Chapter Text
Alias Smith and Jones: A Cord of Three Strands
"Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken." Ecclesiastes 4:12
Chapter One
He felt…no, sensed a presence behind him. His muscles ached, needed to stretch, flex, but Kid Curry remained perfectly still. He had done it before, stood like stone facing off against some twitching gunman with a need to prove something. He could do it now. Moving even an inch held a risk he was not prepared to take. Still. He closed his eyes, willed himself steady. Stone. The presence again, closer now. Then he felt something slither slowly up his leg, over his thigh, wrapping around him. With surprising slowness, the trap was sprung and the snare closed over his arm, across his chest. Trapped. Pinned. Helpless. Still, he didn’t move.
There was a soft hum not far from his ear, low, guttural…primal. He felt warm breath on the back of his neck. "It’s cold," the voice said behind him. It was sultry, thick. "I know you’re awake.
"No, I’m not," he answered, chuckling in spite of himself.
The slender, bare leg that had wrapped around his equally bare lower half tightened its sensual grip.
"Aw, Katie, don’t make me move," Curry muttered sleepily. "The sheets are freezing except right where I’m laying."
"Then don’t lie on the sheets." The graceful arm that had draped over his chest shifted as her hand lazily caressed his flesh. He could feel other warm, bare parts of her press against his back and he found his own temperature rising in response. He loved how her voice sounded when she first woke.
Curry heard his own laugh escape and then rolled over, continuing the motion until he had turned the tables and pinned her beneath him. Wrapping his arms around her, he took some of his weight on his elbows. His eyes were open, now, and they smiled into her dark, mischievous ones.
"Why are you awake? It’s hours before daylight," he reminded her, yawning. But he wasn’t nearly as anxious to return to sleep as he had been a minute earlier.
"I’m too excited to sleep," she told him. She took his head in her hands, mussing his soft curls.
"I can tell," he laughed, working one hand out from under her so he could brush a stand of hair out of her eyes. The room was dark and her hair, the color of strong coffee in daylight, looked black as coal. "Well, it can’t be the stage ride. You’ve ridden on stages before."
"Only once," she corrected. "When I came here I rode the train to Denver and took the stage the rest of the way but…no, it’s not the stage. It’s the whole idea. A vacation! I’ve never been on a vacation before!"
"And I appreciate that fact," he replied, highly enjoying the enthusiastic wiggle that accompanied her excitement. "But, ya’ know, Heyes and I’ve got to work. It’s no vacation for us."
She poked him gently in the chest. "YOU have been vacationing for months!"
He gave her his best wounded look. "That’s not true! Heyes and me have been working! We work the farm…help out at the store. And yesterday I helped Maggie move furniture all around the living room… Of course," he frowned. "It all ended up right back where it started but I swear I moved it."
To some extent, though, she was right. It had been a vacation of sorts. A vacation from being on the run, from looking over his shoulder, from packing fast and hitting the road in the middle of the night. But it hadn’t started out that way.
After taking a bullet down in New Mexico, Curry had come closer to death than he wanted to dwell on. As soon as he could travel, he and his partner, Hannibal Heyes, had ridden with Kate back to Silver Lake, Colorado, where she lived, working as a schoolteacher. The ride had been the hardest of his life. He’d felt pretty good when they left Canterbury, New Mexico, but, after two days in the saddle, he was feeling every step. He’d lost a huge amount of blood and the doctor had warned him it would take months to recover but Curry hadn’t been prepared for the weakness, the continuing pain. By the time they made it to Silver Lake 5 days later, he was pale and weak and he crawled into bed and stayed there for the better part of the next week. Through it all, she was at his side, caring for him, worrying over him.
Kate McCullough. Had there ever been a time when she wasn’t in his life? When she hadn’t been his first thought in the morning, his last at night? He knew it hadn’t always been this way, having this woman in his head, his heart and, as frequently as possible, in his arms. Two years? Less than that? It seemed impossible. After so long a time with no home, no place that felt truly welcoming, he had found it, not in a place, but in a person, in Kate. She filled some part of him he had never hoped to fill and these past 6 months with her next to him had been the best he could remember.
