by
Ebony Silvers

The LAST COWBOY SONG

~Chapter 1 - Prologue~
“Desperately”

Every night it’s the same; I hear you calling my name.
You’re lying next to me.
I give into your charms; You disappear in my arms.
I realize it’s just a dream,

But...
Desperately, I long to feel your touch,
But you left me all alone in love.

And now I...
Shake the sleep from my head And try to crawl out of bed.
Today is just another day.
I make the coffee for one.  I turn the radio on.
Pretend that everything’s ok.

But...
Desperately, I long to feel your touch,
But you left me all alone in love.

And now I...
Know there’s no reason to smile.  It’s gonna take me awhile.
‘Cause I still love you desperately.

Desperately, I long to feel your touch,
But you left me all alone in love.

And now I...
Watch the sun going down.  There ain’t nobody around.
I feel a night in the breeze.
I keep on telling myself I don’t need nobody else.
And I can do as I please.

But...
Desperately, I long to feel your touch,
But you left me all alone in love.

And now I...
Desperately, I long to feel your touch,
But you left me all alone in love.

And now...
Every night it’s the same; I hear you calling my name.
I still love you desperately.
I still love you.  I still want you.
I still love you desperately.

Written by Bruce Robison and Monte Warden.
(© Sony-ATV Tree Publishing/Love Monkey Music.)
From "Honkytonkville", © 2003, MCA.

Wesley blinked to ease the burning of his eyes.  “Mother?”

Baby looked up at him through a fringe of lank red hair.  Her golden eyes were blank and tired.

“Dearest?  Do you know me?” he asked gently.

She nodded.  “You’re Wesley,” she said wearily.  She dropped her head, staring down at her hands.  Her pale fingers twitched and worked rhythmically at the leather-encased restraints that circled her wrists, holding them close to her waist.

Wesley swallowed as he, too, stared at those slender white digits with their uncharacteristically short, unpainted nails.  “Are these really necessary?  Does she have to wear them all the time?”

“Yeah.  If not she hurts herself,” Spike answered.  His voice was as weary as Baby’s had been.  “I think she still has the marks from the last time I took them off.”  It was true.  Pink lines extended from one cheekbone down toward her chin, marks her own fingernails had made.  “She doesn’t mean to do it.  It’s just a nervous habit but she’ll end up ripping half her face off if we don’t keep her... from doing it,” he finished haltingly.

Wesley closed his eyes.  His chest hurt.  He thought he’d seen nearly everything that could befall his sire but this was far worse than anything that had gone before.  Her death had not pained him this badly.  Seeing her lying insensible after René’s death and again later after Philip had tried to assassinate her with the drug Sunlight had not brought down such crushing emotion.  It wasn't that insanity held anything new or frightening to him.  He had been Drusilla's consort for forty years now; insanity was part of his daily life and held no particular aversion for him.  It wasn’t that he’d not seen his sire face dementia before either.  Wesley had seen her wandering Spike’s hallways whispering responses to voices that only she could hear.  He'd seen the light in her eyes as she tortured her victims slowly.  There was nothing sane about the joy she took in that particular endeavor.  He knew all about that sort of madness; he felt that same need and was well aware that it was far from natural or normal.  Her various psychoses were of long standing and surprised no one in the family.  Volatile, homicidal, and often psychotic, Baby was far from the most mentally stable member of the family.  In her own way, Baby was every bit as mad as Drusilla.  But this was different.  Even gripped by madness, she had always been semi-lucid.  She’d functioned.  Indeed, like his beloved Drusilla, his sire often functioned at her peak when she was in the grip of one of her insanely murderous impulses.  But this!  He looked around the room.  The thick padding on the walls, floor, and even ceiling muffled sounds from outside and deadened conversation within the room.  Windowless, with even the door padded, it struck terror deep in Wesley’s soul.  When he looked at her sitting on the cushioned floor in her prettily colored and exquisitely designed dress, her wrists held by strong leather-wrapped steel chained about her own waist, he couldn’t help but envision Drusilla in the same state.  In Spike’s care-worn face and hopeless eyes, he saw himself.  Wasn't this the nightmare he fought against everyday?  He shuddered violently.  “How long as she been like this?”

Spike’s frowning silence and displeasure was of no interest to Wesley whatsoever.  “How long?” Wes repeated.

“She gets worse every day,” Spike said.  “You know that.  It started a few years after she was turned.”  He sighed.  “The doctors say there was some sort of minor episode in 2016 and a severe psychotic break—whatever that is—back in 2020 with several others afterward.  Each one’s been worse than the one before.”  Cerulean eyes flashed with annoyance and suspicion.  “You say you’re from our past, from just a couple of years ago!  Well then you know all this already!  I’ve had to keep my dove chained for nearly a decade now!”  Spike’s pain was so sharp Wesley expected to see wounds appear where Spike’s words lashed him.

Wesley shook his head.  “No, she was fine!" he insisted.  "Or, well, as fine as Mother ever is.  I’m not saying she was sane.  I doubt Mother was ever completely sane or if she was it was long before I ever met her but she was nothing like this.  She’s had her difficulties over the years but she’s been doing quite well considering everything that's happened.  In fact, ever since she came back married to Jack she’s been very calm, relatively speaking.  Jack’s influence has been quite...”

“Jack!”  Baby’s apathy vanished.  “You know him!”

Wes staggered from the force of his sire’s mental powers as she blasted their link fully open.  “He's there!” she grated as she stumbled to her feet.  “He’s in your head, too!  You see him!  You know him!"

Wesley caught her as she lurched forward, unable to maintain her balance with her arms bound to her body.  "Of course I know him.  I'm quite fond of my little brother even though he can be arrogant, annoying, and more than abrasive at times."  He enfolded her gently in his arms, letting her rest her head against his chest.  He petted her tenderly and frowned at Spike.  "Where is Jack?  I can't imagine him leaving her alone like this."  He frowned suddenly.  "Particularly like this.  In fact, I can't imagine him letting her reach this condition at all.  Jack would never...."  He paused as a horrible thought struck him.  Jack was every bit as conscientious in his care of Baby as Wesley was of Drusilla.  Jack would no more allow his Abby to sit alone in a padded room than Wesley would willingly allow Dru to be chained and confined.  Jack would lay waste half the city before he allowed that.  "What's happened to Jack?  If Mother's like this, what's Jack like?"

Spike's blue eyes were huge with disbelief.  "There's no Jack.  He's some...figment of her imagination.  He's some part of her delusions.  The doctors all say he represents some sort of security and an 'unattainable normalcy'."

Wesley couldn't help laughing.  "Jack and Baby are a great many things but I doubt if I've ever heard their relationship described as normal!"

Baby butted his chest insistently with her head.  "Where is he?  I looked for him everywhere.  I looked through every record and I couldn't find him.  I want Jack!"

"Of course you do, darling."  Wesley held her closely.  "You always do."  He rubbed her back in soothing circles.  "Just as Jack always wants you."  He looked into the disbelieving face of his grandsire.  "So you're telling me that here and now, Jack doesn't exist and never existed?"

"Only in my dove's mind," Spike said tersely with more than a touch of anger.  "You shouldn't encourage her to think of him.  He's not real."

"Oh, he's very real," Wesley countered.  "And if Jack's gone missing from this world, we have more than a bit of a problem."

More than a bit of a problem didn't come close to describing it, as Wesley discovered.  He knew from experience that time was a very fluid entity and could be altered easily though like water it had a strong tendency to find its accustomed path again.  Still he was constantly amazed that it was the little things that often irrevocably changed the flow of life.  The large events tended to right themselves but tiny changes could split dimensions and create new worlds.  It was enough to make a man believe in destiny.

As he listened to Spike explain the here and now, he was deeply surprised at the changes wrought to this world by Jack’s disappearance.  He wasn't surprised that Jack's life was somewhat important to Baby; after years of creating havoc in her search for the perfect mate, his sire seemed to have finally settled on the man she wanted and that man was Jack.  But he was amazed that Jack was important enough that without him the Pride lands were a very different place.  Not only was poor Baby quite unhinged but Jean was dead because at some point Jack hadn't been there to save him.  Without Jean, René was at a loss and had no idea what to do with himself.  He was completely ineffectual as Spike's heir.  The Crown Prince spent much of his time sequestered with a bottle or three of tequila.  Spike was not an effective ruler without Jean Claude.  Spike devoted most of his time to caring for Baby, showing little or no interest in his empire.  His kingdom had dwindled to Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana.  Only Sam and Claudia kept it from shrinking further.  The strength and support Spike usually had from Baby's family was missing here.  There was no loyal Remy, no steadfast Michael; Baby had sired no other children.  Wesley was her only son.  In short, the Pride was failing.  Another century would see the few who remained scattered to the winds and the empire little more than a memory at best.

Spike seemed pleased to discover that this state of disintegration was not the natural order of things.  He gave Wesley what information and assistance he could while Wes tried to sort out what had occurred to render Jack nonexistent.  Wesley tried to provide Spike with hope without being too forthcoming himself.  Wesley didn't even try to explain to Spike how very much his mother had loved Jack.  It would only hurt Spike's feelings. 

But as Wesley learned of Baby’s thorough search for a man who’d never been born, he couldn't help but be amazed that somehow, despite whatever had happened that caused Jack’s nonexistence, Baby remembered him.  Perhaps it was because she was not native to this dimension or perhaps it was her innate resistance to magic...Or perhaps it was simply that an attachment that deep couldn't be wiped from existence so easily.  Wesley rather liked to think it was the latter.  He wanted to believe that if some force took him from the world, Drusilla would somehow remember him.  He admitted there was that much of a romantic lurking somewhere inside him.  He wanted to believe love was that strong.  And for that, if for no other reason, he intended to set things right.

New Orleans, Louisiana
Tuesday, 6:27 pm
January 14, 2042

Baby jumped and one hand flew to rest lightly on her chest.  "Jesus!  Wesley!  Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" she demanded.

"Forgive me, dearest," he said.  He hadn't meant to startle her or frighten her unnecessarily.  Perhaps he shouldn't have set his incantation to take him directly to his sire but he wanted to waste no time.  His research had shown him that whatever occurred to erase Jack from the world was going to happen soon and he felt an understandable urgency.  "There's a problem," he said.  "Where's Jack?"  He was suddenly concerned that he might already be too late.  He shook off that irrational thought.  Baby was standing in the middle of the bedroom she shared with Jack in the Garden District house she'd bought her then-Pet.  If Jack didn't exist, she wouldn't be in this house.  Even so, that concern only vanished completely when Jack walked into the room wearing only a pair of jeans and toweling his hair.

"Right here, Wes.  What's up?"  Jack tossed the towel back into the bathroom.  Wes had no doubt it landed in the laundry hamper.  Jack's aim was seldom off.

Wesley closed his eyes for a moment.  "You have no idea how happy I am to see you, little brother," he said gratefully.

"Wes?"  That well-known double crease appeared between the retired FBI profiler's brows.

Wesley took a deep breath.  "As I said, we have a problem."

The warm coffee cup felt good against Wesley's hands as did the sight of Jack's fingers twined with their sire's.

"So how do we stop this?" Jack asked as Wes finished his explanation.

Spike nodded.  Called to an emergency meeting along with his eldest sons, the Master had not taken his attention from his grandsons the entire time.  Wes sometimes found the intensity of his grandsire’s gaze disconcerting.  Today he was grateful for it.  "That does seem to be the question," he said.

"Yeah.  Jack and I may have our differences but I think it's good that he's here...Even if you are as annoying as Hell," René finished with a grin and a wink at Jack.  The weeks René had spent alone with his wife and her Yankee husband had mellowed his often-confrontational relationship with Jack considerably. 

"Mais oui," Jean nodded.  "I don't wish for anything to happen to m' Jacques du coeur."

Remy was frowning.  "Wes?  Was this the danger Dru was talking about when she said you should go into the future?  I thought she was the one in danger, not Jack or Mama."

Drusilla smiled toothily.  "Ooo, so clever!  Sister has such clever, clever boys."  Dru had appeared at Jack’s house shortly after Wesley, her Learjet from Dallas landing about the time Wesley appeared in Jack's bedroom.  "Do you see?  No clever sons, no Drusilla.  Miss Edith cried and cried when she told me."

Wesley shuddered and worry grayed his eyes.  "My pet is convinced that her continued existence is tied to whatever happens to Jack."

Drusilla nodded, her midnight eyes bright and knowing.  "I'm blind.  I can't see.  They've placed a veil over my eyes.  But they’ve forgotten that like a bat, I can hear.  Miss Edith cries and the flowers at the Arboretum wail when I visit them."  She narrowed her eyes cunningly.  "They told me the truth.  Nasty, naughty boys are making mischief.  Naughty, naughty mischief!  If sister's golden son isn't there, bad things will happen to me and my Wesley will cry like the flowers."  Dru was perched on the edge of sanity and for once they all had no trouble understanding her.  "Nephew and little brother are all twisted and bent.  They want us all to suffer and weep.  They plot and scheme.  They think they have hidden themselves from me but they've forgotten that things talk to me.  I've heard all about their nasty schemes.  We know so we can stop them."

"I still don't see where this affects me," John Jolivette snarled.  Called in from Live Oak, his plantation outside the city, he'd arrived accompanied by two massive werewolves.  The presence of his loups garou spoke volumes of his continued distrust of the family.  Few of Baby’s children felt the need to visit her attended by body guards.

Baby sighed and mild exasperation colored her voice.  "Don't be obtuse, John.  No Jack means no you and what do you think will happen to Charlotte if you don't exist?"

John blanched.  Wesley knew this duplicate of his younger brother was as devoted to his deva as Jack and Wesley were to their women.  John would do whatever was necessary to keep Charlotte and their children safe, even if it meant working with his despised sire.  "All right, I wasn't thinking, okay?"

Jack rolled his eyes.  "You make a habit of that.  Makes me ashamed to think we used to be the same person."

"Stop it," Baby said before the conversation degenerated into another fight between John and Jack.  Her thoughts flashed across Wesley’s mind - All that hostility would come to a head one day and they'd doubtless end up beating the crap out of each other but she didn't have time to indulge them at the moment.  Wesley smiled at his sire.  It was good to feel her intentions as plainly as he did.  They’d always worked well together but now that they were family he could feel her complete cooperation.  "How much time do we have to stop this?" Baby asked.

"Whatever is coming comes soon."  Drusilla laid her hand over Wesley's.  "My darling knows what's to be done though.  He has it all mapped out in his head in red and blue and bright, startling green."

"Indeed I do," Wesley agreed.  "While I was in the future I managed to trace three suspicious peaks of temporal magic connected to us.  There were certain familiar signatures that lead me to believe that our adversaries are attempting to wipe Jack from history in not one but three places."

"That would be Connor's touch," Baby said not without a touch of bitterness.  "Always have a contingency plan and a back up for the contingency plan.  I taught him that much."

Reluctantly Wesley nodded.  "Yes, I'm afraid this whole scenario reeks of Connor.  Philip has always concentrated on physically harming us.  Assassination attempts, kidnappings, sacrifice - he has never really seen beyond simple death.  But this, to go back and change the past so Jack won't exist... well, it shows a level of sophistication and cunning that Philip has never exhibited."

Spike sighed his agreement and twisted his well-sculpted lips in displeasure.  "I'm afraid so.  Connor knows us better than Philip ever could.  He'll find ways to hit us where it hurts the most."

Baby looked down at her hand where it rested comfortably in Jack's much larger one.  "And Philip never had an inkling what Jack meant to me.  But Connor knows that nothing will hurt me more than taking Jack away."

"And more importantly, he knows Jack's security measures are one reason Philip has so much difficulty getting to any of us.  With Jack gone, our defenses are severely compromised," Jean added.

Wesley held up his hand.  "We can discuss that another time.  We have to move quickly.  As I said there are three points in time when a change can occur that will change little for the world overall but will result in Jack never being born.  These are Chicago 1971, Poland 1939, and the Wyoming-Montana Territory 1888.  I'm not exactly sure of the significance of the dates.  I was hoping Jack and John could help with that."

Spike raised his scarred eyebrow.  "I'm betting 1971 is when Jack's parents meet.  Poland would have to be one of his ancestors.  But what does the Old West have to do with Jack?  Both his parents are immigrants."

"My great-grandfather wasn't Polish," Jack said.  "There’s this big family story about it.  He was an American named Waite.  He came over before the US entered World War II and got involved in the fighting.  He was captured by the Red Army during the German-Soviet partition of Poland in 1939[i].  He was sent to a Siberian Gulag and died there.  He left behind a pregnant Polish bride though, my great-grandmother.  She later married again and Great-grandfather Niemczyk adopted her son, my grandfather."  Jack considered his family history for a moment.  "I think that explains both 1939 and the Old West.  Though I'm afraid I don't know anything about the Waites except their name."

