Feb 2013 - Hearts...

Hey!! Stop poking!! Cat comfy on chair here reading last months stories!!

Okay okay - resettles butt.

I have been given the gentlest of hurry up messages.

So...

For all you prowling lurkers here is February's prompt.

It is...


HAH! You gotta earn it - pass the catnip.






That's better.

Your prompt is:


HEARTS

So - whatever valentines style romance is on the suite of cards...
Or whatever aching of blood pumping organs you have planned for the boys

On your marks,
Get set
Go!!!!

Hearts


I stood behind the locked door, fingering my threadbare clothes, staring through the window although I couldn’t see anything on the other side, and wondered, not for the first time, how I, coming from good Kansas farm stock, had ended up here.

Nervously, I played with the cotton ties that bound me as tightly as handcuffs. I wasn’t used to it, being new here and all, and I didn’t think I was gonna much like it. Not that it mattered, I thought. I’d made my choices and now I had to live with the results.

It had taken me a long time to get here. For a while, but not nearly as long as I’d have liked, things went well and I was, if not exactly happy, then satisfied. I worked hard; oh yes, it was hard on the back, that’s for sure, but I earned my pay! But I also enjoyed the finer things in life. I had a taste for wine and for fine food, and I made a point of enjoying both as often as I could. Maybe too often. Least ways, that’s what my best friend said and who knows—maybe my friend was right. Maybe that’s where it all began to go wrong. But I suppose once I’d started on that path, there was no stopping, no way to get off and nowhere to go but down.

Enough. I still had some pride. So I stood there, not exactly cowering in a corner but not making a point of showing off who I was, neither. I knew my clothes weren’t the fanciest--silk was a long way in my past now—and they weren’t even the cleanest, but they were all I had and I’d come by them honestly. That, at least, was the truth, even if nothing else about me was.

How had I ended up here, I wondered for the thousandth time. If only… Too many regrets to matter. Nothing mattered, anymore. Not the fine, two-story house, with the piano downstairs and the fine furniture, scattered with pillows covered in fabric from France. Not the soft bed with a feather mattress and a cedar chest underneath. Not the laughter and the kindness and the… Oh, if only… No, no sense in wishing I’d done things different. Too late now. Much too late.

I don’t think I stood in that small cell for very long. But it seemed an eternity. I wasn’t used to it, being on display like that. I was barely dressed; just wearing undergarments, really. Embarrassing for someone like me. But I wasn’t me any longer. Those days were gone. And they’d never come back. Once you’ve fallen as low as I have, you can’t do nothing to climb up again.

So I was stuck. I knew it; I just didn’t want to accept it. I looked around but the room hadn’t changed none in fifteen minutes. The others were paying no never mind to me, probably didn’t want to seem too friendly. Not that I wanted to be friends with the likes of them anyway. I still had some standards! Though, if I thought about it, thoughts like that would likely get me into even more trouble than I was in already. So I didn’t think about it no more and dropped the glare from my face.

My confinement was beginning to wear on me. I almost laughed. Well, smiled; really, more a scowl. But no one could tell. I was a master at hiding my feelings. I’d had to do it for years and old habits, survival habits, die hard. I was confined in more ways than one, that was for sure. If I could only get these clothes off, I’d feel a lot better. But when I thought of what I’d be doing then, well… I sighed. The lot of a prisoner was never pleasant, no matter how rich the surroundings.

I knew I was being watched. I used to like being looked at. But that was when I had my looks. Back when I was wining and dining, and being wined and dined. Back when I was at the height of my profession, when people practically fell over themselves to keep me happy because I plied my trade profitably for all concerned. But now look at me!

I couldn’t see through the window. Only the people on the other side could see in; I couldn’t even hear them. It was my first day in this establishment and I wondered how many people were walking by, come just to see the famous resident. It wasn’t a comforting thought and I felt my face flush with shame. I would’ve turned my face away but I’d been warned what would happen if I did that. I didn’t need to be punished any more than I was already, just by being here.

I sighed again. I had to stop thinking like that. This was my life now and I had better get used to it. No one was gonna help me; I couldn’t even help myself. If I could have, I certainly wouldn’t have ended up here!

Make the best of it. Ain’t that what I’ve always done? Take the bad and turn it into something good? That’s how I got to the top in my former life. I knew what I was doing when I started down that road but I clawed my way to the top and for a while, everything was grand. People listened to me, asked me my opinions—me! As if I was important. As if I mattered. I should’ve known better. Nothing in life comes easy. Easy come easy go, they say. And they were right.

If only I hadn’t gotten sick. If only I hadn’t taken that medicine for so long. But I was hurting and, well, the doc said it was good for me. How was I to know it wasn’t? I kept taking it and it made me feel so much better. But I did some stupid things and even though I tried to make things right, it was too late. I ended up here.

