Part 2
He appeared to be enjoying the sleep of the innocent, his aging features relaxed in the peaceful oblivion of unconsciousness.
Innocent? Chris quietly balked at the idea. Well... His gut turned with subtle revulsion as he stared down on Jake Hawkins through the bars of the jail cell. Wasn't the old man innocent, an innocent victim of Chris' overwhelming anger? And if he were honest with himself, hadn't Jake's son become a victim of that same rage?
No. The speculation was immediately rejected. Daniel Hawkins had chosen to challenge him in an effort to gain a reputation, and he had failed, falling prey to youthful over-confidence. It was no more complicated than that.
However... As with the Pender boy, Chris had also made a choice. He'd chosen to shoot straight and true, hitting his mark hard and fast, his bullet finding its way into young Hawkins' heart, killing him instantly. It wasn't quite as simple as Chris wanted to believe. He had to defend himself, yes, but did the young man have to die? Although he knew he would never have received such consideration himself, he could have offered the boy clemency--wounded him, taught him a lesson. But at the time, he had been little more than a walking statue--cold, hard, uncaring. The idea of mercy had never entered his mind. There had been choices made on both sides that day, foolish choices, merciless choices. Time had changed how he would react to the situation if it were to arise again, but that change of heart couldn't alter the unforgiving past, a past that refused to leave him alone. How many more victims of his savage rage would come back to threaten those he had allowed himself to care about?
"It would appear as though the drink has finally caught up with him." Ezra's comment shattered the stillness in the room as he rose from the chair behind the desk and joined Larabee at the cell door.
When he'd first entered the sheriff's office, Chris hadn't noticed Standish. Now, he ventured a glance in the younger man's direction. "Not soon enough." The observation was tainted with the anger that had yet to release him, not all of which was directed at Jake Hawkins, his stupidity in the moments leading up to the confrontation gnawing at him.
"Yes, well..." Ezra looked away from Chris' stern expression to concentrate on the sleeping man in the cell. "We should be grateful that things didn't go too awry." He hesitated for a moment before pressing forward. "Mrs. Travis is all right? And the boy?"
With the last questions, Standish once again turned his pointed attention to Chris, who balked at their implication and the knowing suspicion on the gambler's face. Ezra knew that Mary and Billy were all right. Neither one had been hurt...physically. But there were other kinds of damage, and somehow, Chris knew that was exactly what Standish was referring to, a hard gleam of disapproval reflected in his unrelenting stare. And as Chris continued to scrutinize Ezra's stony expression, he stumbled upon a subtle accusation lurking amongst the discontent.
As with the rest of the seven men whose job it was to protect Four Corners, Larabee knew that Standish held a special concern for Mary and Billy Travis. Respect, and a fledgling friendship, had fostered that concern in all of the men. Any threat to the mother and son was not to be tolerated. And if the threat came from one of the seven lawmen? What then?
Chris could see the condemnation in Ezra's eyes. It was clear that, on this day at least, Standish saw him as a danger to Mary and Billy, and he seemed to have no inclination whatsoever toward hiding that belief.
Resentful anger was Chris' gut reaction to the unspoken indictment, his lips forming a tight line as the scowl deepened. However, it died very swiftly when he considered one inescapable fact. All Standish was doing was agreeing with his own view of the situation. How could he be angry at the man for agreeing with him?
How? Well... in point of fact, it was a confirmation he really had no wish to recognize. It was one thing to condemn yourself. It was quite another to have that condemnation so quickly and strongly seconded.
He was right. Ezra was right. Nevertheless, the knowledge did little else but stoke the intense flame of sad disappointment that burned the shame deep into his mind, branding him with the need to walk away. Or at the very least, shut himself off, rebuild the crumbling barriers. He could still have a hand in protecting Mary and Billy, but from now on, he would do it from afar.
A sliver of doubt pierced Chris' thoughts as he considered the reprieve he silently offered himself. Would a restricted distance be enough to keep them outside his dangerous influence? Probably not. And if he stayed, would he really be able to keep his distance? Would he be able to abandon the growing closeness he'd begun to share with the mother and son if they remained within a tempting proximity? He didn't know. He just didn't know. Mary had an uncanny talent for breaking down the stony facade he showed the world. She'd successfully wormed her way into his heart, and now he seemed nearly defenseless against any kind of persuasion she chose to use on him. He could try to stay in town yet stay away, but he wasn't sure it would work. Leaving altogether would be the best thing to do, but he wasn't certain he could bring himself to do that either. A frustrated anger suddenly joined the doubt. How had he allowed himself to get so tangled up in the lives of these people? When had they become so precious to him?
"Yeah." Chris' harsh tone splintered the thick silence. "They're all right. And they're gonna be all right, if I have anything to do about it."