"Well, I was able to establish the locations through residual magicks that lingered in the temporal field.  Unfortunately, the areas covered are quite broad," Wesley explained.  "Any information you have that could narrow them would be quite helpful."  He settled back to begin planning their counter-maneuvers in earnest.  Wesley had no doubt that the talents and resources of his assembled family were more than a match for whatever Connor and Philip could come up with.  They had to be or Jack would disappear and Drusilla would die.  Wesley wasn’t going to allow either event to happen.

In the end, it was decided three teams would tackle the three different areas Wesley had identified while the Mage himself remained in their current time to monitor as best he could and perhaps launch a second attempt if it became necessary or was even possible.  Remy would remain in New Orleans to run things and to head the secondary mission if need arose.  Spike would lead the group that went to Poland.  He'd take Lucian, Angel, and Paul.  All spoke Polish, German, and Russian and were familiar with the time period, having lived through it once already.  John would attempt to protect his parents so their romance could blossom into a marriage.  He'd take Alan, Troy, and Bret.  While he was open in his distrust of his younger brothers near his wife and children, he said they would follow his every order without question.  The huge werewolves that protected him constantly would also make the trip.  Baby, Jack, Jean, and Rene would tackle Montana as would one of Charlotte's wolf-princelings.  The young male had been attached to Jack's household since John and Charlotte's arrival and was as punctilious about Jack and Baby's safety as Paul was.  He would not willingly remain behind.  Wesley was not sorry for the addition of the werewolf.  He felt that together the five had the best range of abilities for tackling the most uncertain of the three missions.  With little more than an ancestor's possible name, it might be very difficult to discover what Philip was up to and they would need every tactical advantage he could provide.  He wasn't sure they had the least chance of success.  Still, they had to try.  The future of the Pride, Baby's sanity, and Drusilla's life could very well depend on their investigative acumen.  Wesley pulled Dru a bit closer and set about preparing his best offense against the latest threat to his family.

~Chapter 2~
“Wild West Show”

 
I’m feeling like Tonto riding a pinto,
Trying to chase the Lone Ranger down.
I’m a little unraveled,
But I’m still in the saddle,
Crying your name out to the clouds.
Hey ya.  Hey yaaaaaa.

Why don’t you meet me back at the teepee?
We'll lay down by the campfire.
There in the dark night,
We’ll smoke the peace pipe.
Forget about who’s wrong and who’s right.
Hey ya.  Hey yaaaaaa.

It was a big showdown.
Oh yeah, we stood our ground.
Shot out the lights; it got a little crazy.
Don’t want to see us go the way of the buffalo.
Don’t want to have another Wild West show.
Hey ya.  Hey yaaaaaa.

Only forgiveness will finally end this.
There won’t be a witness if we both fall.
There’s never a hero in a battle of ego.
There’s never a winner of the quick draw.
Hey ya. Hey yaaaaaa.

It’s like a ghost town,
Without you around.
Why can’t we just forget.
Ride off in the sunset.

It was a big showdown.
Oh yeah, we stood our ground.
Shot out the lights; it got a little crazy.
Don’t want to see us go the way of the buffalo.
Don’t want to have another Wild West show.
Hey ya.  Hey yaaaaaa.

I’m feeling like Tonto riding a pinto,
Trying to chase the Lone Ranger down.

Written by Big Kenny and John Rich.
(© Big & Rich.)
From "Horse of a Different Color" © 2004, Warner Bros.

Monument, Wyoming Territory
Wednesday, 5:47 p.m.
October 24, 1888

René tossed down his cards and uttered the words every member of the family had come to dread.  "I'm bored."

Jack dropped his head into his hands and groaned, his own losing hand discarded face up on the rough-hewn surface of the table.  "God help me, please.  Honestly, you have the attention span of a five-year-old."

"I do not!" the Cajun protested pettishly.  "We've been playing this stupid game for hours.  I'm just tired of winning."  He knocked back his glass of rot-gut whiskey with a grimace and propped his feet on the edge of the table, carefully mindful of his spurs.  The silver tips of his boots sparkled in the dim lamplight.

Jack growled and rubbed his hands over his face.  René couldn't help grinning.  He knew that in Jack's mind it was bad enough to lose at poker but to lose to René was the clichéd adding insult to injury.  "Fine.  What do you want to do?" Jack said through clinched teeth trying his damnedest to stare a hole through his too-pretty companion.

"I don't know.  But I'm tired of sitting around this saloon.  And I'm tired of looking at you," René snarled.  He returned Jack’s stare with one of his own.

"The feeling's mutual," Jack assured him.  "I was sick of looking at you before we ever got here."  He ran a hand through his hair.  "Stuck for a week alone with you is pretty much my idea of Hell."

"You ain't no picnic, Yankee," René countered and leaned back perilously in his chair.  "You the most anal son of a bitch I ever seen.  You’re about to drive me crazy."

Jack’s eyes narrowed and it was easy to see he entertained the thought of knocking the chair out from under René.  Balanced on two legs the way it was, it would be easy enough to tip René over.  René had no doubt Jack only refrained because he was pretty sure René was just waiting for him to do so and he refused to be that predictable.  René resisted the urge to grin; Jack wasn’t the only one that could read people.  You didn’t have to be a profiler to know what the tall blond was thinking. 

"In your case, crazy is only a parking space away," Jack settled for retorting instead sending René tumbling to the hard-packed dirt floor. 

The Cajun growled to cover his satisfaction.  "Yeah, you might want to remember that before you keep dinging my doors."  He sighed and looked around.  Baiting Jack wasn't amusing, not when he'd done it for an entire week.  Even their perpetual sparing match had become boring.  He had about reached the point of asking if Jack wanted to go upstairs and fool around even though he had a personal rule about being the one to ask first.  Not that he felt any over-powering desire; after all they’d spent a fair part of the daylight hours in some light-hearted but fairly intense sex play.  He felt sated in a very nice, lazy sort of way.  In fact, several muscles protested whenever he moved suddenly, a testament to Jack’s thoroughness in bed but he really was bored beyond bearing.  And Jack could be awfully cute when he shut up and used his mouth for something besides insults.  Still, he’d never hear the end of it if he was the one doing the inviting.  It escaped his reasoning why it was okay for Jack to say “Hey Beaumont?  Wanna screw around for a while?” and it wasn’t for René to say the same thing.  Still...damn, it was boring just sitting around hoping to hear something that would lead them to whatever that bastard Philip was up to.

René visibly perked up at the sound of boots on the boards of the sidewalk outside.  At this point, any diversion was welcome.  René used his hyper-developed senses to scan the stranger as he moved to the bar.  He sensed Jack doing the same.  With a sigh they both relaxed.  There was nothing unusual or otherworldly about the aging cowboy who pushed his hat back a bit and ordered a drink. Faded to a uniform gray, his shirt was a lighter shade than his pants and his neckerchief was yet a shade lighter than that.  His gun holster was worn and his revolver was more serviceable than impressive.  Like so many men René had seen since he and Jack had found each other in Monument, this man seemed a part of the land, out of place at the raw-timbered bar, only at home on the vast sweeps of the high prairie. 

"What do you know, stranger?" the bartender asked.

"Not much," the drifter replied.  "Heard some tall tales lately."  He wrapped gnarled fingers around the heavy glass of whiskey the barkeep provided.  René tried to imagine the life the man had lived.  Hard years alone on the range were carved into his craggy face and the dust and cold of too many trails had turned his voice raspy and coarse.  "I heard tell of a big raid on some ranches out toward Gunnison.  Whole families was wiped out," the cowpoke said.  The old cowboy sipped appreciatively at the liquor.

The bartender frowned.  "There ain't been no Indian raids in these parts in years.  The Army moved them all off to the Indian Territory a long time ago."

The stranger shook his head, grizzled hair swaying slightly as he did so.  "Tweren't Indians," he said.  "That's the peculiar part."

The bartender's frown deepened.  "They was white, then?  Sure they weren't Comanchero or such?"

"Heard a feller that says he seen 'em ride through Guthry.  He says they weren't like nothing he ever seen, red or white!"  The cowboy paused to take a sip of his whiskey.  "Says some of 'em was just riders.  Wild and dangerous types but the others....  Said there was something wrong with their faces.  They was all yellowish like a Chinaman but more so and their eyes slanted the wrong way."

René arched one perfect eyebrow and eased his chair down before rising to his feet.  The big Mexican-style rowels of his spurs chimed softly as he glided up to the bar.  "Their eyes slant the wrong way?" he said softly.  "What's that mean?"  He signaled the bartender to pour another whiskey for the cowboy.

The cowhand blinked a couple of times.  People often did that when confronted with the blazing splendor of René's teal eyes for the first time.  He was used to the reaction.  "That feller told me their eyes slanted down at the corners, way down, not up.  And their noses was all squashed and kinda piggy.  Said they didn't even look human."

Jack tossed back his whiskey and set the glass on the table with a decided thump.  "Vormax demons."  He rose to his feet reaching for the rifle that rested against the chair beside him.  "Did that guy...fellow say which way these bandits were headed?"

The old cowhand turned to Jack with measuring eyes.  René followed his gaze.  In truth, he didn’t mind looking at Jack.  There was no denying that René's frequent rival and newly-discovered lover looked good.  The heavily fringed buckskins Jack wore suited his coloring, the pale tawny leather only slightly darker than his hair.  The subtle leather molded to lean muscles and clung enticingly to his long legs.  A shirt of the heaviest washed noil silk in a deep indigo flattered him further and made his silvery-green eyes sparkle.  The buckskin jacket stretched across his broad shoulders was rich with elaborate beading and long fringe.  His tall black boots were a little too shiny and his beaded and silver bedecked gun belt was a little too flashy for the rough frontier bar.  He was as exotic in his own way as René in his Mexican desperado finery was in his.  René grinned.  They were both twenty-first century Americans playing at being Wild West heroes.

"They was headed north," the cowpuncher said in answer to Jack's query.  "They was moving up the old Bozeman Trail headed towards Montana."  He studied Jack and Rene for a moment before nodding to himself.  "Hear tell they was asking for a place called Harmonville."  There was sharp intelligence in the faded brown eyes the old man turned on René.  "Used to be Fort Harmon.  It's up in Montana, a good two weeks ride.  Now if you head on up the old Jim Bridger Trail out of here, you might could get ahead of 'em."

René grinned.  "Merci.  Thank you."  He laid a twenty dollar gold piece on the bar by the cowpoke's drink.  "I got anything to say about it, they won't do much more killing."

The cowboy stared at the coin.  A month's wages didn't just appear like that.

René looked at his partner with unspoken query.  Jack nodded.  "I guess we're riding for this Harmonville then.  I'll get the horses."

The bartender looked at him in surprise.  "Moon won't be up for near two hours and it'll only be a bit over half full."  He frowned.  "You can't mean to ride at night."

The old cowboy smiled crookedly.  "Leave 'em be.  Their sort, they ride best at night."

  René flipped another gold coin in the air and caught it with elaborate ease.  He balanced it atop the one still on the bar top and set it spinning with a flick of his finger.  "Yeah, we do.  Come on, Jack; let's ride."

Jack pulled the horses to a stop outside the saloon that doubled as a hotel.  “Get a move on, Beaumont,” he called out softly.  He didn’t have to shout; he knew René could hear him.  Possessing ultra-sensitive hearing was one of the many things he loved about being a vampire.

“Keep your shirt on, Yankee boy,” came the answer.  No one on the street could have heard it but Jack.  He grinned and listened as the Cajun paid their tab and bid farewell to a somewhat weepy barmaid.  He shook his head.  René could break hearts just by walking in a room.  He watched as René tossed his saddlebags on a big black stallion with a fancy Mexican saddle heavy with silver decoration and nearly laughed.  René did like his transportation flashy whether it was a red muscle car or a horse.  Still as the Cajun vaulted into the silver-bedecked saddle, Jack felt just a moment of desire.  Jack might think pleasant thoughts about drowning René on occasion but he had to admit that the lanky Cajun moved with a grace that few vampires could match.  With his jet black hair hanging nearly to the embroidered hem of his bolero jacket and his black pants molded perfectly to his narrow hips and long legs, Jack had no trouble realizing why his wife, his daughter, and his lover all found the man appealing.  The word beautiful might very well have been invented to describe René Beaumont.

Jack tossed René the lead of his pack horse and they moved out together.

“What you remember about Vormax demons?” René asked.

Jack settled his gloves a little more comfortably on his hands.  “Well, I heard they didn’t become a problem in the Americas until the fifties and sixties.”

René nodded.  “Yeah.  That’s what I remember, too.  They didn’t come over until they were driven out of the Balkans toward the end of World War Two.”  He turned slightly so he could look at Jack.  “So how come we got what sounds like a tribe of Vormax raiding in Wyoming?”

Jack realized it wasn’t really a question.  “Because Philip’s a son of a bitch and doesn’t care about collateral damage.”

René turned back to the trail.  “Yeah.  We really need to find him and kill him, Jack.”

Jack waited a minute for the rest of the statement.  Finally he coaxed the brunette to tell him what was really on his mind.  “And?”

René sucked on his teeth for a minute.  “And Philip ain’t the real problem no more.  Wes said it; this ain’t Philip’s style.  He just wants us dead.  This, this is about torture.”

Jack had to admit that sometimes René wasn’t as stupid as he looked.  “Connor.  He’s way more dangerous than Philip ever thought of being.”

René nodded his agreement.  “Most of the family ain’t gonna be willing to say it but Connor needs killing.  He has for some time.  And you know as well as I do that it’s gonna end up being one of us.”

Jack didn’t argue; he knew René was right.  “When we get back, we need to talk to Paul and John.  They’ll see the sense in this.”

“Good idea.”  René rode in silence for a bit before he added, “If I see him out here, I’m not gonna ask any questions.  I’m just gonna kill him.”

Jack stared out at the moonless night and listened as small creatures scurried away, startled by the nearly silent passage of the vampires’ horses.  “Not if I see him first.  He shot our grandson and now he’s trying to drive Baby crazy.  If I see him, I’m putting a bullet in his head.”

“Fair enough,” René said.

Jack urged his horse to a faster pace, René adjusting his pace smoothly.  For once, Jack felt in perfect charity with his husband-in-law.  “Fair enough.”

~Chapter 3~
"The Cowboy in Me" 

I don't why I act the way I do-
Like I don't have a single thing to lose.
Sometimes, I'm my own worse enemy.
I guess that's just the cowboy in me.

I got a life that most would love to have.
But sometimes I still wake up fighting mad,
At where this road I'm heading down might lead.
I guess that's just the cowboy in me. 

The urge to run, the restlessness,
The heart of stone I sometimes get,
The things I've done for foolish pride.
The me that's never satisfied,
The face that's in the mirror,
When I don't like what I see,
I guess that's just the cowboy in me.

Girl, I know there's times you must have thought,
There ain't a line you've drawn I haven't crossed.
But you set your mind to see this love on through.
I guess that's just the cowboy in you.

The urge to run, the restlessness,
The heart of stone I sometimes get,
The things I've done for foolish pride.
The me that's never satisfied,
The face that's in the mirror,
When I don't like what I see,
I guess that's just the cowboy in me.

We ride and never worry about the fall.
I guess that's just the cowboy in us all.

Written by Craig Wiseman, Jeffrey Steele and Al Anderson.
(© Gottahaveable Music/Songs Of Windswept Pacific/Stairway To Bittner S Music.)
From "Set This Circus Down", © 2001, Curb.

The Bozeman Trail, just north of the Wyoming/Montana border
Thursday, 2:14 a.m.
October 25, 1888

“What do you think, Wolfe?” Baby asked softly.

The big canine beside her huffed gently.  His charcoal coat blended so well with the night that he was nearly invisible even to the vampire.  He was simply a sound in the darkness.

"Yeah, but if we don't check it out, it will probably turn out to be something important," Baby replied.  In answer to another huff, she said, "No, we'll do it together.  I can't hear you if you get too far away from me.  I know Wes says we need the shields and things around us to protect us from whatever Connor might have out here but I hate the side effects.  I can’t hear people inside my head like I should.  I don't like being this cut off from the family."  Wolfe whined and she laughed.  "Yes, I mean Jack.  I can tell he's alive but not much more.  It irks me.  It makes me itchy.  And no jokes about flea collars," she warned.  The werewolf made a sharp noise she took for amusement.  They stared across the rolling, broken prairie in silence for long but companionable minutes.  "Dawn's only a couple of hours away," she finally said.  She focused on the tiny bright spot across a wide dip in the prairie.  It flickered and glowed halfway up a rise a bit over a mile away.  "We haven't seen a person, demon or otherwise, since we got here but that's a campfire."  The werewolf whined his agreement.

Baby slipped into her saddle.  "Well, let's go see who our new neighbor is."  She clicked her tongue and the horses moved off, the soft fall of iron shoes making little sound on the thick grass as they winded their way down the slight elevation and headed toward the distant firelight.

There was no one in sight as Baby carefully skirted the camp area.  On the cold night air a warm and pleasing scent mixed with the dust and dried grass smell of the prairie.  She smiled in genuine pleasure.  "Jean," she called softly.

"Here, Maman," came the equally soft answer.