I heard the key turn in the lock and then the door opened. Someone I couldn’t see must’ve beckoned because two of the other prisoners both left. They grinned at me triumphantly as they passed me on their way out.

Then the door closed and was locked shut and I did the same to my heart. I wasn’t going to let my hurt show. Not now, not ever.

I stood in front of the locked door, fingering my fine clothes, staring through the window at the goods on display and marvelled, not for the first time, how I, coming from good Kansas farm stock, had ended up here.

Nervously, I played with the hat I held in my hands. Me and my friend weren’t used to a such a nice place as this, being newly on our own and all, and I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing, spending so much of our money. Not that it mattered, I thought. I wasn’t gonna turn tail and run away now. We’d decided and now we had to go through with it.

It had taken us a long time to get here. For a long while, too long, things were real hard but I was, if not exactly happy, then satisfied. I worked hard; oh yes, I earned my pay! It was too hard on the back but now I was free and I could sometimes enjoy the finer things in life. I had a taste for cider and for berry pies, and I made a point of enjoying both as often as I could. Maybe too often. Least ways, that’s what my best friend said and who knows—maybe my friend was right. Maybe that’s where it all began. But I suppose once we’d started on that path, there was no stopping, no way to get off and nowhere to go but west. Always west.

Until we ended up here. This town was booming and we’d done well by it. A few weeks of easy work and we had enough funds to enjoy us a night on the town. We chose carefully, walking up and down Front Street and Myers Avenue until we’d passed all the establishments twice. Even with the money we had, we couldn’t afford a parlor house, nor even a high-end sporting house. But we both wanted a good meal as well as a good time, so we finally made a decision and agreed on this place.

I knew a common house wouldn’t have the best but it would be clean and that was good enough for us. The piano player was singing “Sweet Lillie My Darling” when we entered and I guess that was a good choice, considering. I looked around and grinned. The sofa and chairs were covered in, velvet I think it was, and there was a bird cage in the corner that had a little yellow bird in it. I’d never seen a cabinet with so many bottles inside! And I couldn’t keep my eyes off the painting on the wall. Oh yes, I was sure gonna have a mighty fine time tonight!

I’d heard enough talk in the camp to know that we’d eat after. Maybe they’d ask us what we wanted, as I didn’t see no food laid out on the table in the other room. I went through the open doorway for a closer look. There was silver knives and forks, and real glasses, and real pretty white plates with a flower design in the middle laid out on the polished tabletop. I wasn’t sure if I should be in there with no one else around so I quickly went back to my friend in the other room. He was standing near the piano player, who’d moved on to something I didn’t recognize.

Soon enough, a lady came and after inspecting us, she must’ve decided we would do ‘cos she took our money and led us up to the landing. I’d never seen a window shaped like a heart before but I guess it made sense, seeing as what was behind it. I tried not to stare but all them soiled doves on the other side were only wearing their…their…unmentionables. I could see my friend blushing, too.

The madam laughed and I started to get angry. Who was she to make fun of us? We’d paid our money so we were customers now and could do whatever our hearts desired. I decided, then and there, to take a real good look. I wanted my money’s worth.

I nudged my friend and he dragged his eyes back to me. He grinned like the schoolboy he wasn’t and without saying anything, nodded towards the whore standing near the front, off to the right. She was blonde; her long hair was pulled behind her ears and twisted so it hung down her back in ringlets. She had blue ribbons in her hair and they fell from the top of her head to her shoulders. She had a good figure; her thin waist contrasted well with her other assets. She’d do my friend very well.

I grinned back and then nodded to the prairie nymph I’d chosen. His eyes widened as he saw the older whore in the back corner, the one who looked sad and mean at the same time, the one whose dark hair was coming down and whose clothes weren’t as fashionable as the others’ and who stared straight at us defiantly. I don’t know why she was even there; she certainly didn’t look like she belonged in a brothel of this class.

Shaking my head, I indicated another lady of the evening nearby. Another blonde, young and buxom and smiling even though she didn’t know who was on the other side of the door. I had a feeling she’d be fun. My feeling got stronger the more I stared at her. And then she turned and it seemed like she looked right at me. She smiled some more and slowly ran a finger down the middle of her unmentionables. Yep, I definitely wanted her!

We pointed to our selections and the madam took a key from the belt around her waist and unlocked the door. She made some sort of signal and our two nymphs came to us. Somehow, they knew which of us wanted them and mine wrapped her arm around me. And then I wasn’t paying attention to my friend no more.

I heard the door being locked and as I walked arm in arm to the room where I expected to spend the next very enjoyable few hours, I snuck a glance back through the heart-shaped window. The other whore was still standing there, but now she just looked old and worn out.

