The Gunslinger's Woman
(Part 2)

by Vicki James

Disclaimer: The Magnificent Seven and characters belong to MGM and Trilogy Entertainment. This story does not intend to infringe on that copyright.

*****

What makes you think I did?

His words spoke of his heart, and were as beautiful to me as any traditional declaration of love I'd ever heard. I felt the moisture well in my eyes once again, though this time the tears were of joy that he'd live, that we'd been given a chance to explore this heady emotion shared between us.

Chris's hand on my cheek wiped away the lone tear that overflowed as I blinked, and I gave in to a long, shuddering sigh, a release of the tension that had been coiled inside me over the past day. Had it been only a day? I felt like I had lived a lifetime and died an agonizing death in that short space of time. But in reality it had been only yesterday when those despicable creatures I loathe to even call men had burst into the newspaper office.

I had been straightening out the disarray of a long day's work. I was yearning to put my feet up and enjoy a relaxing cup of tea but at the same time wondering if the drink would really be worth firing the stove for in such heat, when the door to the office crashed open.

Three burly men blocked out any light that filtered through the opening and I knew instinctively, with a twist in my stomach, that they meant trouble. I felt my heart quicken in tempo, but I willed myself to remain calm and to not show them my apprehension as I rose from behind my desk.

"Gentlemen," I said crisply, meeting each one's gaze, "can I help you?"

They'd all squeezed in the door by now, and the man standing in the centre smiled, showing a mouth missing several teeth. His leering, sly smile sent chills of trepidation through me.

"You kin help us more'n you know, little lady," he chortled. "We's here to kill Chris Larabee, an' your gonna bring him out to us so's we can do the job."

I felt myself blanch as I whirled around to flee out the back. I hadn't even taken a step when a huge hand clamped down on my arm, jerking me back and around to face my captors. Stark terror at the thought of being made bait for Chris, at the thought of these men killing Chris, made me strike out reflexively, my free hand ready to claw at the man's face and battle for my freedom. He caught me by the wrist with ease, changed his grip on my other arm to clasp me in a like manner, and hauled me by the wrists up against him. I tried to kick him but was hampered by my long skirts and he easily sidestepped the blow.

"Feisty bitch," he snarled. His eyes took on a feral gleam. "Mebbe after we do away with your man we'll take you with us for some fun."

It was an empty threat and I glared at him in response. Yes, I was frightened. I was terrified. But I didn't for one moment think these cretins could manage to ride out of town with me as a captive. There were seven men who would stand in the way to prevent that from happening. These three couldn't best seven.

But they could kill one, and that thought made my blood run cold.

"C'mon, bring her and let's go," said the man closest to the door. He didn't spare me a glance as he strode out of my office. Of course not. I wasn't anything, anyone to him but a way to seek his revenge for whatever trespass he imagined Chris having committed against him.

The man holding me spun me about and grasped my upper arms from behind, squeezing cruelly with his large hands, pushing me forward and out the door at the same time.

We were headed toward the saloon. With it being so close to the dinner hour, and with the heat of the day still hanging in the air, there were barely any people about the town. Everyone was at home seeking shade, or, from the sounds of things, in the saloon. We met no one during our short walk that could prevent what was about to happen.

They stopped on the road in front of the saloon. "We got the gunslinger's woman! Git on out here. NOW!" cried the man who seemed to be the leader of these three. Then he made his way on into the saloon.

I swallowed a cry as I felt my captor's hand tangle painfully in my hair. The cool metal of his gun pressed against my throat as his voice came low beside my ear.

"Scream so's he can hear you," he commanded. "Do it!" he snarled, jerking my head back by my hair when I would not comply. I bit my lip to keep from calling out in pain.

I was praying for Chris to not be in the saloon. He had told me, not even an hour before when he had stopped by the newspaper office, that he was going there. But I hoped something had come up, something had required his presence elsewhere, something had made him ride out of town.

My heart leapt to my throat and I stifled a cry of fear as a figure exited the saloon. It was JD. Just JD, trying to get those few souls who were watching the situation unfold with horrified fascination off the street, out of the area.

Out of range.

The saloon doors pushed open again and a tall silhouette filled the space. Even with the figure in shadows I knew it was Chris. I wanted to call out his name, tell him to turn around, to have nothing to do with this madness, but as though cognizant of my thoughts my captor jerked harshly on my hair once again. I would cry out to save Chris, but I wouldn't cry out for my captor's amusement. I kept silent.

Following Chris out of the saloon was the second assailant, the leader. He grinned in obscene pleasure as he watched Chris. Behind him came Buck, watching Chris's back by keeping a close eye on the second man. The third man had stepped forward when Chris came out of the doors.

Stepping down onto the street to directly meet the gaze of the man who held me, Chris looked so cool, so unruffled. He told my captor to release me.

"I don't think so," hissed the man's voice alongside my ear.

Chris's eyes met mine momentarily and in that scant glance I could sense his ire.

The anger sounded in his voice now, too, as he said, "You wanna fight me? Fine, I'll fight you. But let the woman go." His hand went to his gun as he spoke.

There was silence from my captor and for an instant it seemed that even time itself stood still. Then, with what felt like time enough to see it clearly but not a moment to cry out a warning, I saw the fourth man. I saw him appear from around the corner of the building. I saw him raise his rifle, take aim, and...

My world exploded when I saw Chris topple forward into the street.

When he fell I didn't think, I just moved. I didn't pause to wonder why my captor had released me so readily. It was only much later I found out it was because Vin had shot the man dead.