Baby spun to find her eldest son only a few feet behind her.  The rifle resting almost negligently in his hands was pointed unerringly at his mother's heart.  Baby raised one auburn eyebrow in cool inquiry.  "You planning to use that?" she asked with a nod toward the weapon.

There was the most miniscule of hesitations before Jean pointed the rifle skyward and then rested it on his shoulder.  "Non," he grinned.  "Not once I knew who it was."  He gestured toward his campfire.  "Ma maison est ta maison."

Baby's smile was tiny.  "I think out here they use the Spanish version: Mi casa es su casa."

"My Spanish is a little rusty," he said easily and sat down on a blanket spread a comfortable distance from the fire.  The red-gold glow darkened his already tanned complexion and gilded his rich brown hair.  It set reflected fire to dancing in his eyes.  Baby knew it was only the firelight that made Jean's dark eyes seem to gleam golden in the darkness.  Ever since he'd established a true bond with his deva, his eyes glowed electric blue rather than the yellow or orange tones common to other vampires' eyes. 

Jean leaned the gun carefully against his saddle barrel up so it wouldn't get clogged with dirt or scratched by grit.  Baby remembered teaching him to care for his guns that carefully herself.  There was a great deal she’d taught him over the years.  Unfortunately, suspicion was one of the lessons.  She sat down on the cold grass across from him, her legs crossed comfortably Indian fashion.  "I doubt if there's anything rusty about you, Jean."

He shrugged elegantly.  Even in well-worn clothes there was an innate elegance to Jean.  His jeans were faded to a light indigo but there was still a hint of a crease lending them stature.  His chambray shirt was nearly the same color as his jeans but fit smoothly across his broad chest.  The pearl snaps that glinted in the firelight might be anachronistic but Baby didn't feel like complaining about something that looked so good.  Jean's old buff leather duster was subtle from years of wear.  She remembered buying it at a thrift store and laughingly bestowing it on Jean with the comment that he and Spike almost matched.  She wondered why he had chosen to wear it for this mission.  Indeed, she wondered why he even kept it.  Considering the state their relationship had been in for years, she was surprised he hadn't thrown away all the gifts she'd ever given him.  Looking at him now, she realized that everything he wore from his clothing to his guns was something she'd given him.  Most were gifts from those long ago days before Spike became Master.  Even the scuffed and battered cowboy boots on his feet had gained their battle scars in those brief years before Jean became Crown Prince of an infant empire.  Was Jean searching for a way to relive those days or was this his way of putting them behind him forever?  A long, empty silence grew and she felt no closer to him than she had when she'd seen his campfire from a mile away.  Jean had become as much a stranger to her as this cold and windswept land. 

She looked up at the night sky filled with stars she'd never seen.  At home, they were lost in the glow of New Orleans.  Sometimes she thought maybe she'd gotten lost in that glow, too.  She looked back across the fire at the man she'd claimed as her son before she really even knew what that meant.   His eyes were as closed and distant as the far away stars when he looked at her and just as cold.  She wondered when it was exactly that she'd lost him in the glow of city lights, too. 

"Have you found out anything, Maman?" Jean asked eventually, resting his wrist across his propped up knee.  His wedding rings gleamed in the firelight.  He wasn't sure why he asked.  If Baby knew anything she'd have told him immediately or she'd not be willing to tell him now.  He just couldn't stand the silence any longer.  It pained him.  He remembered times long gone when he would sit comfortably with her for hours and neither had to say a word.  But those days and that camaraderie had died a hard death years ago.  He listened as Baby shook her head and explained that she and her companion had seen no one though they'd seen signs of people occasionally.  As she spoke, her werewolf guard came and stretched out beside her.  She draped her arm across his furred back and absently scratched him behind the ear.  The werewolf whined slightly in pleasure and licked at her leather encased knee.

Jean lifted an inquiring eyebrow and Baby realized how it must look.  "Wolfe has been with me almost since we got here.  He found me not an hour after I went through Wes' portal.  He guards me during the day," she said.  She must have recognized the suspicion on Jean's face because she added, "And that's all.  He's been very loyal to me."

Jean looked contrite.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean...."  But he had meant it.  He couldn't help but wonder if she was sleeping with the werewolf.  He couldn't help wondering if she were trying to ensnare the boy the way she'd ensnared so many others.  Jean knew his mother and knew she was perfectly willing to use her body as well as her mind to get what she wanted.  Of course these days Jean wasn't sure he knew exactly what it was Baby wanted.

"Jack," she said in answer to his thought.  Jean realized he had become so used to being alone over the last week that he hadn’t bothered to conceal his thoughts well enough.  Baby had heard his mental question.  "I want Jack.  I want him alive and happy."  She stared at him sadly.  "Sort of the same way I want you."

"I'm more alive than I've ever been," Jean replied and he couldn’t help the bitterness that tinted his words and his emotions.  "I have Charlie after all.  She’s given me a living body and the powers of a sun lord.  She gave all that to one of the few men who won’t use it against you.  Everything worked out just the way you planned it, Maman."  He felt no remorse when she winced slightly.  He stood purposefully.  "It's nearly dawn.  You need to get under cover.  I've been riding by day but now that you're here we'll have to travel at night.  Get some rest," he said.  "There's a stream nearby.  I'll water the horses."  He strode away before she could say any more.  Jean didn't want her to say anything.  He wasn't sure he could stand to hear her speak.

By the time Jean returned from his self-appointed chore, Baby had erected her small tent.  Little more than a cocoon, it was one of the more high-tech pieces of equipment they all carried.  The waterproof outer layer was camouflage that could be changed from forest green to desert sand to tawny grass to alpine snow just by picking the right cover from one of its built-in pockets.  The under-layer was completely sun proof; not even the UV and infrared spectrums could get through.  Its ribs were made of high-impact plastic and opened with little more than the flick of a wrist.  A few pumps of Baby’s foot and the padding in the bottom inflated.  Jean couldn’t help grinning.  They might be undead and immune to the aches and pains that plagued humanity but vampires or not, his family liked their comforts.  Her sleeping bag, more useful as a second sun proof defense than for its unneeded warmth, was already unfurled inside.  Jean wished her a terse goodnight and pointedly lay down on top of his own sleeping bag.  He felt the need to rest in the sunshine for a while.  He didn't turn when he heard her sigh.  He just listened to the rustle as she settled underneath her little tent for the day.

Jean's attitude hadn't been warmed much by the sun and he still felt seriously irritated as it sank.  He'd slept little himself, partially because he'd slept most of the night before and partially because his thoughts kept him awake.  He had thought that he was well on the path to offering Baby forgiveness.  He'd stood in his duplicate's garden and told her he didn't want her dead.  And he'd meant every word when he told her he still loved her.  He didn't know why he felt this sudden and rather deep hostility.  He was wearing clothing she had bought him.  He'd wrapped himself in things that brought up memories of her.  He was even wearing a tiny crucifix she'd given him shortly after he'd become Redeemed.  He felt an overpowering need to have bits of her close to him.  So why was he so freaking angry!

He saddled her horse himself, rejecting Wolfe's offer of assistance.  He saw to it she drank a packet of the fortifying but hideous-tasting blood concentrate they carried so they wouldn't have to kill.  It was vile stuff but it kept their bodies strong and he wanted to be sure she was healthy.  He helped her pack away her gear.  He was all solicitude, taking care of her needs as painstakingly as he'd done when he was her acknowledged favorite.  And the whole time he couldn't help glaring at her as if he wished to drive a stake through her heart.  Slowly.

Perhaps the worst part was that she took it all without the least protest.  She just watched him with those big golden eyes and didn't say a word.  It only made Jean angrier.  He mounted his horse with a growl, jerked the lead on his packhorse a bit harder than he meant to, the guilt from that making him angrier still, and led them off into the dark night.

When he had himself under control enough that he thought he could speak without screaming, he explained that unlike her and Wolfe, he'd stopped in several towns and managed to pick up a strong lead on who they were looking for and where they were headed.  He explained that what appeared to be a small clan of Vormax demons were headed for a place called Harmonville.  As nearly as he could forecast they had at least a week's ride ahead of them, possibly two, to reach the little town.  His information shared, he settled into a study as dark and unsettled as the windy night around him.

The approaching dawn found him little improved in mood.  He found a decent camp spot where wind and rain had carved into the bow of a hill.  Not deep enough to be a cave, the overhang nonetheless was enough to offer some shade once the sun was high overhead and the hill would block the light once noon had passed.  Though the tiny tents and sleeping bags offered protection from the burning rays, Jean still felt better knowing there was a bulwark of solid earth between his mother and daylight.

He set up her tent himself and made sure it was well under the overhang.  He made sure it was as safe as he could make it.  Yet even though he felt the need to protect and care for her, he couldn't bring himself to speak more than a few cutting words before they settled in for the day.  The werewolf, who had stated emphatically his preference for wolf form, settled nearby with as close to a frown as Jean had ever seen on a canine face.

Jean listened as Baby whimpered in her sleep.  She'd been restless and unsettled all day.  Several times she'd cried out softly causing Wolfe to lift his head and whine.  Once he'd looked at Jean with piercing blue eyes and huffed indignantly.  Jean had haughtily informed him there was nothing he could do about Baby's guilty conscience and if it kept her from sleeping peacefully it was no one's fault but her own.  The wolf offered Jean an offended growl before moving closer to Baby's tent and settling into a watchful drowse.

Still, Jean wasn’t prepared when Baby shrieked and fought against whatever plagued her sleep.  Her sharp nails tore through the covering of her tent as she and it rolled down the slight incline and into the broad sunlight. She fought through a gaping hole in the fabric, exposing herself to the deadly light even as Jean tried to free himself from his own covers.  She had collided with Wolfe in her initial outburst sending him tumbling down the hill into a tangle of rocks and brush.

Jean finally freed his legs and raced to his mother, grabbing her up and diving for the safety of the shadowed overhang.  His rage boiled over.  “What the Hell are you doing!”  He shook her as hard as he could.  “What is wrong with you?”  He shook her again and her hair flew back revealing a huge seared patch across her forehead and down her left cheek.  Crusted and blackened over the red rawness beneath it, he could smell her burned flesh.  Wisps of smoke rose from her hands and hair.  If she hadn’t been wearing mostly leather, Jean knew her whole body would be blistered and smoldering.  She’d been only a second or less from igniting completely.  Had Jean been a moment slower, she would have burned and died.  He shook her so hard her head whipped back and forth again before he released her and cursed vehemently in Cajun French.

Wolfe growled slightly at Jean and pushed against Baby, licking at her wounds.  She wrapped her arms around the big werewolf, her fingers clenched in his thick fur, and hid her face against the man in animal form.  She didn’t move or make a sound though Wolfe was whimpering and whining in concern.  On the cold early winter wind Jean caught the scent of salt and terror, silent tears that Baby was hiding from him.

Something deep inside Jean snapped, the pain of whatever broke so sharp he gasped.  He pushed Wolfe violently away and grabbed her in a crushing hug uncaring that he might hurt her wounds.  He wrapped his arms tightly around her and cradled her head firmly against his chest.  “Don’t you dare die on me,” he grated.  “You can’t die!  Not now!  I love you too much for you to die!”

Baby pushed feebly against him but he wouldn’t release her, not yet.  He rocked back and forth, still cursing but now words of love and concern were mixed with the expletives.  He ignored Wolfe’s indignant snuffles and woofing and growled warningly when the werewolf tried to insinuate himself between he and Baby. 

Baby moved in his embrace, weakly fighting his hold.  She finally managed to free herself from his arms and pulled away.  She stared at him in understandable confusion.  Jean stared back, evaluating her in ways that he hadn’t in years.  “Sometimes you look so innocent,” he said.  It was true.  Baby had the face of a medieval Madonna, a soft oval with a rather delicate chin and a small rosebud of a mouth.  There was nothing manly or harsh about her features.  Even her strong nose, straight with daintily chiseled nostrils, was womanly.  Physically she was more suited to hoop skirts and bustles than the tight jeans or miniskirts she most often wore.  Her beauty was that of a Victorian lady not a twenty-first century centerfold.  Dressed in the proper clothes she could look as ingenuous as a girl a quarter her age.  When she chose, she could present a complete picture of artless simplicity. 

He shook his head.  Those infamous golden eyes could look so guileless when she was confused.  And at the moment she was very confused.  He sighed.  “For a long time, it’s hurt me to know that regardless of how you appear, you aren’t in the least innocent, that you probably never were, or that if you were it was so long ago that it doesn’t really matter.”  He lapsed into a long string of French curses mixed with endearments.

A frown now marred the smooth skin of Baby’s fair brow.  “Jean, the last time I checked, Drusilla and I had pretty much cornered the market on insanity in the family.  I don’t need you opening a franchise.”  Her voice was hoarse and cracked midway through the sentences.

“I’m not crazy, Maman,” Jean answered.  “I’m more sane than I’ve been in a while.”  He actually laughed.  “I finally know what I’ve been feeling and why.”  He reached out and took her hand, marveling at how smooth it felt beneath his fingers.  He’d forgotten the feel of her skin.  “I’ve been so angry with you lately but I couldn’t....”  He paused for a moment to order his words so she’d understand what he was feeling.  “I’ve been so angry ever since I set foot in this dimension and even a bit before that I could barely stand it.  I’ve felt like ripping things apart and railing at the world.  When I saw you again, all of it just focused on you.”

Baby dropped her eyes and nodded.

“It shouldn’t have,” he continued.  “It wasn’t you I was so mad at.”  He squeezed her hand.  “It was me.  I was—I am—angry at myself.”

She looked up at him and he was half-gratified that there was now a touch of shock added to her confusion.  It didn’t hurt to have things surprise her from time to time.  Baby was entirely too complacent about her ability to know what the family was thinking.  She had gotten too used to being the motivating force.  He was glad he could still surprise her.

“I’ve been blaming you for everything lately.”  He reached out with his free hand and ran his thumb lovingly over her unburned cheek.  “I’m not saying you’re blameless.  Le Bon Dieu knows what you’ve done.  But I’m saying that I didn’t try to stop you.  I just sat back the same as everyone else and let you.  I didn’t find excuses for you or shrug it off like Jack and René but I didn’t try to stop it either.  I just got mad and sulked.  And do you know why?”

She shook her head and Jean felt a rather pleasant glow from the fear in her eyes.  “I didn’t stop you because I didn’t really want to.  I don’t like what you do and I hate the way you do it but sometimes it’s the right thing to do.”  He smiled and watched as her fear grew.  “Tell me the truth, mon cher Maman.  And believe me when I tell you that I’ll know if you are lying to me.  Tell me why you pushed me to take Charlie when you knew it wasn’t what I wanted.”

She shook her head again and his touch became less gentle as he squeezed her hand.  “Tell me.  Nothing but the truth.  Tell me why you were so adamant that Charlie stay as my wife.”  When she remained silent, he bore down on her hand.  He could feel the delicate bone in the center of her hand begin to give under the pressure of his thumb.  “Tell me!”

“I couldn’t let something that powerful free on the streets!” Baby snarled.  “She couldn’t go home.  The Powers That Be wouldn’t let her go home and I wasn’t going to let her just go out into the world.  You know as well as I do that she wouldn’t have been outside the family’s protection five minutes before some rogue vampire had her spread out against a wall!  And she was dangerous to the family as long as she was unclaimed.  It would have ended up in fights and duals over who got her.  I wasn’t going to have that.  Charlie needed to be claimed and she needed to be claimed by someone the family...by someone I could trust.”

Jean nodded.  “Yes, I thought all along that was your basic thought but why me?  Why not one of the others?  You threatened it.  You said you’d give her to Remy or Rene or Jack.  Why didn’t you?  I know you’re capable of it.”  He stopped what he suspected was a flip answer with brief, sudden pressure on her hand and a harsh, “The truth!  You never so much as mentioned it to any of them.  So why didn’t you give her to one of your sons.  Why not Jack?  Why me?”

“I don’t want to share Jack,” she grated.  There was anger in her voice and on her face now.  “I don’t like sharing Jack but if I’d had to, he was my second choice.”

“Stop avoiding the question.  Why not Rene, Wesley, or one of the others?  Why me?”

Her anger spilled over and tightened her mouth into an ugly moue.  Jean had no doubt that she wished she could do him some sort of injury but knew she wasn’t strong enough to beat him.  “Why?” he shouted, his voice ringing off the walls of the overhang and startling a covey of partridge from a tussock halfway down the hill.  They flew up with a whir and rattle of wings.  Wolfe growled warningly.

She jumped, as startled as the birds, and glared at him.  “Because they didn’t deserve it!” she shouted back.  “They didn’t deserve sunlight and heartbeats and children...”  Her voice dropped drastically and she finished with a near sob, “And you did.”  She looked away.  “You deserved a chance at that.”  She tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let her.  “You never ask for anything, Jean.  You just make do with whatever we all feel inclined to throw your way.  But I knew you wanted that girl.  You’re lying if you say you didn’t.  And the minute I knew that you wanted her, I knew you had to have her.”