I quickly turned away and walked faster down the hallway to the bed that was waiting for me. I wasn’t going to let anything spoil this special night.


Author’s Notes:
a) Front Street is where brothels in Laramie, Wyoming, were located; Myers Avenue is where they were located in Cripple Creek, Colorado.
b) This story is based on a visit to The Old Homestead in Cripple Creek, Colorado, in July 2011, and information derived from the following sources:
* Enss, Chris. (2006). How the West Was Worn: Bustles and Buckskins on the Wild Frontier. Guilford, CT: Twodot.
* Feitz, Leland. (1967). Myers Avenue: A Quick History of Cripple Creek’s Red-Light District. Colorado Springs, CO: Little London Press.
* Godey, Louis Antoine and Hale, Sarah Joespha Buell, eds. (1876). Godey's Lady's Book and Magazine, Volume 92. Philadelphia: Louis A. Godey. Retrieved 2/10/13 at <http://books.google.com/books?id=ovRNAAAAMAAJ&pg=PA100&source=gbs_toc_r&cad=4#v=onepage&q&f=false>.
* Rutter, Michael. (2005). Upstairs Girls: Prostitution in the American West. Helena, MT: Farcountry Press.

“Kid! C’mon, Kid, don’t give up on me now,” Hannibal Heyes’ voice was a desperate plea in the lonesome wilderness. The heavy rain pouring from the dreary, black sky outside didn’t help lift the dismal mood. A meager campfire cast eerie, strange shadows on the cave walls.

Heyes was distraught. He had done his best for the Kid, but his friend needed a doctor. And soon.

The posse had chased them relentlessly; always picking up their tracks again no matter how much they tried to lose them. Finally they did lose them, though not before leaving a bullet in Kid Curry.

A sheen of sweat covered Kid’s pale face, marking the start of a fever. Kid’s breath sounded ragged and harsh to Heyes’ ears. Kid moved restlessly beneath the blankets. One minute he felt cold and the next, he was burning up again. “Heyes…”

“I’m here, Kid. I’m here.” Heyes knelt beside his friend.

“Don’t...don’t think I’m gonna make it...this time ‘round,” Kid panted. Every word seemed to sap the strength out of him.

“We’ll get you a doctor, Kid. Just be patient and hang in there for me.”

“Doctor…,” Kid let out a weak chuckle. “Closest doc...in Leaning Tree...with that posse.”

Heyes said nothing to that. They both knew what that meant. But neither had the heart to tell the other it was over. “I’m gonna make some coffee,” Heyes muttered. He stood and prepared the battered coffeepot. He glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw the Kid shiver beneath the blankets. He silently prayed for a miracle. A miracle. That’s what it would have to be to save Kid at this stage. Heyes felt helpless; more helpless and overwhelmed than he had since they’d lost their folks.

When the coffee was done, Heyes poured himself a cup. “You think you can down a cup?” No answer. Fear gripped Heyes. “Kid?” He set down the coffee and rushed over to where his partner lay. Relief swept over him when he saw the Kid’s chest still rising and falling. He sat beside him and sighed, leaning back against the cave wall.

Heyes hadn’t been able to remove the bullet from the Kid. It was lodged between two ribs, terribly close to the heart. He’d tried to get it out but they both knew Kid needed a doctor. He’d cleaned and bandaged the wound as best he could. The bleeding had stopped; but it was the amount of blood the Kid had lost beforehand and the bullet that worried Heyes. The poison from the lead was being pumped throughout Kid’s veins. His partner looked as though he were one heartbeat away from eternity.

Several hours after midnight, the rain had relented some but Kid’s fever was raging. Heyes could do nothing but watch his friend suffer and try to make him as comfortable as possible. Maybe if he turned himself in, he could get help for his cousin...

Heyes glanced down at Kid. Yes. Yes, that’s what he would do. He hated to leave him alone but it was the Kid’s only chance.

He was setting a full canteen next to Kid when his cousin stirred. Kid blinked a couple of times, trying to clear the cobwebs of his feverish state. “Heyes? Where’re you goin’?” he asked, seeing Heyes with a saddlebag slung over his shoulder. His words were slurred and he couldn’t see straight. Everything was a blur.

“I’m gonna go get help.”

Kid struggled for breath again, the bullet in him causing him excruciating pain. “Heyes, don’t leave me,” he whimpered.

Heyes’ eyebrows knit together in worry. Kid must really be hurting. It wasn’t like him to go on so. For an instant, Heyes saw the Kid as a frightened child again.

A sharp pain shot through Kid. He couldn’t stop the muffled scream from escaping his clenched teeth this time. His breath quickened and his face screwed up in a grimace. “It hurts!” he whispered. Kid’s eyes locked onto Heyes’ brown ones. Then he squeezed his eyes shut in pain, his breath labored.