A light of comprehension brightened Ezra's expression as he seemed to gather Chris' meaning. Raising a hand to the brim of his hat, he gave his head a subtle bow. "I have no doubt, Mister Larabee. No doubt whatsoever."
The quiet approval was immediately followed by the forceful opening of the jailhouse door as Buck pushed his way into the office, Vin right on his heels. The door was left open, and in the next few seconds, Josiah and Nathan joined the group.
His attention diverted by the arrival, Chris' focus moved to Buck, the hard line fixing his friend's brow telling him he was about to receive another healthy dose of disapproval.
With hands resting heavily on his hips, Buck stared daggers at Chris. "What the hell was that, you ornery son-of-a-bitch? It don't take much comin' from you, Chris. You all but broke that little boy's heart. You know that, don't ya?"
Hell yes, he knew it. How could he not know it? The pained shock and confusion on Billy's face wasn't something he was likely to forget any time soon. Knowing he was the deliberate cause of the hurt, even if it was for the boy's own good, left a bitter taste in his mouth, one that he knew he was going to have to life with no matter how much it sickened him.
"I know you're madder than a nest of hornets right now," Buck continued, "but Billy didn't deserve to have you take it out on him."
"He didn't deserve to almost get killed on account of me either! Neither did his mother!"
The self-condemnation was out before Chris could stop it, and he regretted his weakness the second after he'd allowed it. He'd had no intention of defending his actions to the others. He had his reasons for acting the way he did. He didn't see any need for an explanation. He knew he'd done the right thing. He really didn't give a damn about what the others thought. But the truth of Buck's words pulled the thinly-disguised defense from him nonetheless, the festering guilt getting the better of him as he stood confronted by the perplexed expressions of his fellow lawmen.
"On account of you?" Buck straightened as the angry scowl dissolved into an astonished frown. "Now wait a minute--"
"Like hell I will." With the abrupt objection, Chris pushed his way past the others and out of the office.
As he walked through the doorway, he heard Vin offer some advice. "Hold on, Buck. Now don't seem to be the time."
Outlaw turned his head and looked back at his owner as Chris threw a saddle over the blanket already covering the horse's back.
"Don't look at me like that," Larabee barked as he recognized the leer he was receiving from the animal. "I know it's gettin' dark, but I've... I've got to get the hell outta here. We're spendin' the night at the cabin."
With the saddle cinched snuggly around the gelding's barrel, Chris untied the reins. Turning, he started to lead Outlaw out of the livery, but was stopped short by the presence of Vin Tanner standing in the doorway, thumbs tucked lazily into his gunbelt as he leaned against the frame.
"Can't blame yourself, Chris." The younger man slowly shook his head as he unflinchingly met the stern rejection in Larabee's hard stare.
"You were right, Vin." Chris' voice coolly reflected his steady gaze. "This ain't the time."
"Maybe not for Buck's bulldoggin', but I figure you need to hear it from someone."
"Nope." The refusal came without hesitation as Chris flatly rejected Vin's subtle consolation. He wouldn't permit himself the luxury of forgiveness. "Don't need to hear it at all."
"Don't want to hear it, ya mean," the sharp shooter accurately countered.
The breath that left Chris came in the form of a short, impatient huff as he tried to calm the growing aggravation that simmered just below the surface. He knew what Vin was trying to do, and in an odd way he appreciated the effort, or at least, he wanted to appreciate the effort. But he couldn't see his way clear to agree with his friend's view of things. Plain and simple, Vin was wrong.
"My past came damn close to gettin' two people killed tonight." The impatience filtered into Chris' edgy response. "There ain't nobody else to blame but me."
"Jake Hawkins had a little somethin' to do with what happened here. It was his doin', his choice."
"It was a choice I compelled him to make."
Lifting his shoulder from the doorframe, Vin straightened as he confronted Chris' unrelenting anger, a little of his own peeking through in his usually even-tempered tone. "We've all done things in the past that could come back to threaten our lives here, the people we protect. Hell, even JD has to worry about Achilles' men comin' back lookin' for revenge. We just gotta be strong enough to stand up to the ghosts of our past as best we can and keep 'em from destroying our present. You did that tonight. Mary and Billy are all right. You did what you had to do."
Shaking his head, Chris walked to stand directly in front of Vin, emphasizing his intention to leave. It wasn't as simple as his friend made it sound, the uncertain future looming before him with all the darkness of a building storm cloud. "This time I was able to protect them, but what about the next one? We both know there's gonna be a next one." He closed his eyes against the terrifying possibility, Sarah and Adam's faces appearing before him. "I can't do that again. I won't do that again."
"There might be a next one. It's possible." A short, mirthless laugh left Vin. "Hell, anything's possible. Gettin' hit by lightning's possible. But you can't keep runnin' from possibilities, Chris. Not and have any kind of life--the kind of life I know you want. True happiness ain't easy to come by, but it's worth fightin' for. You haven't forgotten how to fight, have ya?"