“Whether she wanted me or not,” he said softly.

“Yes!  Whether she wanted you or not!”  Baby tried to pull away again and again he held her hand tightly.  “I knew you’d worry more about her than you did about yourself because that’s your way.  Well, I’m not you!  I’m not good or saintly or any of those things that make you so damned much better than all the rest of us.”  Her voice was choked now.  “You might have been willing to die rather than force her hand but I wasn’t.  And I’m not ashamed of that.  I will not let you throw your life away for your precious morals.”  She succeeded in wrenching her hand from his grasp.  She scrambled to her feet.  “I didn’t give a tinker’s damn about what Charlie wanted.  I knew what you wanted and that was enough for me.”  She glared at him before turning away.  “I did what I had to because God knows you wouldn’t do it for yourself.”  She stared angrily out at the empty prairie.  Wolfe glared at Jean and huffed indignantly.  Jean ignored him but Baby reached down and rested her hand on the loup-garou’s head.  She refused to look at Jean.

Jean smiled even though he knew she couldn’t see him.  It was seldom that he was able to get Baby angry enough that she forgot to hide behind her carefully constructed walls and facades.  He stood lithely and bridged the few steps that separated them.  He slipped his hands around her waist, ignoring her when she slapped pettishly at his arms.  He held her easily, his body pressed against her back.  He dropped his head and nuzzled in her hair.  “It must be hard,” he whispered.  “To love us so much and condemn your soul over and over for us and have none of us appreciate it one bit.”  He grinned as he heard her werewolf huff and move away.  “Thank you, Maman.  Thank you for making me do what I felt I couldn’t do but what I wanted to do with all my heart.”

She turned to him, all big eyes, her lips parted in shock.  “Jean?”

He cradled her burned face carefully in loving hands.  “I’ve been angry at myself all this time for not being man enough to admit what it is that I wanted out of my life.  I couldn’t admit that what happened was best not just for you or Charlie but for me.  But I told Charlie that finally.  I don’t regret claiming her.  I don’t regret marrying her when I already had René.  I don’t regret one second of the time I’ve spent with René.  I don’t regret keeping Jacques as my lover all these years.  I don’t regret one minute of my life.  I just regret that it’s taken me this long to realize that it isn’t wrong to want something just for me.” 

He smiled down at her before he brushed his lips across hers.  He pulled back and reached out for her thoughts, opening his to her in a way he hadn’t done in years.  He caressed her cheek with his thumb.  “Thank you, Maman, for sunlight and a heart that beats and a wife that loves only me and for my beautiful children.  Thank you for sharing your husbands with me.  Thank you for loving me enough to risk me hating you if it made me happy.”  He kissed her more soundly, letting his fingers creep into her hair.  He let her feel his want and need and all the years of pent up feelings that he’d suppressed in his quest to never, ever be like her.  Spike had told him once that light couldn’t exist without darkness and Jean suddenly realized that his father was right.  Sometimes Evil was necessary so Good could flourish.  He eased her to the dry dust floor of the overhang, covering her body with his.  If he had earned the right to be called Saint Jean it was because of her.  And it was all right that even in the midst of her evil, he still loved her.  Didn’t the Bible teach that God still loved Satan?  It was all right for him to hate what she did but still love her.  He began unbuttoning her shirt.  “Thank you for being the monster so I never had to be.”  His mouth descending on her bare skin, fangs extending in his need to taste her and make her a part of him again, the way she had once been.  “Thank you for believing that I was always a man.”

~Chapter 4~
"The Last Cowboy Song"

This is the last cowboy song:
The end of a hundred-year waltz.
The voices sound sad as they're singing along.
Another piece of America's lost.

He rides the feed lots, clerks in the markets,
On weekends selling tobacco and beer.
And his dreams of tomorrow, surrounded by fences,
But he'll dream tonight of when fences weren't here.

He blazed the trail with Lewis and Clark,
And eyeball to eyeball, old Wyatt backed down.
He stood shoulder to shoulder with Travis in Texas.
And rode with the 7th when Custer went down.

This the last cowboy song:
The end of a hundred year waltz.
The voices sound sad as they're singing along.
Another piece of America's lost.

Remmington showed us how he looked on canvas,
And Louis Lamour has told us his tale.
Me and Johnny and Waylon and Kris sing about him,
And wish to God we could have ridden his trail.

The old Chisolm trail is covered in concrete now,
They truck it to market in fifty foot rigs.
They roll by his markings and don't even notice,
Like living and dying was all he ever did.

This the last cowboy song:
The end of a hundred year waltz.
The voices sound sad as they're singing along.
Another piece of America's lost.

Written by William Bruce and Ronald Peterson.
(© Sony/ATV Songs LLC [Tree Publishing].)
From "Highwaymen", © 1985, Columbia Records

Fort Harmon country outside Harmonville, Montana
Wednesday, 1:14 p.m.
November 7, 1888

Charley Waite sighed as he looked at the fallen strand of barbed wire.  It had obviously been cut recently; bright metal shown in the core of the snipped wire.  It wouldn't take long for the cut to rust and match the rest of the wire, not as damp as it had been lately.  He let the strand fall, watching as it twined and tangled in the long grass.  He stood and wiped his rust-stained fingers on his chaps, leaving smeared streaks like the tracks of old blood on the tan leather.  He stared off toward the horizons, watching the winds sweep the roll of the high prairie.  The grass surged in gentle waves of buff and emerald, the tall stalks bending away from the foothills as a cold mountain-born breeze swept over them.  His horse snuffled and huffed as it sought out the tender green among the already frost-cured vegetation.

Unlooping the reins from about the horn, he swung up effortlessly into the saddle.  Charley sat his horse easily, naturally.  He should, he mused.  He'd spent most of his adult life in the saddle.  Maybe that's why the sight of the cut fence wire bothered him so much.  Charley had done his share of fence cutting in his life.

"Now I'm the one who's supposed to uphold fencing off the range," he told his mount and spit off to the side.  "Hell of a thing for a free grazer to come to."  Baby Horse2 held his own counsel and didn't say anything.  Charley smiled at the thought; Baby Horse never did say much.

His amusement was short-lived and his thoughts soon turned back to the cut fence and the nearby swath of torn and trampled grass.  A herd had been driven through the destroyed fence.  As he urged Baby Horse to follow the cattle trail, he wondered what he'd say when he caught up with the free grazers who'd made it.  He'd been a free grazer for over ten years.  He'd driven Boss Spearman's cattle wherever Boss had told him to.  Fences hadn't meant anything to him either.  They were an encumbrance, a blemish on the land to be ignored or removed. 

That was all changing, had been changing even when he first started punching cows for Boss.  They had been some of the last of the free grazers.  There were rumors that the government was thinking of leasing lands to private citizens and would allow them to fence off the pastures.  Charley knew once that happened it was the end of the open range.  His hands tightened on the reins and he had to force his jaw to relax; his teeth hurt because they were clenched so tightly.  The free prairie had kept him away from men and their entanglements and the need to interact with them for over a decade.  He'd been able to be who and what he'd wanted to be.  He'd put aside the specter of Charles Travis Postelwaite, gun hand and killer, to become Charley Waite, cowboy.  Nothing else, just cowboy.  It was all Charley wanted or needed.  He felt angered and saddened by the loss of what had once given him refuge and a hold on a decent life.  Even as the words crossed his mind, he realized there was far more to it than that.

He wasn't Charley Waite, cowboy, any more.  He was Charley Waite, marshal, husband, and father.  His life wasn't as simple as it had been when he was riding the range with Boss but it was a hell of a lot better in many ways.  He had many more responsibilities but he had more joy, too. 

When he'd ridden into Harmonville six years earlier all he had expected was trouble and he'd gotten that in spades.  Faced with a powerful and ruthless man who wouldn't scruple to kill Boss and his three hands just because they were free grazers, he'd made the decision to face down Denton Baxter and stand with Boss.  As a consequence and as he'd always feared would one day happen, Boss ended up finding out about the man Charley had once been.  When it came out Charley hadn't glossed it over.  He'd told Boss the full truth ugly as it was.  Charley had been a killer for hire, first for the Army and then for anyone who'd pay him.  He'd ridden that trail until he could no longer stand to look in his shaving mirror.  It sickened him physically to think of what he'd become.  He'd been lucky to find Boss and a way out of that life.  And he'd ridden Boss' honorable and free trail, mostly content with his life lonely though it was.

But Denton Baxter had let his men kill Mose Harrison and nearly kill young Button.  Charley knew that to most people it didn't matter but the big camp cook, the teenager, and Boss were all the family Charley had.  When Boss had sworn to keep his cattle in the face of Baxter's ruthless attack and to kill any man who tried to take them from him, Charley had made sure Boss knew he had no problem with killing those that deserved it.  And in the end there had been killing aplenty.  Before the day was over, Baxter was dead and the worst of his men with him.  The town had risen up to fight against his tyranny.  And most had made it plain that Charley and Boss had done them a good turn and were welcome to remain.

Charley could never think of that day without feeling a little sick.  That cold, hard part of himself had taken over.  He'd not flinched from killing all who stood against him.  Indeed, more would have been dead if Boss hadn't stopped him.  That part of Charley frightened his friend.  Charley had seen it on Boss' face.  Boss had seen the remorseless killer that hid behind Charley's quiet demeanor and soft voice.  Charley was sure that was the end of everything.  He couldn't blame Boss; that part of himself frightened Charley, too.  Charley had even pulled down against Boss, threatening to shoot the older man if he didn't stand aside and let Charley kill a wounded enemy.  There was no way Boss would want Charley around after that.  But Boss hadn't turned Charley away.  He'd asked Charley to stay on.  He'd even said Charley was like a son to him.3  He'd still cared about Charley.  And so had Sue.

Charley grinned broadly.  Just thinking about his wife made his heart glow.  All those years alone trying to forget all the blood and the pain, all that time he'd never thought he'd find love.  And certainly not a love such as he had.  His Sue was a true lady: gentle, kind, and strong.  The fact that he thought her so beautiful he could barely breathe whenever he looked at her was simply a blessing.  He thanked his Maker for that every day.  He often woke in the middle of the night just to check that she was really sleeping beside him.  He was living a dream and expected to wake up someday huddled beneath his blankets alone on the cold grasslands.  Each morning to wake and find that she was real was a delight.  As his mind drifted back over his time with her, he was flooded with amazement.  Each day was somehow better than the one before it.  Unlike Boss and his Louise4, Charley couldn't claim that he and Sue had never had a cross word but somehow even their infrequent arguments brought him joy.  He had thought he could never be happier than when he stood up before a whole church full of people and swore to love and honor her forever.  Or he'd thought so until he'd held her in his arms that night and finally made her completely his wife.  He was sure he could be no happier than he was at that moment.  Nothing could be any better...Until the day she told him she was carrying his child.  He'd never come closer to fainting in his life.  He'd hugged her so tightly he'd scared himself; he was afraid he'd crushed her ribs. 

Then the day had come when he'd looked into his newly born daughter's face.  He'd been completely overwhelmed.  He couldn't decide who was more beautiful: his little Emma Lou or her wonderful mother.  Watching Emma Lou grow never ceased to astound Charley.  She was a living miracle as far as he was concerned.  She was as glorious a sight as the vista that stretched before him.  Charley had wanted nothing more.  He had everything in his life that he'd ever dreamed of and then some.  And now God had seen fit to send him another child.  Even now he could see Sue, big with his baby, her eyes glowing with love for him as she'd seen him off to check out Mr. Wilson's complaint about his fence.  She was so beautiful with the firelight glowing on her blond hair and outlining her form, burgeoning with new life -- life that he had put there.  When she smiled at him that way, with a light in her eyes and love softening her face and smoothing out the lines carved by a frontier life, Charley was sure there was no more perfect sight on the face of the Earth.  Her soft but firm admonition that he take care of himself and hurry home rang in his mind.

He stared out across the empty acres before him.  "I'm a damned idiot, you know that?" he said.  "I'm feeling blue for being alone with nothing to look forward to when I got a woman like I never thought I'd even lay eyes on waiting for me at home."  He urged Baby Horse to a faster pace.  A crazy idiot at that, he added to himself.  He had been lucky beyond his most secret dreams.

He hadn't had much to offer Sue.  His only worth was a couple of horses, a saddle, and some guns.  The rest of his tack and gear wouldn't bring two whole dollars.  Yet Sue had seen something of worth in him.  All he could offer her was his two hands to try his damnedest to support her, his two arms to hold her at night, and his heart to love her forever.  She swore it was enough.  He prayed she always felt that way.

Shadows from the scudding clouds raced across the rolling hills, faster than he could ride.  Sun and shade swept over him by turns and the light glinted off the edge of his badge where it peeped out from his unbuttoned jacket.  He'd taken it up reluctantly.  He wasn't a lawman; he was a killer.  He knew it.  He wasn't surprised by the cold and the dark that lived inside him.  He didn't want to do anything that would bring that part of him back to the fore.  But he had to support Sue.  And he only knew two things: killing and punching cows.  Being a drover would take him away from Sue for months after long, weary months and he didn't want that.  And she refused to consider it.  Killing...Well, knowing how to use his guns made him valuable to Harmonville.  They wanted a new marshal but no one wanted the job.  It wouldn't make him a rich man but it was respectable work and something that wouldn't bring embarrassment on Sue.  It let him pay some to Boss for part of the saloon and gave Charley a sense that he wasn't completely beneath Sue's touch.

So he was marshal now and had given his word to uphold the law.  The people of Fort Harmon country expected him to help them when their property was taken or destroyed.  They paid him a decent wage to do it.  Landowners had long had the right to fence their lands against trespassing by people or livestock, and his own feelings on the matter aside, Charley knew it was right that they could protect what was theirs.  He wasn't Marshal Poole.  He didn't sit in any one man's pocket.  He'd deal out the law as fairly as he could.  He'd make sure the free grazers who cut Marlon Wilson's fence had moved on or he'd ask them as reasonably as he could to move on.  If they wouldn't, he'd back it up the best way he knew how.  Regardless of what the free grazers had done, he'd be back with Sue and Emma Lou before another three days passed.  And he'd do whatever was needed to make sure pride and love for him never left Sue's eyes. 

With a smile on his face and a lighter heart, he headed off to keep the peace so he could return to the home where he'd found contentment like he'd never known.

~Chapter 5~
"Cowboys Like Us" 

I take off, time to time, with those crazy friends of mine.
Head out on steel horses with wheels and we ride.
We burn up that road to old Mexico.
Blend in with the desert; just we amigos and we roll. 

And cowboys like us sure do have fun,
Racing the wind, chasing the sun.
Take the long way around back to square one.
Today we're just outlaws out on the run.
There'll be no regrets; no worries and such,
For cowboys like us. 

We talk about livin', and babies and women.
All that we've lost and all we've been given.
We sing about true love, lie about things we ain't done.
There ain't one more cold one come morning: get up and we roll. 

Cowboys like us sure do have fun.
Racing the wind, chasing the sun.
Take the long way around back to square one.
Today we're just outlaws out on the run.
There'll be no regrets; no worries and such,
For cowboys like us - Cowboys like us. 

Written by Bob DiPiero and Anthony Smith.
(© Sony-ATV Tree Publishing/Love Monkey Music.)
From "Honkytonkville", © 2003, MCA. 

Harmonville, Montana Territory
Thursday, 9:32 p.m.
November 8, 1888

Boss Spearman held up a bottle of whiskey and motioned for Ralph to join him at his table.  This late at night the saloon was nearly empty and Boss could take the time to have a drink and talk to his friends.  The local shopkeeper made his way over and sat down.  Boss greeted him with a friendly, "What do you know, Ralph?"

"Not much, Boss."  The small man shook his head at the offer of whiskey and indicated to the barmaid that he preferred beer before he looked around cautiously, his attitude a cross between an alarmed rabbit and a startled ferret.  Ralph had always reminded Boss of some sort of small critter.  With his big, liquid eyes and soft, child-like face there was just something harmless about Ralph.  Still there was also cunning and a certain shrewdness that kept anyone smart from thinking Ralph was a fool.  Ralph had proved that; he made a decent if not extravagant living for himself and his family at his general store and was liked by most of the town. 

Ralph cut his eyes toward a couple seated at a corner table in the back of the bar.  There was only a handful of men in the place and the two had a clear view of the man and woman in the back.  "They came into the store today," he whispered.  "They spent fifteen dollars on candy and soap and whatever gewgaw took their fancy," he added, the nod he gave insuring that Boss understood the import of such a purchase.  "Nothing like that's happened since...Well, since you came in that day."

Boss nodded.  It didn't take much to get Ralph excited but a thing like someone spending that much on nothing useful was reason enough to excite anyone.  "They ain't hurting for money," he agreed, his deep voice rumbling in his chest.  "They paid for a couple of bottles last night and another couple tonight.  The good stuff at that."  The barmaid sat a mug of beer on the dark surface of the table and winked at Ralph.  May was a buxom woman of indeterminate years with a ready smile and knowing eyes.  She and Essie were Boss’s pride.  He had the only dancing girls for five towns around.  Of course, they didn’t dance much since the piano player quit two years back but they liked Boss and were content to stay on and serve drinks for the ex-cattleman. 