It wasn’t only Kate. The family that had made practically adopted her, the Taylors, were as welcoming to Heyes and Curry as if they were family, too. Will and Maggie knew who they were, who they REALLY were, but had come to terms with that the year before when the two reformed outlaws rescued their daughters from kidnappers and helped save their farm. Whatever they had done in their pasts, Maggie and Will accepted that the men they knew were fine, decent men and would have defended them with their lives if need be. Of course, in Silver Lake, such sacrifice hadn’t been necessary. But the Taylors had eagerly opened their home to the men, given Curry a place to rest and heal.
That had been in early September. It was now mid-March. Half a year spent in one place, a friendly, gracious town where they were made to feel at home, part of a community. Still, Curry was about as healed as he was going to get and spring meant more people traveling through town, a greater chance of recognition. Aside from that risk, he and Heyes needed work. They’d paid their way with the Taylors by helping out on the family’s small farm or in Will’s general store. There had been a few other odd jobs around town that paid a dollar or two but the only poker games in town were the penny ante ones at the saloon and it closed up at 9 o’clock at night. Silver Lake was a farm town. Farmers were an early-to-bed group and that meant few opportunities for Heyes to expand their funds through poker.
Then they’d heard from Lom Trevors. A key rule of life…never stay out of touch with Lom for too long. If the governor of Wyoming ever saw fit to grant their promised amnesty, Lom would be the first to know. And they'd heard from Lom. No, the amnesty had not come through but there was work for them in Colorado City if they chose to take it. Some rich easterner had opened a resort there, hoping to compete with one down the road in Colorado Springs. It was, essentially, a place where rich folk could spend their gold basking in fancy rooms, eating rich food and trekking through the mountains, enjoying the beauty of the Rockies. At night, however, they liked to risk their wealth in the resort’s casino and the owner was looking for a couple of men who knew gaming and could manage the gambling operation for him. The man had contacted lawmen in Colorado and Wyoming for recommendations because, naturally enough, he wanted reputable, trustworthy men for this job. And, naturally enough, Lom had immediately recommended two men with remarkable reputations…as train and bank robbers. To Lom’s way of thinking, who better to watch out for crooks?
So they were leaving in the morning and Kate was going with them. Silver Lake’s farmers had much to do in preparation for planting season and it was a good time to close down the school for a month. The children could help on their farms and Kate McCullough could take the first vacation of her life. In a month, she would return to Silver Lake alone but neither Kate nor Curry had allowed their thoughts to travel that far, yet…to a time when they would not sleep with arms and legs in a tangle, when they would not be able to wake each other with a teasing touch, a hungry kiss.
He burrowed his nose into the slender curve of her neck where it transformed into sleek shoulder. "Hmmmmmmm…"
"Oh!" she interjected, ignoring his nuzzling. "Maybe we’ll get held up!"
He stopped nuzzling and scowled at her. "Don’t say that, Kate. Me ‘n Heyes got a bad history with that sort of thing."
A puzzled look crossed her face. "You held up stages, too? I didn’t remember that."
Curry shook his head. "We didn’t hold ‘em up. We GOT held up. More than once. I’d as soon not repeat that, if it’s all the same to you."
Her hands shifted to his back, kneading a little as she worked her way down.
"Well, alright. No hold up. How about an Indian attack? Molly’s dime novels always have Indian attacks."
The only Indian he was interested in was the one lying beneath him and moving in ways clearly intended to provoke an attack of one sort or another.
"Will you stop it? Haven’t you had enough adventure for awhile?" He returned his attention to her neck.
"We haven’t had an adventure for six months," she complained, although she wanted no repeat of the last one. "But no getting shot this time."
"I’ll do my best," he mumbled.
Her hands moved lower, to the small of his back, and lingered there, massaging. She knew he liked that and he arched his back and hummed happily in response.
"Aren’t you even a little bit excited?" she asked, wriggling a bit more, her legs spreading a bit.
Curry glanced downward to where their bellies pressed together. "What your doin’ there might do the trick."
He felt her laugh more that heard it. She raised up and nibbled at his lower lip, her hands leaving his back and moving their kneading to his rump. "I thought you were sleepy," she teased.
"I am," he assured her. "But you’re not. If I want to get back to sleep, I reckon I’m gonna have to wear you out some."
"You are such a thoughtful man," she laughed. Her legs moved to be more accommodating. Since he was being so considerate, it seemed only fair.
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