“Kid?”

“Get...get that amnesty...for us,” he strained for the words.

“But, Kid, we’re gonna get it together. We’ll walk right into the governor’s office together when we get it.”

“Heyes, make it stop!” He let out a terrible groan and clutched his chest. Then he shuddered...and lay still.

“Kid!” Heyes bent over him and tried to find a pulse. He tried to listen for a heartbeat. None. Desperation quickened his movements even more. He felt the neck, the wrist. Nothing. Heyes felt as though he’d been kicked. “Kid? Say somethin’!” No, he couldn’t be! Not after all they’d been through. Not after trying so hard to earn amnesty. Not after all the posses and bounty hunters they’d dodged. Heyes slapped Kid’s face gently, trying to wake his silent partner. He didn’t know how long he tried.

He couldn’t - no, wouldn’t - admit his partner was dead. It just couldn’t be! But deep down inside, he knew it was true. Heyes looked at his sleeping partner’s face.

“You don’t care what happens! You don’t even exist!” Heyes yelled to the heavens, his voice ringing off the rock walls of the empty cave. His vision began to blur and he brushed harshly at his eyes with his sleeve. He couldn’t stop them, though, once they started. Tears streamed freely down his face as he sat there. Just watching. And waiting. For what, he didn’t know. Maybe for death to reach out and take him too.

Heyes woke with a start. He must’ve dozed off for a few seconds. It was still dark outside and their campfire was still lit. The storm had worsened; the rain was, once again, pouring from the sky and now, an occasional rumble of thunder was heard. Then he remembered. The Kid was…he was gone. “Why did you leave me, Jed?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“Hello the camp!” A voice from outside called.

Heyes stiffened and pulled out his gun.

“Is anyone there?”

“What do you want?” Heyes called back. He glanced down at the Kid’s body then back at the cave entrance.

“I’m just a pilgrim looking for a place to rest; I mean you no harm.”

It could be someone from the posse that had chased them or even a bounty hunter. Another roll of thunder grumbled and a flash of lightning lit the sky. Against his better judgment, he decided to allow the stranger to share his camp. No one deserved to be out in that storm. “Alright, come on in.” Heyes kept his gun at his side, ready for anything.

Footsteps approached and soon, a shabby-looking cowboy entered. He smiled at Heyes and didn’t seem to notice the gun in his hand. “I’m much obliged. That‘s quite a storm we‘re having.”

Heyes just nodded and sat down protectively beside the Kid‘s body. “Got some coffee in the pot over there.” He put away his gun, but kept his hand on the butt of the revolver. If this man was out for the reward, Heyes would be ready for any false move the stranger made.

“Thank you kindly.” The stranger poured himself a cup. He nodded his head toward Kid. “Hope I didn’t wake your friend.”

Hot tears threatened Heyes’ eyes again. “You didn’t.”

“By the way, my name’s Gabe,” he smiled.

“A pleasure, Gabe. I’m Joshua. Joshua Smith.”

“I surely do thank you for letting me share camp with you.”

Heyes nodded, but watched the stranger warily. He studied the man behind suspicious eyes. He seemed to be a jovial enough sort of fellow. The clothes he wore were wet from the heavy rain and there was mud covering his boots. Heyes was confused when he noted that the man wore neither holster nor gun. He could have one hidden in his coat though; or he might be concealing some other type of weapon.

“Sure was a pure blessing that I noticed the light from your campfire,” the stranger went on. “I was pretty near soaked to the bone when you invited me in. What with no horse and all, I‘m not sure I would‘ve made it to the next town.”

Heyes struggled to keep his eyes open. The stranger’s voice seemed to be lulling him to sleep. No, he couldn’t fall asleep. Not with a possible bounty hunter in their camp. He fought hard but within a short time, a deep sleep overcame him and he neither saw nor heard anything.


“Heyes?” Heyes sat up at the sound of his name being called. He could’ve sworn he’d heard Kid calling him. But, no, the Kid was dead. He’d watched his cousin die last night, he remembered. Had it really happened? Had he really watched the only family he had left die right before his very eyes? A shudder went through him, recalling the distressing and horrifying experience. “Heyes?” There it was again. “Get me out of these darn blankets; I’m suffocating here!”

“Kid?” Heyes scrambled out of his blanket. “Kid, you’re alive!” Heyes let out a whoop that caused Kid to cringe.

“Yeah, I’m alive. Where else would I be?” Kid struggled to remove the blankets that were piled on top of him.

“But I thought...last night--”

A confused look passed over Kid’s face as he sat up. “Funny thing...I can’t remember last night. Last thing I remember is findin’ this cave.”

“Kid, you died last night!”

“I WHAT!” Kid cried in astonishment.