"They stay much longer, I'll be out of stock," Boss said.  He looked toward the man and woman at the back of the bar.  He didn't hold with prying into other's business but he'd dearly love to know what brought people like those two to a town like Harmonville.  There was more to his conjecture than curiosity about their money.  If there wasn't something off about both of them, he didn't know the first thing about either cows or whiskey.

Of the two, the man was normal enough at first glance.  He was a good looking young fellow, carried himself well, and seemed real pleasant.  He wasn't dressed fancy but his clothes were a little odd though Boss couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong.  He had an accent but so did half the people in town; America was full of immigrants.  He spoke respectfully and well and was polite to everyone he had dealings with.  Aside from his free spending the young man probably wouldn't have garnered much comment.  But his companion sure as Hell made them worthy of all sorts of gossip.  In well over sixty years of life, Boss had been around but he'd never seen a woman like that.  Now he'd seen women in britches before.  He knew a few who'd taken up cattle ranching or even freighting.  But this wasn't some lady rancher or a driver trying to make a living because her man or her Pa was dead and gone.  She hadn't so much as batted an eye about entering a saloon or ordering a whiskey like a man.  She’d have set the whole town to talking just by that alone.  This woman was...Well, Boss wasn't entirely sure what she was.

She was dressed like a cowhand though not exactly like any cowhand Boss had ever seen.  The pale tan chaps she wore over her denim pants clung so closely to her limbs it was near indecent.  The neck of her red suede shirt was laced loosely and Boss had seen dancing girls and whores who showed less of their bosoms.  Her long coat was of leather so finely tanned and soft it moved like cotton but he couldn't see it being very warm.  It didn't hide anything much either.  Nothing she wore hid much.  There was an indecent cast to everything she wore that left you feeling you'd seen her right down to the skin even while the clothes covered her from neck to toe.  You just felt she was flaunting her body.

If he hadn't seen for himself that her brows and eyelashes were the same deep red as her hair, he'd never have believed the color was natural.  He doubted that thick, smoldering-red mop saw a comb more than once a day.  And she surely didn't bother to pull it back properly.  She was the most garish and brazen female Boss had ever heard tell of.

There was nothing decent about her as far as Boss could tell except the wedding ring on her left hand.  And while she might be married, she wasn't respectable.  Right now, she was leaning against her man, her hand openly on his leg as he whispered something to her.  He'd seen her kiss her husband more than a couple of times, right there in public.  The whole bar had been staring at them and she didn’t so much as blush.  She was about as far from modest as any woman Boss had seen. 

Though he considered himself a moral man, it wasn't her lack of respectability that bothered Boss.  He had no prejudice against loose women.  He wouldn't mind seeing a few more in the world.  Bold and brazen didn't set him back much.  It wasn't her britches or her wild hair that concerned him.  The guns slung low on her hips and the long knife strapped to the inside of her leg gave him fodder for thought though.  He was worried by the rifle slung on her back and the glimpse he'd caught of a pistol-grip scattergun concealed inside her coat.  He wasn't used to seeing a woman with that much weaponry.  But the world was a hard place some times and he reckoned a woman might need guns even more than a man.  Still anyone who was as comfortable as she was with that much armament gave him pause.  And Boss had noted more than the fact that she was a natural redhead when he looked into her face.  He'd never seen eyes colder or more frightening than hers.  Boss' life had occasionally depended on his ability to read people and there was just something about the woman that disturbed him.  That hussy smiling up at her cowboy was as odd a creature as anyone Boss had ever run across.  He hoped she'd move on soon.  Maybe he'd tell her he was out of good whiskey and she'd head out for one of the bigger towns.  He didn't need her money bad enough to put up with the sort of feelings she gave him.

Boss realized he'd become lost in his thoughts and Ralph was looking at him expectantly.  He said the first innocuous thing that came to mind.  "They even give beer and such to that big dog of hers."  The animal in question was stretched out beside her chair.  Herb Werner over to the boot shop swore it wasn't a dog but a wolf.  Boss disagreed.  He had never seen a wolf that big or that tame.  The woman spoke to it like it could understand everything she said.  He had to admit that it seemed to do just that.  It did whatever she asked.  "They’re something else for sure."

Ralph licked his lips, openly savoring the taste of his beer.  "They're something confusing," he admitted.  "You heard they been asking if there was any folks named Waite in town,” Ralph continued, dropping his voice to an even more conspiratorial level.

Boss sipped his whiskey.  He knew for a fact that Ralph was right.  They were looking for someone named Waite.  The strangers had asked him when they first came into his place.  “They don’t seem to know anything else, just that one name.  Folks is being awful close about it.  Not saying much.”

Ralph nodded.  “Ain’t no one particularly interested in bringing trouble on Charley, least ways none of the townsfolk.  Some of the cattlemen still hold being a free grazer against him but they ain’t likely to say much neither.  They like the way he keeps the peace and they don’t want to upset the doctor.”

Boss grinned.  “They don’t want to face the sharp edge of Sue’s tongue.”  He chuckled, a deep, pleasant sound.  “I wouldn’t if I was them!”

Ralph laughed with him.  “Womenfolk can be hard on a man,” he agreed.  “Still, I wish the marshal was back in town.  You got any idea how long he'll be gone?"

Boss shook his head.  "Riding out to check on a problem like that, could be a couple of days, could be a week or more.  But I'll tell you this much, Charley ain't gonna be gone from Sue for any longer than he has to be."

Ralph smiled broadly.  "You're right about that.  He'll likely be back any time then."

"Yep, most likely.  I expect he...Good Lord, would you look at that," he said with a laugh.  Boss Spearman had seen a lot of sights in his time but he'd seldom seen anything to compare to the man that walked into his bar.  He doubted anyone in Harmonville had ever seen the like.  Prettier than any woman and dressed like one of the old Spanish grandees, the newcomer was something to see.  Ralph turned to stare as did most of the clientele of the saloon.  Conversation dwindled to a halt and a somewhat stunned silence settled over them all.

In the resulting quiet the voice of Boss’ elder dancing girl sounded loud.  "Boss.  Better get the champagne."  May's flashy dark red gown swished against his table.

"What?"  The champagne was a rare vintage and Boss had never sold any.  "I keep that for special occasions."  He'd opened a few bottles for Charley's wedding and Emma Lou's christening.

"Seeing a man that looks like that is a special occasion.  Besides, you're gonna need it," May insisted, her pale eyes bright and color that didn't owe anything to her rouge pot high on her cheeks.  "That boy's gonna make me very thirsty."

"He'll make you thirsty, hungry, and damn near wiggle out of your skin," came a woman's voice from the back of the room.  Amusement tinted the deep Southern drawl but so did a blatant sexuality that widened Boss' eyes. 

The strange woman and her companion both stood and the glorious apparition that had so captured May's fancy grinned broadly.  "Bébé!  Ma belle ange!"  With a speed Boss had never witnessed before, the black-haired stranger descended on the redhead and scooped her up.  Her dog looked the man over and laid his head back on his crossed paws contentedly.  The animal apparently knew the man.

"René," the woman said with a soft and welcoming smile.

"M' amour!"  He delivered a passionate kiss on her upturned lips.

"Lucky bitch," May muttered.  "And her a married woman!"

Boss shook his head to clear it.  "May, we talked about using language like that in a public place."  He wasn't too surprised she ignored him.  No one was paying him any mind; they were too busy watching the amazing-looking René and the woman.  Boss was pretty sure that people oughtn't kiss like that in front of other people.  He wasn't sure people should even kiss like that when they were alone!

The woman pulled away, sniffing.  "You smell like..."  She looked up at him.  "Where's Jack?"

"Right here, honey."

The redhead abandoned the beautiful brunette without a backward look and strode purposefully toward the front door of the saloon.  The blond man who'd spoken stood waiting with a grin on his face.  Boss frowned.  The man looked enough like Charley Waite be his brother.  Before Boss could think about that the way he wanted to, the redhead grabbed the man by his shirt and slammed him into the wall.

"Don't you ever leave me alone for that long again," she snarled.

"Did you miss me, sweetheart?" the man who looked so much like Boss' friend said with a smile.

Boss blinked when she picked the man up and hurled him onto a table.  It groaned under the impact but didn't break.  "Not ever again!  Do you understand me?" she grated.

The man's smile grew.  "You did miss me!"

She leaned over and kissed him with a ferocity that made the kiss she'd given René look like a decorous exchange.  The man wrapped his arms around her and rolled them both lithely to their feet.  He beamed.  "You really did miss me," he said with soft sincerity.

Her face went gentle.  "More than I can ever explain, Jack."

"Oh honey," Jack said with soft pleasure and kissed her again.

The black-haired beauty she had abandoned rolled his eyes.  "That's sickening."  He didn't sound too upset.

"I think it is très adorable," the man beside him said.

René smiled.  "Non, cher.  You are the one who is très adorable."  Boss wasn't comfortable with the light that suddenly sprang into the man's teal eyes.  "My Jean.  I missed you!"  He enfolded the smaller man in an embrace that didn't strike Boss as simply friendly.

"Good God Almighty," May said rather too loudly.  "He can hug me like that anytime he wants to.  Free of charge."

"Frère!"  Jean reproved René even as he shuddered hungrily in the other man's embrace.  "You're making that pretty girl cry."

"Jean, if you don't shut up and kiss me hello, you gonna make me cry."

Every eye in the saloon was riveted upon the tightly embracing men as Jean's head drew back so that he could plow against his brother's mouth with his own.  They clung to one another, pressing close, their mouths moving urgently against each others seeking a delicious warm fit and when they found it they sighed and started again.

Boss couldn't quite believe what his eyes were telling his brain and it took him more than a moment to gather his wits.  "Now see here!  This is a respectable establishment.  We don't hold with these sorts of goings on and I...."  He froze when the barrel of a pistol was pressed against his head.

"I don't hold with people interrupting my boys' reunion.  They haven't seen each other in a while and it's only right they get to say hello."  The redhead's face was hard and there was a restless glitter in her eyes that set Boss’ heart racing.

The tall blond with her placed his hand gently on her arm.  "Honey, we don't kill the locals.  Temporal issues and all, remember?  Philip's making enough of those.  Wes said we needed to be careful."

"It's a stupid rule," she responded with a pout.

"Baby, sweetheart, we're the good guys, remember?"  Even his voice reminded Boss of Charley though the accent was different.  It was a pity he wasn’t Charley; Boss really would have been happy to see the marshal about now. 

"Jacques is right, Maman.  I was behaving badly," Jean added as he joined them.  "This is not necessary.  The gentleman meant no insult to René or to me."  René nodded his agreement.

The woman twitched her lips.  "Oh all right."  The gun disappeared as quickly as it had been drawn. 

The big blond wrapped his arms around her and she sank against him.  Jack turned his attention to Boss.  "I'm sorry.  My wife's a little tense lately," he said.  "I'm afraid she gets really testy if I'm away for too long."

"Your wife!"  Boss looked at the man in confusion.  That woman wasn't anyone's wife as far as he could tell.  Or if she was, whichever of these men was her husband should beat her.  Boss didn't normally hold with beating women but he'd be willing to make an exception in her case.  He gave a mental sigh; he probably wouldn't be able to make that exception.  A woman was woman and to be treated with some respect, even if she acted like the cheapest sort of whore.  But this fellow, Jack as she'd called him, didn't seem the least upset though he had to have seen her kissing that pretty black-haired fellow.  He was just standing there waiting for Boss to say something.  Boss didn't really know what to do.  What did you say to someone who'd saved your life and was now apologizing for the person who caused the incident?  Boss' heart was still thundering so hard he was having a bit of trouble speaking.  He wasn't a coward but having a pistol put to your head would give any man pause.  And now that fellow who'd first rode into town with her was smiling at Jack as calmly as you please.  None of them seemed to see anything unusual about her threatening to kill someone.

"Mais oui," Jean said in agreement with Jack's assessment of the woman's condition.  "Jacques, it is very good we found you.  Maman has been rather fragile these last few days.  I don't think she has been thinking well."  He, too, turned to Boss.  "I must apologize.  I am afraid I was not thinking well either.  I forget that everyone is not used to our ways and that we are a long way from home.  I am sorry if I caused you any discomfort."

"Well," Boss hedged.  It was a fine apology, spoken sincerely and straightforward.  Jean had no trouble meeting Boss' eye to eye.  It was the sort of thing he respected in other men.  Boss had been around enough to know that there were some men who had...odd tastes.  He didn't necessarily want to see or know anything about it but he figured it wasn't any of his business.  "That's all right then.  I just can't have anything like that in here."

The pretty René growled and Jean shushed him.  "Non, he is correct, frère.  This is not New Orleans.  We will be respectful of their wishes."

"Settle down, Beaumont," Jack admonished.  "We're all back together again.  Enjoy it and give that temper of yours a rest."  He shook his head.  "We have other things to worry about."

René nodded his understanding.  "Yeah.  We all need to talk.  Make a plan."

Jean agreed.  "M'sieur, if you do not mind, we will retire to a table and would appreciate another bottle of your good whiskey and one of tequila if you have it."

René perked up visibly.  "Tequila would be real good."

Boss nodded.  He couldn't quite bring himself to ask them to leave.  "I don't have problems with anyone as long as they behave themselves.  I figure what's your business is your business."  There was a warning in his voice that said they needed to keep their business private.

The blond nodded; the woman he held was still glaring at Boss.  "Come on, honey," Jack said and guided Baby back to a table.  "I'm here now.  It's all okay."  Just from the way he said it Boss knew the girl wasn't entirely right in the head.  It didn't seem fitting that they let her go around armed like that if she was touched.  And it bothered Boss that the man looked so much like Charley.  But it also made him anxious to keep them here.  He wanted Charley to see this. 

The woman's big dog looked them all over with bright intelligent eyes and lay down beside her chair.  Jack greeted it the way he would a person.  Maybe he was as touched as his wife. 

Boss had to admit they were an odd group and there was no mistaking that.  As he sat back down and looked into Ralph's troubled face, he really couldn't help but hope Charley came home soon.

~Chapter 6~
"Mama's Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys"

Cowboys ain't easy to love and they're harder to hold.
They'd rather give you a song than diamonds or gold.
Lone Star belt buckles and old faded levis,
And each night begins a new day.
If you don't understand him, and he don't die young,
He'll prob'ly just ride away.

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys.
Don't let 'em pick guitars or drive them old trucks.
Let 'em be doctors and lawyers and such.
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys.
'Cause they'll never stay home and they're always alone.
Even with someone they love.

Cowboys like smoky old poolrooms and clear mountain mornings,
Little warm puppies and children and girls of the night.
Them that don't know him won't like him and them that do,
Sometimes won't know how to take him.
He ain't wrong, he's just different but his pride won't let him,
Do things to make you think he's right.

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys.
Don't let 'em pick guitars or drive them old trucks.
Let 'em be doctors and lawyers and such.
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys.
'Cause they'll never stay home and they're always alone.
Even with someone they love.

Written by Ed Bruce and Patsy Bruce.
(© Sony/ATV Songs LLC [Tree Publishing].)
From "Waylon and Willie", © 1978, Columbia Records.

Harmonville, Montana Territory
Friday, 3:14 p.m.
November 9, 1888

"I'm bored," Rene said to no one in particular.  He lounged back in his chair idly twirling a shot glass on the table top.  His pale slender fingers kept the glass whirling at speeds that made it appear as little more than a blur.

"Argh!  He keeps saying that!" Jack exclaimed.  "Make him stop, Jean," he wailed.  "I've heard that for three weeks now!"  He resisted the urge to bang his head against the saloon's wall.  “He’s trying to drive me crazy.”

Jean smiled indulgently at the two men.  "We simply have to find something to amuse mon cher mari.  Perhaps you would like to play poker?"  He blinked in surprise when both men shouted no.

"I don't want to play cards," Rene advised.  "I’m tired of it.  Jack already owes me twenty-thousand dollars."

Jack surrendered to temptation and let his head drop to the table with a resounding whack.  He let it bounce a time or two.  The pain was minimal and better than looking at Beaumont's smirk.  The money was nothing.  He had bank accounts full of money but the thought of losing to Beaumont....  He looked up to see his wife biting her full lower lip to keep from laughing.  "Go ahead and get it out of your system," he said wearily.

She came and sat down astraddle his legs.  "My poor Jackie!" she said with only a hint of laughter in voice.  "My poor, darling boy.  You know you shouldn't play cards with René; he has the most abominable good luck."