Chris' eyes sprang open with the offensive question, his narrowed gaze colliding with the obvious challenge in the other man's expression. Vin hadn't used the word coward, but Hawkins had, and the unwelcome label flashed through Larabee's head as he contemplated what his friend had set before him.
Forgotten how to fight? A bitter revulsion gripped Chris as he considered the nauseating possibility. Hell no, he hadn't forgotten how to fight. But... he'd learned all too well that the price of failure was much too high, defeat too devastating to endure. It wasn't the fight that... frightened him, but the uncertainty of success. If he were the only one at risk, he'd fight with his last breath for the life he wanted, but there were other lives to consider, lives too precious to him to hazard the battle. He had no right to put them in harms' way, endanger them by pulling them closer to him. No matter how much he might want it, crave it, the happiness wasn't worth chancing the horrific consequence of his relentless past.
Cowardly? He shied away from the repulsive description, unable to place the harsh brand on his actions.
Merciful? It was a much more palatable word. And as far as he could see, keeping those he cared about at arm's length was a merciful act, providing them protection from his dangerous influence. Sparing someone a death sentence couldn't be seen as anything less than merciful, could it?
"Outta my way, Vin." The short command held a frosty edge as Chris continued to focus equally cold eyes on Tanner. The conversation was over.
With a slight nod, Vin took a step backward and slid the barn door open a few feet farther, allowing Chris and his horse room enough to exit.
"You comin' back?" Vin solemnly asked as Chris cleared the doorway.
It was a question the gunman couldn't answer.
Looking back into Vin's face, he no longer saw the rigid lines of challenge. In their place hovered a softer countenance, one shadowed by a deep concern. An answering sympathy rose in Chris as he recognized the change, but he quickly squelched it. He wanted to ease his friend's mind, but he couldn't--not and be honest with him.
"Don't know," was all he offered before mounting Outlaw. Without a backward glance, the gunslinger headed down the street.
The sun had completed its journey, lost beneath the horizon as a full moon assumed its duty, brightening the sky above the now quiet town. But as he made his way down the deserted thoroughfare, Chris didn't notice the silvery ball that silently observed his slow, steady pace. Rather, his attention centered on the building to which he was gradually drawing closer. No light shone through the window of The Clarion News. There was no evidence of occupation, of life, but he knew two lives thrived there, nonetheless, and he found momentary solace in the knowledge that they were safe and sound.
He pictured mother and son sitting down to supper, Mary's stew steaming from a couple of full plates, and a wish that he could be with them skirted through his heart. But it couldn't happen--not now. He cursed his defiant fancy, his jaw tightening as he worked to banish the unwelcome desire, anger with himself aiding in the effort. The wish was yet another slip into weakness, one more awkward stumble into tenderness that he couldn't afford. As his gaze fell back to the road in front of him, Chris desperately tried to wash the inviting picture from his mind's eye.
Fixing his attention on the silver-tinged night that loomed before him, he refused to give The Clarion a second look as he rode past its front door. It was almost safely out of his line of vision when that same door opened.
"Chris!" Billy Travis called as he hopped out onto the walkway.
All the muscles in the gunman's body reacted with swift, rigid awareness, the unexpected sound of the boy's thin voice giving him a start. Thwarting the instinct to look in Billy's direction, he kept his horse moving at the same steady pace, his sights stubbornly trained on what lay ahead of him.
"Hey, Chris!" The child called out again, a flicker of hesitation tainting the plea for recognition.
Every shred of Chris' conscience begged him to acknowledge the boy. Screamed at him, in fact, not to hurt Billy any more than he already had. But he found the strength to reject the dictates of his better self. He had to remember, in the end, his cruelty would save the child's life. Nothing was as important, except keeping his mother safe, too.
"Chris! Hey, Chris! Chris?!"
"Come on, Billy. Come inside." Mary's voice held a soothing note as she spoke to her son, but the anguish was also unmistakable. "Supper's ready."
"What's wrong, Ma? What did I do? Why don't Chris like me anymore?"
The puzzled desolation he heard echo in the questions shredded Chris' heart, his eyes closing against the biting pain as he fought to control the excess moisture that had started to pool. Dear Lord, how this was killing him.
With a hard kick to his horse's flank, Larabee spurred the animal into a lope, the need for escape all at once consuming him. He didn't want to hear any more. He couldn't hear any more. It hurt too damn much. Within a minute or two, he was on the outskirts of town. The cabin would provide him sanctuary from the consequence of his heartlessness. But for how long? Again, the necessity of departure pushed its way forward from where it hovered on the blurred edge of his thoughts. Would the cabin really be far enough?
End part 2