“Yeah that’s right! You died. I felt like dyin’ myself seein’ you lay there...Then that drifter--Hey where’s he at?”

“Who?”

“Gabe. The man who wandered in here last night.”

“I didn’t see no one...wait a minute.”

“Yeah?”

“I remember. I remember this fella standin’ over me, smilin’ and sayin’--”

“Yeah? Yeah?! What’d he say, Kid? C’mon spit it out!”

“Well hold your horses! He said somethin’ funny...like, it wasn’t my time yet and that your prayers were being heard and answered. You don’t pray...do you, Heyes?”

“I did. Last night, I did. First time in years.” Kid noted the emotion in those dark brown eyes. “I thought I’d lost you. You were dead, for cryin’ out loud!” Suddenly, he grabbed Kid and pulled him into a hug. “He did hear, Kid! Thank God; He heard.”

“Yeah...yeah, Heyes.” Kid smiled.

Heyes was positively beaming. “How’s the bullet wound?” Heyes checked for the wound. There was nothing there. Not even a scratch.

“What is it?” Kid asked when he saw Heyes’ bewildered face.

“It’s not there. There ain’t even a scratch on you.”

“I sure don’t feel like I’ve been shot. I feel pretty good. Matter of fact, I’m kinda hungry.” He looked around the cave. “We got anything to eat?”


After breaking camp, and of course eating breakfast, two men left the shelter of the cave. The rain had stopped and the horses’ hooves squished in the mud it had created. A brilliant rainbow was painted across the sky.

“Did it really happen, Kid?”

“What? You mean me dyin’ and all?”

“Yeah.”

“I remember bein’ shot. I remember hurtin’ bad in between blacking out. So it couldn’t all have been just a dream...or a nightmare.”

“But there’s no scar or anything to prove you’ve been shot.”

“I oughta know when I’ve been shot! Now unless we had the same dream,” -- Kid shrugged -- “I’d say there’s a good chance it did happen.”

“And Gabriel?”

“You saw him and heard him.”

“But was he real?”

“Remember, I told you what he said to me. I saw him too.” He paused. “You reckon he might’ve been that angel that our folks told us about from the Good Book?”

He didn’t answer the Kid’s question. Heyes felt uncomfortable. He was used to being able to think things out, to be able to find a reasonable explanation for any puzzle or circumstance. There was only one explanation he could possibly come up with this time; that there really was a God hearing, listening and watching over His creatures.

They rode for awhile saying nothing. Then Heyes spoke. “You know what, Kid?”

“What’s that?”

“Our folks were right, I guess. There really is Someone out there lookin’ out for us.”


A special thanks to those who helped me out with this challenge! You ladies are awesome! ^.^

He sat for a moment, breathing heavily and trying to calm his stomach when his eyes fell upon the stack of letters that had been sitting there now for over a week. He sat back down and continued to stare at them as though it were the first time he'd been aware of them.
Once more he stood up and grabbing hold of the sheets of paper, he sat back down and began to shuffle through them until he came to one in particular. Once he found the one he was looking for he absently allowed the others to slide to the floor while he focused his attention completely onto this one. He sat for a moment and ran his fingers gently over the hand writing that he knew so well and he felt both fear and anticipation at opening this letter.
He was afraid of it, afraid of what words she would have to say to him. He knew how sharp her tongue could be a times and he just didn't feel up to dealing with a reprimand. It was just so much easier to stay inside his self-made world of exile and destruction and he was afraid that she might present him with an undeniable reason to keep on holding on.
But finally curiosity got the best of him and he pulled open the re-sealed envelope and slid out the folded pages of her letter. Then to his surprise another oblong piece of paper slid out from the sheets and fluttered heavily to the floor. Heyes sat and stared at it for a moment, almost afraid to pick it up. It was a photograph, he knew that, but it had fallen face down and he found himself hesitant to turn it over to see the image.
But again, curiosity finally won out and he slid down to his knees and leaning over he awkwardly picked up the card stock and then pushed himself back up onto the cot again. With a knot in his throat that he thought was going to choke him he flipped the photo over and his heart nearly broke in two when he saw his own dimples smiling back at him.
He gently caressed his thumb over her soft face and along her thick, dark hair. He stared into a pair of smouldering dark orbs that he knew without a doubt were the same rich chocolate brown as his own and he felt such an overwhelming rush of paternal pride that he was sure it was going to choke him. He couldn't take his eyes off of her image.

“Oh, sweetheart. You're so beautiful.” He whispered. “You're so beautiful—my daughter.”

She tripped.

He caught her.