He settled his hands about her waist, grateful that the saloon was empty and he didn't have to deal with the wounded sensitivities of frontier morality.  He wanted her with him, touching him.  In fact, he hadn't wanted to leave their bed at the hotel but they had to find his ancestor.  So far any inquiries after anyone named Waite had been met with the same answer: You need to see the marshal.  He sighed and hitched her body a little closer to his.  At least he could hold her for a while.  He was becoming quite disillusioned with the life of a cowboy.  The movies made it look a whole lot more fun.  At the risk of sounding like Beaumont, he admitted that he, too, was tired of the mind-numbing boredom.  “What do people do around here for fun?” he asked as he nuzzled Baby’s neck.

“Looks like he’s having plenty of fun to me,” the bartender confided to May.  Jack could hear them plainly.  He smiled against Baby’s skin at the jealousy that tinted the young man’s voice.  Jack decided that the Mexican boy might be young but he had taste.

“I’d say so, Button.  And she ain’t complaining,” May observed.

 “Not one bit,” Baby whispered.  Jack grinned when he felt her chuckle silently.  “I’m sorry my sugar’s bored.”

“I’ll live,” Jack said and regretted it when fear flashed across Baby’s face.  “Honey.  It will be okay.  I’m not going to disappear.  I’m too stubborn for Philip to kill.”  He snuggled her for a bit and watched Beaumont’s fingers twirling the glass on the table.  “Though I can’t promise you that I won’t kill René if he doesn’t stop that.”

René curled his lip.  “I told you; I’m bored!”

Jean reached out to sooth his brother while Jack growled and slammed his hand down on René’s, stilling the glass.

Wolfe yipped a couple of times interrupting the glares Jack and René were exchanging over René’s trapped hand.  “What’s that?” Jack asked.  “Go a little slower.  You know I can only follow puppy talk not that adult stuff.”  The werewolf repeated himself and Jack considered his suggestion.  “That’s not a bad idea but my guitar and Beaumont’s fiddle are with the horses.”  The wolf gave a sharp yap.  “Sure, if you want to.”  The animal gave Jack’s hand a lick and ran out of the room.  Jack wiped the back of his hand on his pants.  “Yuck.  Why does he have to do that?”

“It’s a wolf thing, honey,” Baby assured him.  “It means he likes you.”

“People don’t normally slobber on people just because they like them.  Well, Beaumont does but normal people don’t.”  Jack’s chair nearly tipped over as René shoved him hard.  “Hey!”  Jack shoved back.

“Cut it out,” Baby ordered.  “Behave.”

“Please!  By all means,” Jean seconded.  “Wolfe is right.  Music would wile away the time.”  He looked to the young Hispanic man behind the bar.  “Might I play your piano?”

The boy looked at him in surprise before answering in heavily accented tones.  “Sure.  No one around here knows how to5 but Boss had it tuned when he hired May and Essie.”  His eyes grew wide when the wolf trotted into the room carrying a violin case, its handle easily held in the animal’s massive jaws.

Jack took the case from Wolfe and tossed it to René.  “Here.  Maybe this will give you something useful to do.”  René grinned happily and set about readying his instrument.  Wolfe raced off.  Rene hadn’t finished tuning his fiddle when the werewolf returned with Jack’s guitar case.  Jack thanked the creature and set Baby in the chair beside him.

The bartender’s dark eyes were wide with bewilderment.  “You might want to go get Boss,” Jack heard him tell May.  Jack grinned as the saloon girl hurried off to somewhere in the back of the building.

“Hey Beaumont, pick a song,” Jack said.  “Pick something good.  I think Baby and Jean might sing if you play something decent.”  He winked at his wife.  “We’ll sing and dance and when the time comes, we’ll settle all this and then we can go home and sing and dance some more.  Isn’t that right, honey?”

Baby’s grin had a wistful and anxious quality to it but she kissed his cheek and smiled.  “You’re always right, Jackie.  Always.”

Harmonville, Montana Territory
Friday, 5:14 p.m.
November 9, 1888

Music filled the saloon.  It flowed over the tables as easily as the tobacco and lamp smoke that pooled near the ceiling.

As I walked out on the streets of Laredo.
As I walked out on Laredo one day,
I spied a poor cowboy wrapped in white linen,
Wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay.

"I can see by your outfit that you are a cowboy."
These words he did say as I boldly walked by.
"Come and sit down beside me and hear my sad story.
I'm shot in the breast and I know I must die."

Jack grinned as René's violin wailed and the Cajun sang the woeful cowboy lament.  In defiance of the proper way to hold the instrument, René had the fiddle tucked against his upper arm rather than under his chin.  Luckily René's arms were long enough and he was talented enough to get away with such a thing.  The fact that the man's voice was as beautiful as his face didn't hurt.  Music, fighting, and sex - about the only three things Beaumont was any good for in Jack's opinion but even Jack had to admit that René was really good at all three of those.

"It was once in the saddle, I used to go dashing.
Once in the saddle, I used to go gay.
First to the card-house and then down to Rose's.
But I'm shot in the breast and I'm dying today."

"Get six jolly cowboys to carry my coffin.
Six dance-hall maidens to bear up my pall.
Throw bunches of roses all over my coffin.
Roses to deaden the clods as they fall."

Jack had been happy enough to set aside his guitar and let his husband-in-law carry this song solo.  Jack loved playing--Finding music again was one of the greatest gifts he had from Baby--but he loved dancing with his wife more.  He waltzed her about the tiny space he'd cleared just for that purpose.  He settled her body comfortably in his arms and his thoughts comfortably in her mind.  She hadn't been the only one who hated the limits Wesley's protection spells had placed on their links.  He hadn't been without her inside his head since the earliest days of their shared human life.  He hadn't liked it then and he liked it less now.  Hell, he'd been so desperate for some sort of connection to family that he'd turned to Beaumont.  He felt Baby grin at that thought.  "No, we are not cute together," he said aloud.  "We were just...lonely."  Her mental promise that she would see to it that he was never alone again sent him delving deep into her mind and shutting out everything else but René's music and the feel of his wife back in his arms where she belonged.

"Then beat the drum slowly, play the fife lowly.
Play the dead march as you carry me along.
Take me to the green valley, lay the sod o'er me,
I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong."

"Then go write a letter to my gray-haired mother,
And tell her the cowboy that she loved has gone.
But please not one word of the man who had killed me.
Don't mention his name and his name will pass on."

It was only the mention of the name they'd all been focused on for a month that finally penetrated Jack's somewhat romantic haze.  "Why are they looking for someone named Waite?" he heard a strange voice say.  "As far as I know I ain't wanted for anything by that name."

Jack looked up and tried to see the speaker.  He felt Baby go alert in his arms and knew she was scanning the crowd, too.  The Pride's little jam session had been as welcome a diversion for the townsmen as it was for the vampires.  The saloon was full and it was hard to see around the patrons. 

When thus he had spoken, the hot sun was setting.
The streets of Laredo grew cold as the clay.
We took the young cowboy down to the green valley,
And there stands his marker we made to this day.

He felt Baby stiffen and he moved around her so he could see where she was looking.  A tall, lean man was leaning on the bar talking to the owner of the establishment.  Jack didn't see anything about the man to attract such focused attention from Baby but was willing to follow her lead. 

We beat the drum slowly and played the fife lowly,
Played the dead march as we carried him along.
Down in the green valley, laid the sod o'er him.
He was a young cowboy and he said he'd done wrong.6 

As René's song wound to a close and the saloon erupted with applause and shouts of appreciation Baby moved with purpose toward the newcomer.  Jack sent out a mental call to Jean and René and followed his wife.  As they wound through the packed mass of humanity, Jack caught a glimpse of Jean kissing Essie quickly and untwining his fingers from her sandy blonde hair and moving to join Jack.  René was extricating himself from the devout May's arms and heading for the bar as well.

There was no more than a dozen feet separating Jack from the cowboy when the man looked around.  Jack knew now why the man had captured Baby's attention so firmly.  Jack was used to seeing people who looked like him.  Kevin looked more and more like his father as each day passed and their apparent ages converged.  Though not as startling as Kevin’s, Jack bore a resemblance to his own father.  Some of Jack's grandsons bore more than a passing likeness to him.  But it was odd to see a stranger who looked so much like Jack’s family.  "I think we've found Mr. Waite," he said softly.

The cowboy straightened, a frown of both suspicion and confusion on his face.  Baby paused and grinned up at Jack.  "Well, I'll be damned!  Honey, that badge thing is hereditary!"  As she had noted, a silver star shown on the man's chest where his coat gaped open.  "Marshal Waite I presume?" she said and thrust out her hand.  "I'm Abby Roxton.  This is my husband Jack.  Is there somewhere we can talk privately?"

Harmonville, Montana Territory
Friday, 5:58 p.m.
November 9, 1888

The Harmonville jail was not an unpleasant place.  The undressed wooden walls glowed warmly in the lamplight and to Jack's surprise it took the marshal but a moment to have a fire glowing in the little potbellied stove.  In addition to a bullet-scared bookshelf sitting on a small table, a safe, and a desk with a fairly decent wooden office chair behind it, there were a few mismatched chairs scattered about the room.  René flipped a ladder-backed one about and straddled it.  He rested his crossed wrists on the chair back, affecting an attitude of complete ease, his slender white hands dangling.  He’d made himself appear as non-threatening as possible.  The marshal could have no idea just how fast René could move or just how deadly he was with the twin semi-automatics he carried in the shoulder holsters concealed by his heavily embroidered bolero jacket. 

Jean settled himself in a second chair, one leg crossed elegantly over the other and an arm draped over the back of the chair.  Jack couldn’t help grinning at the appealing picture Jean presented.  Even in so casual an attitude Jack could feel the power radiating from the Crown Prince.  His scruffy boots and faded jeans somehow only emphasized his regalness.  He made the worn cotton seem like fine silk.  And like his brother, Jean could morph from negligent courtier to lethal opponent in a millisecond.  Luckily, the brothers were here to see the marshal lived, not to kill him.

Jack didn’t bother to sit.  He stationed himself beside and slightly behind Baby’s chair with his hand resting lightly on her shoulder.  That was his place.  Nowhere else would have felt right.

Wolfe trotted about the room, sniffing in corners and being as nosey as he possibly could.  He relayed any information he came across in whines and yips carefully structured in wolf baby talk so Jack could understand him.

The marshal watched them all with sharp eyes, evaluating them as he seated himself behind his desk.  The desk was neat, all the paperwork and such tucked away somewhere.  The whole room was like that, Spartan but somehow cozy.  Wanted posters and bulletins were tacked to the wall behind the desk but several hung slightly askew and they weren’t precisely lined up and positioned.  The bunk beds against the wall were made but the blankets were wrinkled where someone had lain atop the covers.  The lawman had tossed his hat onto a peg and draped his long coat over an extra chair.  The marshal was a man of tidy habits but wasn’t obsessive about them.  He’d also leant his rifle against the wall within easy reach.  Jack liked that touch of caution.  It spoke well for the marshal’s intelligence and instincts.  Jack inferred what he could from the marshal and the contents and appearance of this room that he’d set up for himself.  In Jack’s opinion Charley Waite would be a cautious man who didn’t say much and reserved his trust and affection for a select few.  He would be highly protective of those that he did love and not afraid to do whatever was necessary for them.

Jack found himself desperately wanting to like the man.  This was his ancestor.  Charley Waite’s genetic material lurked in Jack’s body.  It was a sobering thought; in some way this man was responsible for who Jack was.  And Jack was surprised at how much he apparently owed to the frontiersman.  While Jack was maybe an inch taller than Charley, their body types were very similar.  They were both tall, lean men with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and long legs.  Jack was far prettier than Charley but they had the same basic features: classical, smooth planes, with deep set eyes and straight, strong noses.  The marshal was weathered from long days in the elements and looked several years older than Jack but their eyes were the same silvery green.  Jack had always thought his green eyes came from his mother though, befitting her Irish heritage, hers were a more clear emerald than Jack's gray-green ones.  Now he knew their unique color was a legacy from this man.  So apparently was the odd two-tone blond hair.  Jack’s hair was longer than Charley’s but like his was dark underneath and much lighter where it grew out.  Charley’s sun-bleached flaxen shade was fairer than Jack’s darker wheat-colored locks.  The sun had no chance to lighten Jack’s hair.  Even with the gift of sun-walking that Charlie DuValliere’s blood gave Jack, he didn’t spend much time in the daylight.  Baby lived in the darkness and Jack lived wherever she did.

The final member of their little meeting sat in a chair close enough to the marshal’s desk that he could lean one arm on its surface.  Jack had been slightly surprised that the owner of the saloon had accompanied the marshal but there was no mistaking the comfort the two men felt with each other.  There was an ease and a similarity in the gestures they used that marked those who were often and extensively in each other's company.  Jack had been a premiere reader of mankind before his death; having a vampire's refined senses had only heightened his abilities.  He'd be willing to bet René double or nothing on that twenty-thousand dollar debt that these two men were long-time friends.

Indeed, it seemed the older gentleman was the dominant force.  He placed his hat on the desk and looked squarely at Jack.  “I don’t reckon we was ever proper introduced.  I’m Boss Spearman.  You know I own the Harmonville Saloon.  This here is Charley Waite.  He’s the marshal and pretty much the only law in Fort Harmon country.”

Jack inclined his head politely.  “I’m Jack Niemczyk.  This is my wife Abby, our friends Jean DuValliere and René Beaumont.”  He hesitated a moment over the word “friends.”  It seemed odd not to refer to Jean and René as his lover and his husband-in-law respectively as he normally did.  It also seemed odd not to introduce them with their titles.  He couldn’t recall ever introducing Baby to strangers as anything but the Queen of New Orleans and Jean as Crown Prince.

Marshal Waite obviously noted the uncertainty.  A tiny dual crease appeared between his brows and whatever small welcome might have been on his face disappeared.  “Thought you said your name was Roxton,” he stated carefully.  His voice as a little deeper and rougher than Jack’s and there was drawl to it that might have originated somewhere in the mid-South.

Jack knew a slight, twisted smile had appeared on Baby’s face.  “It is.  I got lots of names, Mr. Waite.”

The marshal didn’t reply immediately.  He spit with precision into a tin spittoon set against the wall and simply stared at Baby for a moment.  “That right?”

Jean quirked an eyebrow at the action and the tone of voice used but remained silent.  Wolfe huffed indignantly while René frowned in disapproval.  Jack understood where the marshal was coming from and let it slide for the moment. 

Boss Spearman filled the uncomfortable silence that greeted Charley’s not-really-a-question.  "So you folks come a long way looking for Charley?"

Baby nodded and Jack didn’t have to see her face to know there was an ironic twinkle in her eyes.  “Further than you can imagine.”  She took a deep breath and began to explain, never taking her eyes from the marshal.  “Have you gentlemen heard about the marauders that have been working their way north and west from Oklahoma?”

“Heard of ‘em,” Charley said laconically.

Boss agreed.  “Heard they was hitting any ranches that didn’t have much in the way of defenses.  They been taking on anything that looked like easy pickings.  Charley warned all the folks around here a good two or three weeks back.  Everybody’s keeping their riders close in.  The small ranchers are banding together, making sure their families and stock are safe.”  He laughed a bit.  “They won’t find folks around here so easy to pick off.”

Baby nodded.  “It’s a good plan.  But they aren’t looking for easy pickings here.  They’re heading for Harmonville specifically.  And they won’t care if the pickings are easy or hard when they get here.”

Charley’s gaze had never wandered from Baby.  “And why might that be?”  If he was surprised he didn't evidence it in any way.

“They’re looking for you, Mr. Waite,” Baby said seriously.  “They intend to kill you.  I intend to stop them.”

~Chapter 7~
”If I Was the Devil”

If I was the Devil,

I’d hang out in Blue Eye, Missouri,
Where the water and the mountain collide.
I’d scare all the little children,
And rumble around beneath the beds.
Tell them all kind of stories.
I can’t help but get them stuck in their heads.
Then I’d take our some of your livestock.
You can blame it on the beast of the night;
You know it was me,
Same as you know wrong from right.

If I was the Devil,

I’d go and find your preacher man,
Crusty and white hair.
I’d tell that Hell is on the way.
Scare him out of his skin.
See the brimstone in his eyes.
Then a band of fat white deacons would take him far away.
That would be just fine with me,

If I was the Devil.

If I was the Devil,

I’d gather up all of your dreams,
And drop them to the bottom of a black lagoon.
I’d steal away all your patience and steal away all your pride.
Leave you with nothing but uncontrollable fear.

And then I’d revel in my masterpiece,
As I dance around with the night,
Down in Blue Eye, Missouri,
Where the water and the mountain collide.

Written by Pat Green.
(© Greenhorse Music/EMI Blackwood Music (BMI).)
From Pat Green’s "Wave On Wave", ©, 2003, Universal. 

Harmonville, Montana Territory
Friday, 6:15 p.m.
November 9, 1888

Jack shuddered slightly at the images that flashed through Baby’s mind and wondered if it was his imagination or if the lengths to which she’d go to stop the marauders was as evident in her voice as he felt it was.  Her words hung in the wood-smoke scented air gaining solidity with each passing second.  “They’re looking for you, Mr. Waite.  They intend to kill you.  I intend to stop them.”  They reverberated in Jack’s head.