I dropped to my knees at Chris's side just in time to see his eyes flutter shut. I whispered his name, hearing my voice still trembling, no doubt a result of the quavering of my whole being.

From the periphery of my vision I saw Nathan kneeling down at Chris's other side.

"Mary," he said. "Mary," he repeated and I tore my gaze from Chris's still face to look up at him.

"I have to turn him over, t' take a look at the wound." Nathan's voice was calm but his expression belied his concern.

It was then that I realized I had draped myself across Chris's chest in a fashion. I hadn't rested my weight on him, for which I was thankful as it might have aggravated his injury, but our closeness definitely stretched the boundaries of propriety.

I didn't care.

Hands on my shoulders eased me up and back into a sitting position and I didn't resist.

"Let Nathan tend to him," Josiah's voice intoned soothingly from behind me and I nodded mutely.

Buck had crouched beside Nathan and he helped the healer gently turn Chris onto his side. As they moved him Chris's head lolled to the side and his arms hung lifelessly to the ground.

Nathan's examination was swift. "I have t' get the bullet out and stop the bleeding right away," he said tersely. "Let's get 'im up to my room."

"No," I said, and Nathan met my eyes as he rose.

"Take him to my place, it's closer," I offered.

"He might be out for a long time, Mary," Nathan advised, and I flinched involuntarily at his tone that suggested that was the best case scenario. "Don't want t' put you out a your bed. Where would you sleep?"

"I won't sleep." I stood up, straightened up, pulled myself together. "Take him to my place."

Nathan eyed me for a fraction of a second more before he nodded. "Get him to Mary's," he instructed Buck and Josiah. "I'm goin' t' get my things."

The two men lifted Chris gently and I led the way back to my office and rooms. I felt as though we were the marchers in some mournful little parade as we made our way by the many townsfolk who now gathered on the street, watching the spectacle. I heard murmurs of concern for Chris from some, speculation on his fate from others. I squared my shoulders and strode determinedly on until we were inside of my office and then through to the back where the bedroom was.

Chris was laid out on my bed and I watched in a sort of detached manner as crimson blood seeped out from under him to stain my white eyelet bedcover. It would be ruined, but it could be replaced. A man could not.

A moment later Nathan was there and for a while things got too busy to allow me time to dwell on my fears. I assisted Nathan as he worked on Chris. He gingerly removed the bullet and then cleansed and bound the wound. He told me that the bullet did not appear to have hit anything vital, and all we could do now was wait.

So I waited. Waited for Chris to come back to me. And I wept. Because suddenly there was too much time to think.

Nathan kept the bedside vigil with me late into the evening as the other men drifted in and out.

Buck and JD came in together. Buck told me solemnly that the assailants could trouble us no more as they now all reposed at the undertaker's. JD asked if there was anything he could do for me.

Ezra came by with a plate of hot food from the hotel and sat with me for a while. He probably did so to ensure that I ate it and he was correct to do so. As much as I appreciated his gesture, the food would have gone untouched otherwise. But I did manage to choke down a portion of the meal.

When Vin came to check on Chris he stood quietly, worry written clearly in his eyes. However, as he leaned down and gently squeezed my shoulder before he left I also saw his belief in Chris's strength and determination. "He'll be okay, Mary. Wait an' see."

Each man who had come had offered me comfort but each had more so come to check on their friend. In their ways, they loved Chris too. Just not like I did.

When darkness had long ago vanquished the sun and the moon was riding high Josiah arrived. He put on a pot of coffee and brought me a cup of the strong brew before retiring with Nathan to my kitchen.

I sipped at the hot beverage as I gazed at Chris's still form. His skin was so pale; in the lantern light it almost blended in with the sheets which covered him to his shoulders. But his breathing was steady and his skin still cool, but not cold, to the touch. Nathan had said that to be an encouraging sign.

When my half empty cup of coffee had cooled in my hands Josiah slipped back into the room and lowered his large frame onto the vacant chair in the room. He told me Nathan had fallen asleep with his head on his arms at my kitchen table. Josiah was going to sit with me a spell.

I nodded to him in acquiescence then let my gaze drift back to Chris.

"Why did he do it? Why did he come out into the street?" I asked softly. I don't think I was really asking Josiah for an answer but more so just vocalizing a thought.

Josiah had an answer for me nonetheless. "Because that's the kind of man he is, Mary. You of all people know that."

I did, of course. It was one of the qualities of Chris Larabee that made him so very precious to me.

Josiah kept me company through that long, eternal night. He regaled me with stories of Chris's exploits; some I'd heard of as rumour, and some I'd never heard of at all. Astonishingly, he even had me smiling a couple times.

As the light of a new day began creeping in the window I begged Josiah to go home so he could get some rest. Nathan would wake soon, I told him, and at my insistence he finally agreed.

Later, I stood at the window watching it sheet with rain. I remembered another day in a memory not too distant as to be muted with time when I had also stood gazing out at the rain. It was a week after Stephen had died and I was wondering how I would ever go on. At that time I had felt as thought I couldn't possibly cope, that most of me had died with my husband. Except for my beautiful boy, our son. For him I could continue. I had done so, and I had lived and we prospered.

That strong Mary Travis people had called me. Strong woman, taking on her husband's newspaper all on her own, they said. Whether they applauded me for doing so or disagreed with a woman running a newspaper, I was still that strong Mary Travis.

The thing was, I didn't know if I had the strength to go through losing someone I loved so much again.

That's where my thoughts were when I heard him make a noise and I whirled around at that joyous sound.

Though the rain still pelted down outside, sunshine had burst in upon my bedroom.

*****

The End!

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