It was that simple and that complicated. Tripping is a simple matter, just a toe catching on a projection, a foot not getting quite where it needed to go, or a knee inexplicably buckling. Catching is simple, too; an arm, sometimes two, extending to support the falling weight. Equilibrium is regained and the external support is withdrawn. It is all completed in a fraction of a second. Earth continues its spin through space, the sun and moon continue to rise and set, the tides continue to ebb and flow. A simple trip and catch doesn't change the universe. That is it doesn't unless it is a respectable lady that happens to trip and a notorious former outlaw is on hand to do the catching. If this is the case, then yes, the whole world changes.

She was certain of a few things and uncertain of many more. Starting with the things of which she was certain, first was that she had been caught staring. She had seen them many times before. On several occasions she had even prevented her head from turning to follow their movement. Both the men were attractive, that point was conceded, and attractive things catch one's eye. It is just that she saw no point in being as obvious about it as some, no, most of the women in town were. She would not force her company upon them, she would not spew forth a continuous stream of compliments while in their presence, she would not hang on their every word, she would not oh and ah at stories of their former life, and she would not longingly stare at them when they chanced to pass by.

Unfortunately today had been an exception to her usual behavior. She had allowed her gaze to linger on first the hat, then the hair, then the profile, then the eyes. Why she had done this was one of the things about which she was uncertain, but linger she had so when the face she watched moved slightly his eyes connected with hers. A finger touched the brim of his hat, his head gave a slight nod, a smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. She should have looked away, that's another thing of which she was certain. A greater uncertainty is why she didn't. His partner said something and he turned. She had almost summoned the power to look away when he looked back in her direction and their eyes met again. This time she did look away as she felt herself blushing.

The next thing she was certain about is that she entered the mercantile and wandered the store until she regained some degree of self control. She purchased a bit of penny candy and arranged for something, cloth, flour, or sugar, to be delivered. She paid for her items and chatted with the storekeeper while keeping an eye on the street for any indication of which direction the two former outlaws had gone. She saw the president of the Amnesty Admiration Society hurry past the store, heading north.

“That woman aught to be ashamed of herself,” she had said under her breath as she stood by the mercantile door. Madam President latched on to them so tightly at the last social, she continued thinking to herself, that their arms must have borne imprints of her hands for hours. Someone should lash a shaft to those eyes of hers and put her to use pumping water. Of course it would only work if one of the partners were there to generate the batting eyelashes and that would suit the president just fine.

I, she thought, would certainly never have allowed myself to act that way. In all honesty, though, she then admitted to herself, her own behavior at another social was less than all that was expected of a morally upright, respectable, single lady. When, having found herself alone with him, had she suggested going back inside or moving someplace where they could have been properly chaperoned? No, she had walked and talked with him of trivial matters; of local and national happenings; of the relative merits of sunrises versus sunsets; of everything and nothing. For minutes or hours, another thing for the uncertain list, they talked until they found their way to the door of the house where she kept her room.

It was all respectable, she assured herself, he had opened the door for her, tipped his hat, smiled that smile, and thanked her for taking time to walk with him, then he had faded into the night. Since then, however, she had been unable to do more than exchange the briefest of greetings with either him or his partner before members of the Amnesty Appreciation Society had invariably shown up within minutes whenever either of the partners came into town.

Having received confirmation that the two former outlaws were definitely north of her, she stepped out of the store and turned her feet south. Her head, however, had followed the president's northward movement. Why was another thing she was uncertain about, but desperately tried to convince herself that it wasn't the chance of catching sight of the former outlaws again. It was only a few steps later that she tripped.

There is a moment in every trip when you believe you have the physical prowess to pull yourself back upright, regain your feet and be able to continue on your way. This is sometimes followed by the realization that that is not what is going to happen, instead you will fall with all the grace of a dead fish, as time moves onward at an infinitesimal pace, as you continue all the way down to the ground, and it will hurt when you do get down there.

She was certain she dropped the bag of candy when she felt herself falling. Spice gumdrops were a weakness, she knew, but all the same she regretted the waste as she watched the bag tumbling through the air toward the mud. The same mud that she was heading for and would certainly ruin her clothes. The same mud in which a pair of boots were already standing. So she would, in addition to her own embarrassment, splash mud on some innocent passerby.

For the briefest moment she felt as if she were flying, not falling. Then she felt the arm around her waist and back that pulled her up and away from the mud quick enough to cause her breathing to catch and the other arm braced along her spine with it's hand between her shoulder blades. Both arms contracted to support her weight and she found herself upright and propelled into the chest of her rescuer.

Looking up, she found her eyes level with the same pair of eyes that had caught her staring only a few minutes ago. Certainly at this point any respectable lady would have thanked her rescuer and graciously extracted herself from his arms. Unfortunately, being a woman with only the appearance of respectability she continued to gaze into the eyes that she had found so attractive from across the street. Again the arms tighten around her. Now she felt his breath on her cheeks and lips.