Wolfe abandoned his investigation of the room to come lie near Baby’s feet whining slightly.  The charged atmosphere worried him as deeply as it did Jack.

There was the most subtle of changes in the marshal’s demeanor.  Jack couldn’t have said exactly what it was.  There was no lifted eyebrow, no tilt of his head, no twitch of his lips but there was a heightened expectancy radiating from the man.  “Don't know why they would be looking for me.  And why would you want to help me if they are?”  Suspicion glowed as brightly as the lamplight.

“Because if something happens to you, I lose Jack and I won’t let that happen.  I’ll burn half the planet before I allow that.”  She was focused completely on Charley and he on her.  Before anyone else could speak she continued, “I think you’re a man who appreciates the truth, Mr. Waite, even when it sounds fantastic.”

Charley inclined his head slightly though he never looked away from her.  "I don't take kindly to being lied to," he agreed.

This time Baby's smile was genuine.  "I didn't figure you did.  I have powerful enemies, Mr. Waite.  These desperados or marauders or whatever you want to call them work for those enemies.  They know the worst thing they can do to me and my family is to hurt Jack."  She glanced at her sons.  "Taking away any of my boys would be...."  She couldn't seem to find the right word and let it go.  "But if you take away Jack, I can't function.  I just can't."

Jack squeezed her shoulder.  "I told you that Phillip isn't going to kill me that easily," he said barely above a whisper.  He didn’t like the despair so evident in her faintly hoarse voice.

Some of the desperation in her words must have gotten through to Boss because the older man visibly softened.  "Don't you worry, ma'am.  Charley's as good a lawman as any around."  He smiled, deep crinkles outlining his dark eyes.  "Is that why they’re after Charley?  They think he's your man using a different name?"

Baby smiled gratefully at him and took a second to compose herself.  Jack wondered if she was playing up the hesitation and femininity for these men, appearing weaker than she was, manipulating them in the fashion she did so many of the people in her life.  He hoped so but he couldn’t be sure.  There was so much anxiety leaking through their bond that he couldn’t be sure the hesitation wasn’t caused by her very real fears eroding her mental resistance to all the weakness that had plagued her in the past.

She didn’t turn from the marshal though she addressed Boss.  "They know just who Mr. Waite is.  They're after him because he and my Jack are kin."

Charley hadn't softened one bit.  Suspicion and mistrust had turned him stony.  "Don't recall knowing Jack or knowing of him," he said coldly.

Baby nodded.  "This is the fantastic part that I warned you about.  Jack is your descendant.  You're his great-great-I-don't-know-how-many-times-removed-grandfather.  If they kill you, Jack never gets born."  She didn't give Boss or Charley time to comment.  "We're from the future.  We found out what these enemies of ours were planning and came back to the past to stop them."

Boss laughed.  "Now that's as tall a tale as any I ever heard."  Charley wasn't smiling even faintly.

Neither was Baby.  "I don't know exactly how I can prove it to you.  I can show you that we have some things, some technology that you've never seen."

"Show me," Charley said tersely.  Jack honestly couldn't tell if Charley believed a single word she said or not.  He knew Boss didn't.

Baby stood and cautiously removed her gun from her shoulder holster, careful to hold it out butt first to the marshal.  "The ones on my belt at mostly for show though they’re the best old-style revolvers Magnum Research makes.  This one is the real deal."  He took it from her as gingerly as she presented it to him.  "That's a Beretta 92G Special Duty nine-millimeter pistol.  It's a double-action semi-automatic; that means it will fire just as fast as I can pull the trigger.  It normally carries one in the chamber and ten in the clip for a total of eleven shots available when it's fully loaded.  I have custom clips that double that amount.  It has a matte-black Bruniton finish and plastic grips; it’s nearly invisible in the dark.  I've carried it for over thirty years." 

Charley jumped slightly when she thumbed the catch and ejected the clip.  "I ain't never seen a gun like it," he admitted and passed it to Boss.

Baby held her hand out behind her.  "René, hand me one of yours."  She checked that the safety was on and handed it to Charley as she had hers.  "That's a Magnum Research Desert Eagle Mark XIX fifty-caliber single-action semi-automatic."

Boss was frowning at the hand-canon she was holding.  Her dainty fingers weren’t large enough to wrap effectively around the grip.  "Is that gold?"

"Twenty-four carat," Rene assured him with a pleased grin.

Baby quirked a smile at Charley's somewhat disgusted expression.  "René's a little flashy," she explained.

"Yeah, like the ocean's a little wet," Jack clarified.

René sneered at him.  "Mon cher Bébé bought me a pair of them for my fiftieth birthday."

Jack sneered back.  "Yeah?  I got two months alone with her."  His smile was pure malice.  "God knows she needed the time away from you."

René came off his chair at the same time Jean reached for him and Baby ordered sharply, "Stop it!  Right now!  Both of you!"

"He started it," René said angrily.  Jean was gently urging him to sit.

"Want me to finish it?" Jack riposted.  Wolfe tugged at his sleeve and whined.

"Jack!  René!" Baby spat.  "Don't make me hurt you."

René sank back into his chair.  "Mais oui, Maman."

"Sorry, honey," Jack apologized.

Jean glared at them both.  “Now is not the time for this.”  Wolfe woofed his agreement and yipped his opinion of them both.

Baby rolled her eyes.  "You’ve got that right.  You get them in a room together and they turn twelve years old."

Boss Spearman laughed.  "I kinda noticed that earlier over to the saloon.  They tussle much?"

Baby nodded.  "Constantly."

Charley hadn't seemed amused by the near-altercation but he was a bit less tense.  He handed René's gun back to her.  "That's a fancy pistol and I'll admit I ain't never seen one like it but I ain't never seen nor heard tell of anyone coming back through time neither."

“That’s all right.  The first time it happened to me, I didn’t believe it.”  Baby thought for a bit.  “Still half-way don’t believe it even now.”  She sighed.  “I really am here to see that you live through this.  But I won’t be able to protect you if you don’t believe that.”  She stared into nothingness for a long moment.  “Fine.  Desperate times, drastic measures and all that.  I’ll tell you everything, exactly who and what we are.”

“Non,” Jean protested.  “Maman.  There is no need to frighten....”

“There’s every need,” she cut him off.  “There’s a small army coming to kill him and they’re only traveling at night.  You know what that means.  He’s going to need to know exactly what he’s up against.  And he’s going to need to know exactly how he can kill them.  I don’t care if he doesn’t believe we’re from the future but I do care if he won’t believe that he needs us to help him.”

“I think you better start talking,” Charley advised, his hand resting on his belt not far from his gun.  “I don’t like puzzles.”

She smiled.  “I don’t imagine you do.  The marauders aren’t human, well, a least not all of them.  From the descriptions they’re a mix of Vormax demons, human criminals, and....”  She sighed again.  “Vampires.”

Boss clearly thought she was imagining things.  When he spoke, his smile was gentle and soothing.  “That’s fine.  Charley’ll take care of it.”  His attempt to patronize what he obviously saw as her delusion was perfectly clear.  He did everything but pat her hand to calm her.  “Ain’t nothing for you to worry about, ma’am.”

“There’s everything to worry about!” she snapped.

“Maman, don’t!” Jean warned.

René placed his hand on Jean’s thigh.  “Mon amour, Maman is right.  They have to understand.  They can’t fight someone like Philip if they don’t know what he is and what he’ll do.”

Jack shook his head.  “I’m not sure I agree with this.”  He knew it was useless to protest too much though.  He could feel her firm intent to do whatever she felt was necessary to achieve the marshal’s cooperation.

“Go ahead,” Charley said.  His focus had never wavered from Baby. 

Charley hadn’t been taken aback by anything she’d said so far and Jack suddenly changed his mind about Baby’s plan.  There were depths to the marshal that he might be overlooking that she hadn’t.  Baby had keyed into something and Jack was willing to ride out whatever storm she was about to brew up.  “Yeah, do it.”  Jack squeezed her shoulder again, backing up his verbal and mental assurance with a physical one.

She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement.  “This is what you’ll be fighting, Mr. Waite.”  There was the faintest sound, as if someone was crumpling thick paper.  Her voice was different when she spoke again, multilayered and complex with vocalizations barely within the human range of hearing.  There were other layers that Jack knew the marshal couldn’t hear.  Those sub- and super-vocalizations flowed down into the core of Jack’s body and he shivered in both pleasure at the richness of it and trepidation at the warning it carried.  “This is what’s coming.”

Boss jerked upright and backed away.  A few steps and the rough planks of the wall stopped his retreat.  Jack moved so he could cover Baby from any assault the old man might make.  René and Jean stayed carefully still and silent.  Jean still radiated disapproval and faint anger.

“Boss, come stand behind me,” Charley ordered.  He held a plain wooden cross, obviously homemade but no less potent for that.  It must have been in his desk drawer.  Jack hadn’t seen where it came from.

Baby turned her face away from the cross and Jack caught a glimpse of long fangs and glowing eyes.  He used his body to shield her from the icon the marshal held.  “You don’t need that,” Jack told the lawman with faintly hurt sincerity.  Wolfe growled in low warning.

“Her kind ain’t welcome in Harmonville,” Charley replied tersely.  “It’s a long time till dawn; you can get a long way from my town.  You best be riding,” he ordered.

“Charley!” Boss exclaimed.  “You know about things like this?  What is she?  What....”

“We aren’t here to hurt anyone,” Jack said, ignoring the older human.  “She’s telling the truth.”  He reached out and wrapped his hand around the center of the crucifix but didn’t try to take it from the marshal.  ‘We’re here to protect you.” 

Charley Waite shook his head.  “Her sort don’t protect; they just kill.”  The eyes that glared so coldly into Jack’s might have been a memory of those he’d once seen in his mirror.  Maybe it was that familiarity that prompted Charley to add, “I’m warning you right now, those that ride with things like her don’t live long."  He obviously thought Jack was mortal.  "If she don’t kill you herself, she’ll end up getting you killed.”

Fear and guilt overflowed from Baby and Jack felt her mind begin to race and splinter.  The marshal and everything else was immediately forgotten.  Jack knelt before her and took her hands.  He mentally urged her to look at him, calling her to focus all of her attention on him.  “He’s not right.  You didn’t cause my death.  Stop thinking that,” he ordered.  “You’ve never hurt me.  Not ever.  I’ve been happier with you than I ever was before.  I’m more alive with you than I ever thought I could be.”  He cupped her cheek gently letting her know how exquisite he found her demon features.  He wasn’t ashamed to say the words aloud.  “I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful than you are right now.”  Her features changed under his touch flowing back into human with a muted rustle.  The glow faded leaving her eyes green-gold and sad.  Jack hated that sorrow.  “Whatever else you carry around, don’t be guilty about me.  You’ve never made me unhappy.  All you’ve ever done is take care of me and love me.  I can feel it inside me every second of every day.  You love me the way I love you and no one is going to separate us, certainly not a punk like Philip.  You’re mine and I’m yours and no one is going to come between us.”  He smoothed her hair back.  “I know that there’s nothing you love more than me.”

“No one,” she whispered in agreement.  He pulled her from her chair and into his arms sheltering her from everyone in the room.

René slammed the door behind him as he stomped out of the office.  “Damn it, Jack!” Jean protested.  “Do you have to say things like that in front of him?”

“Beaumont needs to get the hell over it,” Jack snapped back.  “You can go sooth his wounded feelings; I have more important things to do!”  His voice turned soft as he turned back to Baby.  “No, you’re not,” he said in answer to the thought he felt forming in her head.  “This is something Beaumont’s gonna have to work through on his own.  He knows the truth even if he insists on living in denial.  I’m not going to pretend to be beta to him just so he can feel good.”

Jean threw up his hands and flung himself back into his chair, his displeasure evident in every line of his body.  Wolfe huffed in disgust and put his head on Jack’s leg.

Jack shushed and cooed to his wife.  He’d have a talk with Jean later.  It wasn’t the first time or even the tenth time they’d been through this.  Jean obviously put René’s feelings ahead of anyone else’s and felt consideration for the other Cajun was paramount but Jack’s opinion was very different.  Baby came first.  The last year had been so hard on her that he often feared a return to those days before he was her husband, when her mind rushed and roared like a flooded river, uncontrollable and destructive.  He rocked her gently and glared at the marshal.  “I ought to knock your head off for making her cry.  Do it again and I will.”

"Charley?  You want to let me in on what's going on here?"  Boss's craggy face was pale but Jack had to admit he was handling his first sight of a vampire more bravely than most Jack had seen.

"I told you once that you hear things when you're riding on the other side.  Sometimes you see things, too.  Things like her."  A haunted quality coated the marshal's words and lingered on his face.  "Rode for a fellow once that hired a pair like her only they was men or looked like men.  I seen what they did."

Jean sighed and much of his anger drained away.  "I have seen such things as well.  It would sicken and disgust anyone.  We don't...We aren't like that.  We fight against that."

Jack nodded.  "Yes, we do.  We fight.  Every day of our lives."  He looked at the marshal.  "If you know anything about us, you know that if we wanted the two of you dead, you'd already be dead."

Charley shook his head.  "I can take care of her.  I know how hard those things are to kill but I can do it."  Jack saw that in addition to the cross, he had plucked a narrow piece of kindling from the wood stacked against the wall behind him.  With its jagged, broken edge it would serve well enough as a stake.

There was a no doubt in Jack's mind that Charley had at some point slain a vampire.  "I imagine you can.  But could you kill four of us?"

If Charley went a little pale it was the only indication that he felt any fear now that he fully understood the situation.

"We could have killed you anytime we wanted to," Jack assured him.  "But we don't want to."

"We don't want to kill anyone," Jean said wearily.  "I'm tired of killing."

Baby lifted her head to stare at him with such regret that Jack had to blink rapidly to keep back tears.  “Even I got tired of it after a while, Jean.  It just never stops.  But I could either spend my days ripping my heart out over it or learn to like it.  So I learned to like it.”  She laid her head back on Jack’s chest.  “This isn’t going to work.  He won’t believe me,” she said and Jack wasn’t sure if she meant Jean or Charley.  Her next words clarified it for him.  “He won’t let us help and they’ll kill him and then you’ll go away and I don’t think I can bare that.

René stomped back in and flung himself into a chair.  “I ought to let Connor kill you, Jack.  I started to.  But then I got to thinking about Jo and the babies.  And if something happens to you there won’t be no Jo and Kevin.  I won’t have no babies and no grandbabies.  And regardless of what you think, I love my wife and children.”

Jack couldn't help smiling; even with a firm pout on, René had managed to arrange himself so he looked appealing.  Jack figured it had be an unconscious effort by now.  “I know you love my daughter, Beaumont.  And you're a good father.  Nina is precious and I love her like she was my own.  And my grandchildren are all beyond beautiful.  I owe that much to you."  Jack raised one sardonic eyebrow.  “Why do you think I haven’t ripped your head off yet?” 

René snorted.  “Because our wife won’t let you.  Besides that, Jo would make your life a misery.”

Jack smiled. “Yeah, she would.  She’s too much like me sometimes.”

René nodded.  “Yep.  So’s Guy and Jacques-Patrice.  How come every child and grandchild I got has to be part you or married to someone who’s part you?” he demanded.

“I ask myself that same question every day,” Jack said seriously.

René turned that unbelievably teal-colored glare on Jack for a few seconds before a reluctant smile began to curve those perfect lips.  Before long a rueful grin had replaced his frown.  “We're a pair, ain’t we?  We both tied to the person we most don’t want to be by ties of blood and love so deep we can’t ever undo them.”  He rolled his eyes.  “I reckon we gonna have to be civil even if it kills us.”  He frowned suddenly.  “And don’t get no ideas!  Just ‘cause I sleep with you don’t mean I like you or anything.  It just means you’re cute sometimes.”

Jean rubbed his hand over his mouth to hide his grin and to keep from laughing.  Wolfe had no such inhibitions.  He rolled over and indulged in a series of wide yawns and huffings that Jack took for wolven guffaws.  Jack pushed against the werewolf’s flank with a booted foot.  “You don’t have anything to worry about; your grandpups won’t be part Beaumont.  So go ahead.  Laugh it up, furball.  ”

Jean gave up and laughed out loud.  “How long have you been waiting for a chance to use that quote, Jack?”

René grinned broadly.  “Ever since you brought those damn werewolves home.  Me and Jack have a bet on it.  It’s been damned hard for either of us to find a chance to use it.  Dionne’s wolves, they don’t got much of a sense of humor.”  He winked at his husband-in-law.  “Now you only owe me nineteen-thousand-nine-hundred dollars.”

Jack cracked up.  He could feel Baby laughing, her body quaking with amusement where he held her close.  Beaumont’s silliness had erased some of her fears and Jack sent a burst of gratitude to the Cajun.

René’s grin grew.  “You ain’t always a pain in the ass, Jack” he said.  “But don’t tell Jean I said that; it would ruin my rep.”

