring had taken on a tense frantic edge. News of the two fires had spread almost as quickly as the flames themselves. Ezra watched it all from his corner, wondering when the worry would erupt into shouting and full out fear.
“Morning, Ezra.”
Ezra looked up, startled from his thoughts by JD’s sudden appearance at his table. The boy looked like he needed a good bath. Soot and dirt lined his face and clothes, but none of it seemed to bother Dunne.
“Hmm.” Ezra grabbed his whiskey and took a long sip straight from the bottle.
JD’s eyes widened. He frowned. “Is that your breakfast?”
“It’ll do,” Ezra admitted, scowling as Dunne pulled out a chair and sat down. He didn’t want JD’s company or anyone else’s. How come folks left Larabee alone when he sulked in a corner but not him?
JD watched him in uncharacteristic silence. Ezra tried not to notice the dark circles under Dunne’s expressive eyes or the worry lines wrinkling his young skin. On second thought, the boy looked like he needed to go to bed.
The silence wore at him, it was too unlike JD to simply sit there and stare.
Ezra set the bottle back on the table. “What do you want, Mr. Dunne?” He kept his voice harsh and impatient. He wanted to be alone.
“I’m worried about you.”
It was all Standish could do to control his reaction to JD’s honest statement. It was definitely not what he expected.
“There is no need for you to waste your concern on me,” he replied, his tone a little gentler.
“Yeah, well.” JD didn’t look away. “It’s not like you to drink your breakfast.”
“I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”
“Maybe not.” JD shrugged. “But too bad.”
Ezra gaped at the young man.
JD smiled slightly. “I’m tired, Ez. I spent the night watching a family’s new land burn up. I don’t want to watch you destroy yourself, too.”
Standish blinked. Why did JD have to push him? “Then maybe you need to find someplace else to sit for your morning meal.” He pushed back.
Dunne needed to go away. If he had to be cruel to make that happen- he would do it.
“Nah, I’m good here.”
JD waved at Buck, signaling the ladies’ man over.
“Mr. Dunne, did it ever occur to you that I chose this particular seat because I wanted to be alone?” Ezra felt like the wall he’d carefully constructed with his anger the night before was about to cave in on him.
“yup.” JD ignored the obvious prod to leave.
Within minutes Ezra’s ‘private’ table was crowded. Chris and Vin had joined Buck after JD’d signaled him over and Josiah and Nathan had come in shortly after. Instead of finding another, larger table in the crowded room, they’d chosen to pull up chairs and squeeze around the smaller one where Ezra sat.
Knowing it would do no good to protest to the group and too stubborn to leave, Ezra continued drinking his whiskey and tried his best to remain ambivalent toward the group. He listened as they discussed the fire in hushed voices, conscious of the tension in the room around them.
“Did you see the way the flames traveled up the wood pile?” Buck asked.
“Following the trail,” Vin answered.
“Trail?” Nathan stabbed his eggs, casting a glance at Ezra’s ignored plate of toast as the Southerner took another sip of his breakfast. “What would cause the fire to do that?”
“Alcohol,” Josiah answered.
“Oil,” Chris added.
“So it was definitely set by someone.” JD sighed over his empty plate. “But why?”
“We know that someone didn’t want those land deed to ever get into the settlers hands to begin with,” Josiah pointed out, eyeing Ezra carefully.
Ezra ignored the urge to react to the reference to his attack.
“But if Guy Royal was behind that…why would he burn the settlers out now?” Buck shook his head. “He’s destroying the land that he wanted to get his hands on so badly.”
“Land can recover, “Vin reminded.
“Yeah but when?” JD asked.
“It’d take time, but with work, it’d come around again. Sometimes better.”
“What do you think, Ezra?” Chris surprised them all by addressing Standish directly regardless of his lack of interaction with them.
Ezra stared at Larabee a moment, his mind racing with panic even as he carefully schooled his expression to reveal nothing.
Purposefully, he reached forward and picked up the bottle of whiskey. Slowly, he rose to his feet, wobbling slightly at the wave of dizziness that swept over him. Clearing his throat he looked at Larabee.
“I have no theories on the matter,” he stated sharply, then turned and weaved his way through the crowd and out the batwing doors.
Buck sat back in his chair. “That went well.”
[ part one][ part two]