Determined to act like the lady she wasn't sure she wanted to be she intended to explain that she was no longer in danger of falling and to thank him for his assistance. “I,” she started, but got no further.

So closely was she held now that their lips nearly brushed with each word, each breath. Lips finally did more than brush and they lost all connection with the world around them. There were only the lips that refuse to be separated from each other, the arms that grasped the other, the hands which cradled the back of the head.

“Have supper with me,” he whispered, taking a breath at the same time so it sounded nearly anxious.

“Yes,” she replied with her heart before her head could stop it. His arms loosened and their bodies separate slightly. She leaned back into him and stole a kiss. “When?”

“Tonight and every other night for the rest of our lives.”

She heard a cough behind her. The arms released her and the world intruded on them.

“Admiration Society coming in from the north, partner.”

“They track better than some posses we've met.”


She tripped, he caught her, and they still have supper together every evening.

A/N: I haven’t written anything in a very long time and this story definitely could have used more attention, but the idea came to me only a few days ago and I had to rush to get it done in time. I hope you enjoy and I hope that the muse will come back so that I can pick up where I left off on the other fics I’ve started.

Hearts


The late afternoon sun slanted through the trees as Hannibal Heyes guided his chestnut down the trail and onto the road leading to Silver Creek. He straightened in the saddle; massaging his back with one hand for a moment.

“Sure will be glad to sleep in a real bed tonight,” he murmured and his horse flicked back an ear at the sound of the familiar voice.

When he reached the first of the town’s buildings, a shaft of sunlight illuminated the stained glass window of the church just ahead and he remembered fleetingly of the Sundays he and his best friend had spent on those hard pews.

Deciding to go to the hotel before stabling his horse, Heyes pulled off his saddlebacks and walked into the lobby. “Has a Mr. Jones checked in yet?” he asked the clerk at the registration desk.

“Don’t think so, but I just got here for the evening.” He pushed the ledger over to Heyes. “I’ll be right back to give you your key,” he said as an elderly women came into the lobby struggling with several packages. “Mrs. Moore,” the clerk said hurriedly as he went over to her. “Let me help you with those.”

As Heyes watched, he thought about his plans for the evening and was trying to decide if he wanted to get a drink at the saloon first or a hot bath before he went over to the café for dinner. As the clerk disappeared up the stairs with Mrs. Moore, Heyes pulled the ledger closer and glanced at the page to see if the Kid had arrived before him and was waiting for him in their room.

The name he saw wasn’t the Kid’s familiar scrawl.

It was a name he didn’t think he’d ever see again and the signatures seemed to dance in front of his eyes as he stared at the yellowed paper.

Morgan Monroe, Moro Coyo, California.

Wiping a shaking hand over his face, Heyes quickly composed himself as the clerk came back. “Ready to check in, sir?” he asked.

His voice seemed to be coming from very far away and Heyes forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand. He pulled out a few bills from his vest pocket and handed them to the clerk. “Can you have someone stable my horse for me? It’s the chestnut with the two white feet tied up out front.”

“Certainly, sir, that won’t be any trouble at all.” The clerk watched as Heyes signed his name and asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, not right now.” Heyes replied and began walking towards the stairs. Then he turned back to add, “It doesn’t look as if my friend has checked in yet – he should be here tomorrow; if for some reason I’m not in my room you can give him a key.”

“Of course, I’ll be glad to.”

Once in his room, Heyes took off his jacket, gun belt and sat down on the bed to remove his boots. All thoughts of the relaxing evening had been wiped away when he had seen that name in the register.

Morgan.

The one person in the world who had really and truly understood his partner as no one else ever had. And the one person who had broken the Kid’s heart.

Lying back on the bed, Heyes closed his eyes; remembering how they had met.

A year ago he and Curry had found work on a wagon train that was shorthanded. Morgan was traveling along because a friend of hers knew the wagon master. She and the Kid had struck up a friendship and it wasn’t long before they realized they were in love with each other. To further complicate things, she knew their real identity. Traveling West after her parents’ death at the age of 16, she had been on a train that was held up by the Devil’s Hole gang. The Kid had stopped one of the new members from assaulting her and it was a memory she had buried long ago…

Until she realized that the handsome man who was becoming much more than a friend to her was the same man who had come to her rescue on that train in Wyoming.

But she also knew that traveling with them once they left the wagon train wasn’t a very good idea. They had talked about trying to pass her off as Heyes’ sister, but neither Heyes nor the Kid thought that was a solution, either.

His mind took him back to a conversation they had shared as they sat around their campfire a few days before they going to leave the wagon train.

“Have you ever thought about moving to Mexico?” she asked, poking at the fire with a stick. “You’d be able to disappear down there.”