Before Jack could respond, a wizen little man threw the door open.  “Charley!  Something bad’s going on up to the Doc’s.  You got to hurry.  I was headed up there for some liniment when I heard Sue scream.  I come to get you as fast as I could.”  Jack had no trouble believing it.  The elderly man who he now recognized as the owner of the livery stable was huffing and blowing as he tried to catch his breath.  “I didn’t have me a gun nor anything.  I saw some men; looked like they was trying to drag your wife out of the house.  Doc hollered for me to fetch you.”

The marshal and Boss Spearman were already moving, grabbing up rifles as they headed for the door.  So was Baby, her guilt and concerns for whatever harm she might have done Jack in the past forgotten in her worry for his future.

“A wife!  He has a wife!  Fuck!  It’s not him they’re after, it’s her!” she shouted.  “She’s the one they want to kill!”

~Chapter 8~
"I'm Not Afraid to Die" 

Nobody knows what waits ahead,
Beyond the earth and sky.
     Li, li, li,
     I'm not afraid to die.

And let the work of my own hand,
Be broken by and by.
     Li, li, li,
     I'm not afraid to die.

Sometimes it finds me fast asleep,
And wakes me where I lie,
     Li, li, li,
     I'm not afraid to die.

Forget my sins upon the wind,
My hobo soul will rise.
     Li, li, li,
     I'm not afraid to die.

     Li, li, li,
     I'm not afraid to die.

Written by David Rawlings and Gillian Welch.
(© Cracklin' Music / Irving Music / Say Uncle Music.)
From "Hell Among The Yearlings", © 1998, Acony. 

Harmonville, Montana Territory
Friday, 7:03 p.m.
November 9, 1888

Baby grasped the little old man by his shoulders.  “Where’s the house?  Where?”

Percy blinked and pointed.  “Up past the church.  White picket fence.  You can’t miss it,” he stammered.

“We need to get there fast,” she said.  “Wolfe, go!  Don’t wait for us.”

Jack followed her out the door and listened for a second.  He could hear a horse and Boss running somewhere in the darkness behind the buildings.  Baby was after them immediately.  Jack followed on her heels and as he cleared the buildings along the town's single street he could see the white spire of the church.  René sprinted past with a speed Jack couldn't match.  Jean flanked Jack and Baby as they passed the marshal on his horse, the saloon owner falling far behind as they began to climb the steep hill that led to the church.  Jack could now hear a woman’s muffled screams and a child crying.  He turned his course slightly to hone in on the sounds.  He let hunting instincts take over, reaching out to search with not just his own senses but those of his family.  In an instant he was part of an entity made of four bodies with a single intent.  They raced across the grass and rough ground at a speed that must have made it appear as though they were flying.  They crested the hill seconds before the marshal and Jack could see the little house, a piece of Wedgwood blue Americana bordered by its fence and flowers.  Golden light spilled from its open door lighting the scene with a brightness his vampire eyes didn’t need.  A man lay face down in the glow, his head on the path while his body stretched up the steps to the porch.  A woman fought and kicked in the grasp of a man who was trying to put her on a dark horse, both their hearts thundering as they struggled.  His hand was clamped firmly over her mouth stifling her cries as he tried to sling her onto the horse with just an arm cinched tightly just above her swollen waist.  The animal shied from her flailing legs, making it impossible for the man to place her on its back.  Other figures moved in the darkness, some mounted, some on foot, their horses milling about.  Jack could tell most were human but at least three had heartbeats that marked them as something other than men and one had no heartbeat at all. 

Near the house a small child wriggled in the grasp of a demon, her little heart pounding in terror.  Fury burst from René and Jean, tinting Jack’s thoughts crimson with their rage.  Neither man took violence against children lightly or well. 

Wolfe leaped at the man struggling with the woman who Jack assumed was Charley's wife, his great jaws crushing the arm that held Mrs. Waite.  The man cried out, releasing her and Baby scooped her up effortlessly before she ever had a chance to fall.  Baby pushed Mrs. Waite into the V formed by the meeting of house and porch with a brisk order to "Stay down!"

Jean swept down on the man holding the child.  Jack doubted if the demon even saw the prince before a blow from Jean's powerful fist sent him reeling.  Jean plucked the little girl away even as he delivered a devastating kick to the demon's leg.  Jack heard bones snap over the sound of the comfort Jean was muttering to the toddler.

René faced two of the mounted men as they attempted to ride him down.  Timing their approach with precision, he leapt high pivoting with the grace of an accomplished dancer.  His right foot connected to the head of one with brutal force, the bend of René’s ankle crushing the man’s nose while the silver-bedecked surface of his boot cut deep gashes across the side of the man's face and head.  His head snapped back and he tumbled over the rear of his horse to lie moaning and writhing in pain.  René's spin continued unabated, his boot wrapping about the neck of the next rider and sweeping him from his horse like a shepherd's crook.  The man hit the ground hard and didn't move.

Jack felled the first man he reached with a right swing so strong Jack heard the man’s vertebrae snap.  His opponent down and paralyzed, Jack headed for Baby’s side, fully intending to kill everything, man or demon, that stood between them. 

Jack could feel René fighting with that glorious finesse that made him warlord of not just Spike’s family but of all Clan Aurelius.  The pure enjoyment of open combat untainted by malice or fear flowed from the Cajun in waves the color of his eyes.  Each step, each hit was executed with calmness and mathematical precision.  René didn’t need to think about or calculate what his next move would be, it simply occurred.  There was nothing but pleasure in the completion of each movement.  René had reached that state of oneness with his world that he only achieved in battle.  Jack had seen René fight many times and found it like watching a perfectly executed ballet.  Now with his new, deeper bond to the Cajun he knew it felt like a dance as well.  René felt the music of the fight deep inside himself and simply followed that rhythm.

Jean likewise felt the fight but his was a more spiritual state.  Calm and centered, with the righteous assurance that he was protecting the weak, Jean fought with the peaceful mien of a Zen master.  For him, the fight flowed as naturally as water tumbling down a steep hillside.  There was reason and order to the seemingly chaotic violence.  His anger that anyone would attack a small child pulled his strongly ingrained paternal instincts from deep inside him.  At that moment, the child in his arms was his responsibility and no one was going to take her from him or cause her any fright or injury.  Love and tenderness for so innocent a burden flowed through the link between the long-time lovers confirming in Jack’s heart and mind why he adored Jean DuValliere so much.

A demon had planted himself near the gate to the picket fence grinning at the prospect of battle.  Jack decided to take that grin as a personal challenge.  Apparently Charley Waite decided to do the same.  He rode hard at the sallow-skinned creature, his gun barking once.  A neat hole appeared in the demon’s forehead and it tumbled backwards, taking down a section of the tidy little fence.  Charley was now off his horse and following the same path Jack had mapped out for himself. 

Jack’s own concentration was centered on one thing, protection.  He was here to protect his wife and the woman she guarded.  He didn’t know her name but Charley Waite’s wife was a part of him.  This was his family.  These examples of human scum and their demon cohorts wouldn’t touch any member of his family.  Jack had always protected the blameless from the predators.  Now those he protected were his own blood.  His vision went scarlet with anger at the thought that they had dared to attack members of his family.  The need to wrap his hands around them and crush them filled him.  The rage grew a bit with each hit that Jean or René took.  It surged when a human grabbed Baby even though she dispatched the hapless man with a single blow.  It exploded when the demon Charley Waite had shot reared up and seized the marshal from behind with sharp-taloned hands, knocking Charley’s gun from his hand and sinking its claws into his stomach.

Jack vaulted to Charley’s aid, grasping the creature’s wrists and pulling its claws gently from Charley’s abdomen.  He squeezed until he felt its bones snap and grind against each other and its hands dangled limply in his hold.  Charley, trapped in a macabre embrace between Jack and the demon, sagged slightly against the vampire.  Jack released the demon and it fled into the night mewling hideously leaving Jack holding his injured ancestor.  Wolfe, satisfied that the man who had attacked Mrs. Waite was no longer an issue, set off in pursuit of the demon howling his intention to destroy it to the sky.

Jack was easing the wounded marshal to the ground when Charley stiffened, cried out, and tried to free himself from Jack’s hold.  Jack turned to followed Charley’s horrified gaze and felt the same terror that showed on Charley's face freeze his gut at the site of an Uzi in the hands of a tattooed enemy.  The weapon was aimed unerringly at Baby and Charley’s wife.

Jean was in the process of handing the toddler in his care to her mother and Charley’s shout warned him of the danger and galvanized the brown-haired vampire to shove Baby in front of the human woman and her child while he covered Baby’s body with his own.

“No!  Sue!” Charley screamed as the Uzi roared, the flash from its muzzle lighting the gunman like a fiery strobe.  Jack reached for his Glock without thinking of the action, praying the bullets in the Uzi were simply lead and not laced with wood, holy water, or any of the half-dozen things that he knew were poisonous and deadly to a vampire.  The big gun barked twice and the gunman fell back, his bullets cutting a line up the porch roof until his dead finger fell from the Uzi’s trigger.

In the resounding silence, Jean slumped against Baby’s back and didn’t move.

Jack knew Jean was still alive; he could feel his beloved friend's pain.  His wife was also alive but both were wounded.  Baby was injured in at least three places that Jack could sense but she assured him they were minor.  She broadcast her pledge that she was fine to both Jack and René.  On the other hand, Jean's pain was intense.  Jack didn't have to be connected to Jean to know that he had taken severe damage from the Uzi's blast.  Jack could see three lines of bullet holes crisscrossing Jean's broad back.  The smell of his two lovers' blood was heavy on the frosty night, sickening him.  He fought down the nausea and scanned quickly for additional danger to them.  The yard was quiet, the moonless night still and cold, the horses' breath steaming into the unmoving air.  He realized that the battle was over.  All the attackers were down or fled and all the family and those Jack considered his responsibility accounted for.  Even as he checked the area, Wolfe loped into view, his dark fur matted with burgundy demon's blood.  He could hear Boss Spearman's feet on the crackling grass as the old man pounded into the yard.  The battle had been so quick, he'd had no time to join in.

Charley ran to his family, heedless of his own wounds, reaching them as even as Jack did.  René was already there, pulling Jean into his arms, turning him over gently.  "Oh, m' cher amour!  Look what they done to you!" René whispered.

"How bad is he?" Baby asked as Jack extricated her blood-soaked body from beneath Jean's.  She was wrapped protectively around the human woman and child.

Charley grabbed his wife from Baby's arms and pulled her into his embrace.  She was holding their daughter and both clung to Charley as tightly as he clung to them.  Jack ignored the disjointed words of love and relief that came from both the humans.  He felt such words were private and he would not intrude by listening.

But hearing the voices, Jean stirred.  "The petite?  The lady?  They are all right," he asked weakly.

"Mais oui, mon frere.  I don't smell any blood from them," René assured him as he brushed a heavy lock of hair from his husband's forehead.  A smear of red remained.  René's fingers were coated in Jean's blood.

Jean nodded and closed his eyes wearily.  "Bon.  It is good."  He lay back gratefully in René's arms.

Jack was checking Baby's injuries.  Some of the bullets had passed completely through Jean's body to leave wounds on her though they were all shallow and would heal rapidly.  He pulled her close and rested his cheek on her head.  He reached out mentally to Jean and René, wanting to feel that his family was safe for the moment.  René was doing the same.  His thoughts twined with Jack's as they both offered what strength they could to Jean and Baby.  Wolfe nosed at the group, whining as he licked Baby's hand, offering his own support in the fashion he would to one of his pack.

"Charley, is Sue all right?  Is Emma Lou?" Boss asked as he rushed into the yard and knelt by the fallen man on the steps.  "Are they hurt?"  There was strong fear the old cowboy's voice.

"No, we're not hurt," Sue called out.  "We're both all right thanks to that stranger."  Jack looked over at her.  She still clung to her daughter and husband but she was looking at Jean now with horror and grief.  "Oh that poor man!" 

She moved as if to go to Jean but Charley held her back.  "Don't go near him!"

She looked at him in disbelief.  "Charley!  He saved my life!  He saved our daughter!"  She looked back at Jean and tears welled up in her blue eyes though they didn't fall.  "And now he's...Charley, let me go."

"I'll be fine, madam.  Do not worry," Jean said though he didn't bother to open his eyes.  He had lost a great deal of blood and even with a sun lord's recuperative powers it would be a couple of days before he regained his strength.  He was too tired to say much more.

Sue shook her head and pulled against Charley.  Jean's words had only deepened the lines of grief on her face.  Jack understood.  She had no way of knowing that Jean could take these sorts of injuries and much worse and rebound quicker than a mortal could heal a paper cut.  "He'll be fine," Jack promised.

The look she shot him plainly said he was lying, insane, or patronizing her.  "Let me go, Charley."

"Sue, please.  I don't want you near that thing," Charley said.  Jack was surprised at how tender the man's voice was when speaking to his wife.

"Charley, what's wrong with you?  He saved us.  He was so...."  She paused to swallow.  "Brave and...."

"Non," Jean protested weakly.  "Do not worry so.  It will be fine."  René shushed him and gently ordered him to rest.

Tears finally overflowed Sue's eyes.  "The whole time that...the whole time they were shooting him, he was telling us not to be afraid, not to worry, that we would be fine."

Baby reached out from the safety of Jack's embrace and took one of Jean's hands.  "Jean never lies," she said quietly.  There was a hint of tears in her own golden-hazel eyes.  "You've got to stop this hero stuff, Jean.  What if those bullets had been wooden?  What if you got shot in the head?"  Her barely restrained terror at nearly losing him thickened her voice and robbed her scolding of any vitriol.

A tiny smile appeared on Jean's face.  "I didn't see you running, Maman."

She sniffed back a sob.  "I'm the crazy one.  You're supposed to be the sensible one."

"And it was only sensible for me to save them, Maman.  I couldn't let them die.  You know I couldn't."  Jean opened his eyes to look at her and the smile faded.  "You're right.  I didn't know if the bullets were wooden or not.  I half expected them to be.  I couldn't let you die either."  There was softness in the coffee depths of Jean's eyes.  "I do love you, you know."

Baby gave in to her tears and leaned over to hide her face against Jean's thighs.  Jack reached out and wrapped his hand over his wife and lover's clasped hands.  He didn't protest when René's hand settled over Jack's other hand where it rested on Baby's hair.  He welcomed the feel of it.  He welcomed the connection.  Wolfe rested his head on Jack's leg, even his feelings faintly perceptible through Jack's link to Baby.  Jack closed his eyes and lost himself in his family, grateful beyond his ability to express that they were all alive.

To be continued....

~End Notes~

1 See "The Long Walk" by Slavomir Rawicz  for the historical accuracy of this possibility.  Cavalry officer Slavomir Rawicz was captured by the Red Army in 1939 during the German-Soviet partition of Poland and was sent to the Siberian Gulag along with other captive Poles, Finns, Ukranians, Czechs, Greeks, and even a few English, French, and American unfortunates who had been caught up in the fighting. A year later, he and six comrades from various countries escaped from a labor camp in Yakutsk and made their way, on foot, thousands of miles south via the Gobi Desert and Tibet to British India, where Rawicz re-enlisted in the Polish army and fought against the Germans. The Long Walk recounts that adventure, which is surely one of the most curious treks in history.
Paperback: 256 pages
The Lyons Press; ISBN: 1558216847; Reprint edition (December 1997)

2 Baby Horse is the actual name of the horse Kevin Costner rides in both Open Range and Wyatt Earp.
See Open Range 2-Disc Collector's Edition DVD version, "Comentary".
Touchstone Pictures 2004; Distributed by Buena Vista Home Entertainment, Inc., Burbank CA.

3 From Open Range deleted scenes.  See 2-Disc Collector's Edition DVD version -  Deleted Scenes:  #165 "Livery" TRT 2:20.
Touchstone Pictures 2004; Distributed by Buena Vista Home Entertainment, Inc., Burbank CA.

4 From Open Range deleted scenes.  See 2-Disc Collector's Edition DVD version -  Deleted Scenes:  #111 "Wife & Child" TRT 1:23.
Touchstone Pictures 2004; Distributed by Buena Vista Home Entertainment, Inc., Burbank CA.

⁵ “I also wanted there to be a piano.  But I didn’t want anybody to be playing it because I felt like it was such a rough place to be that maybe nobody even knew how to play it.  It has a piano but nobody knows how to play it.” -Kevin Costner.  See Open Range 2-Disc Collector's Edition DVD version, "Comentary".
Touchstone Pictures 2004; Distributed by Buena Vista Home Entertainment, Inc., Burbank CA.

6 Princess Plum Jade contributed several paragraphs to this chapter, specifically the description of May the barmaid and the kiss between Jean and René.

7 Traditional folk song.  This American Cowboy song of Irish origin has had many incarnations, and its first known publication was in Cork, Ireland in 1790 as “The Sailor Cut Down in His Prime." This rendition of the song combines the Irish melody with its cowboy lyrics penned sometime in the early 1800s:
Lyrics as used Arranged by John R. Cash.
From "American IV: The Man Comes Around", © 2002, Universal.