“We don’t exactly speak the language,” Heyes told her ruefully.

Morgan shrugged. “But I do and I could teach you.”

Curry shook his head. “How would we make a livin’?”

“Buy a small ranch. You could raise horses. I know where I can get a palomino stud and some mares to get started.”

Staring at her, Heyes snorted. “With what? In case you haven’t noticed, except for what we’ve earned on the wagon train, we’re about two meals from being broke.”

Undeterred, Morgan shook her head. “I’m not.”

The Kid shook his head as he said wryly, “You expect us to leave the United States for a foreign country, to live on a ranch that YOU bought and raise horses?”

“Why not? At least we’d be together.”

“But we’d never be able to leave,” Heyes told her. “At least if we stay there’s a chance we’ll be granted that amnesty. Once we leave the country…” his voice trailed off as he threw his partner a look.

“Will you at least think about it?” Morgan asked earnestly. They both nodded and she smiled. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Over the next two days she waited for them to bring up the subject of her idea, but they seemed to be avoiding her. When the wagon train made camp in the late afternoon, she watched as Heyes and the Kid went down to the creek with buckets to fill and bring back to the cook. Walking quietly through the woods, she paused when she heard the Kid’s voice.

“You don’t think it’s a good idea, do you?”

It was a few moments before she heard Heyes answer, “Look, Kid, I know you love her,” his voice was heavy with concern as he continued, “but do you really think running off to Mexico is the answer?”

Curry gave a sigh. “No, but I want her to come with us. Maybe we could try it for a few months?”

“And draw even more attention to ourselves?” Heyes asked incredulously.

The silence stretched out as seconds became a minute before the Kid said quietly, “She and I could go to Mexico.”

Morgan drew in a sharp breath; conscious of how easy it would be for one of them to look over and see her. Suddenly she knew what she had to do.

Waiting until everyone in the wagon train was asleep, she went to the wagon master who was taking the first watch. She explained that she’d be riding out – the moon would be up soon and the next town wasn’t far away. He tried to talk her into waiting until morning, but she shook her head. “I need to leave now. Thanks for everything.”

She swung into the saddle and guided Ghost out of the camp and onto the trail. She hadn’t gotten further than a few yards when a figure stepped out from the shadows. “Leaving without saying goodbye?” Heyes asked quietly.

Morgan gave him a sad smile. “I don’t want him to have to choose,” she said sadly. “Take care of him, Heyes.”
Pulling himself back to the present, Heyes realized that a drink was what he needed. The sun was just setting as he made his way down the boardwalk to the saloon, completely unaware that he was being watched.

Morgan was coming out of the stable after checking on Ghost before she went to the café for dinner when her eyes caught sight of a man going into the saloon. “No,” she whispered to herself, “It can’t be...” But there was no mistaking that distinctive hat band and she quickly made her way back to the hotel.

Once in her room, she thought about her options. Leaving now was out of the question – she was tired as they had been riding steadily for the last few days. Ghost needed a rest too and she decided that as long as she was careful and left by the back door and kept to the alleys she should be able to avoid Heyes.

It was a long time before she was able to sleep and then she began to dream. Images of the Kid and Heyes as they rode together in what seemed to be a never-ending prairie, where the wild grasses sometimes concealed the two men and she lost sight of them from time to time. And then they were gone, lost in a swirling mist as she called their names, over and over.

Suddenly she was awake, her breathing harsh in the quiet room. Her face was stiff with dried tears and she sat up, pushing her damp hair back. Moonlight flooded the room, but she didn’t need the illumination to confirm what she had realized as soon as she had recovered from the dream…

She wasn’t alone.

Heyes stepped away from the door and regarded her soberly. “He’ll be here tomorrow. You need to ride out in the morning.”

Morgan took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m sorry, Heyes. I know I hurt him by leaving like that.”

Without another word, he opened the door and left as quietly as he had come. Shivering in the cool air, Morgan pulled up her blankets and settled back down. She knew she’d never be able to go back to sleep so she watched the moon slowly move across the night sky to be replaced by the first few streaks of light as dawn approached.

The livery stable owner was just coming out of his room at the back of the barn as she walked in and she explained that she needed to be on her way. Ghost nickered a greeting and she gave him a pat as she brought him out of his stall. “Sorry, I thought we were staying longer, but we need to head out.”

Once she was clear of the town’s buildings, she chose a less traveled trail that wound up the ridge where she could see the road below her. Dismounting, she pulled off Ghost’s bridle so he could graze while she settled herself against some rocks.

It wasn’t long before she saw a lone rider approaching from the north. The sun was beginning to rise and it she caught the glint of blond hair beneath the rider’s brown hat. Burying her head in her hands, she began to cry, her tears flowing freely as her heart ached for a love that was lost to her forever.