Title: Dr. B.Sandburg, Traveling Medicine Man

Author: Scribe

Feedback: poet77665@yahoo.com

Status: Complete

Series/Sequel: First in the Hearts of the West Series

Archive: WWOMB and lists. Otherwise ask.

Disclaimer: I did not create, nor do I have any legal hold, on the recognizable characters. Some minor
characters are original and copyrighted. No profit is made from this. The actions of the characters are in
no way to reflect on the lives of the actors who portrayed them.

Website: http://www.angelfire.com/grrl/scribescribbles

Notes: Thanks Mary for beta-ing.

Summary: Blair Sandburg has roamed the old west, healing and helping, searching for where he belongs.
He is about to find out that it is not a place, but a person.

Rating: Story overall, NC17. This section, R.

Formatting: //indicates thoughts//

Dr. B.Sandburg, Traveling Medicine Man

by Scribe

"Did you ever hear tell of Sweet Betsy from Pike, who crossed the big mountains with her lover, Ike. With two yoke of oxen, a big yaller dog, A tall Shanghai rooster and one spotted hog."

The young man at the reins of the physick wagon threw back his head, long red-brown hair glinting in the Washington sun as he sang the chorus lustily and almost on key. "Hoodle dang fol de di do, hoodle dang fol de day!" The dog (plain brown rather than yaller) perched on the swaying seat beside him howled along. Whether it was in protest or to provide harmony, who could say? In any case, it got a laugh from his master.

He reached over and rubbed the animal's ears with rough affection. "I know, Darwin, I know. Sometimes I just have to hear a human voice, even if it IS my own." Naomi, the lead mule of his pair flicked her ears and arched her neck to stare back at him accusingly. "Well, apologies to you, too, lady. I can't help it if those high notes give me trouble." Naomi snorted so vigorously that the warm, fragrant spray spattered the tips of Blair's boots. "Oh, ugh, Naomi!" He sighed, and said conversationally to the dog, "Everyone is a critic. No wonder I don't draw the kind of crowds I might. I expect I should stick to the banjo and leave the singing to you, Darwin." Darwin yipped. "Well, you don't have to agree quite so wholeheartedly."

They were on a long, straight stretch of road, and some ways back, Blair had noticed a signpost. He'd been studying it as he approached; trying to remember what town was next on the route, wondering if this would be the place he'd finally feel like settling in. He didn't hold forth much hope. He'd come clear across the nation, all the way from Boston, and he hadn't found any place yet that seemed much better than another. Nothing to make him want to unload his wagon at last and settle down, any way.

As he came alongside the sign, he guided his team over to the side of the road, pulled up even with it, and hauled back on the reins. He made sure to do this several dozen yards before he was actually even with the sign, as sometimes it took Naomi a little while to decide whether or not she wanted to obey the command.

He'd estimated correctly this time, and was close enough to read the sign easily. Cascade, 10m. "Cascade." He spoke the name aloud, getting a feel for it. "Sounds nice, doesn't it? Maybe..." Burton, his other mule, had joined Naomi in staring back at him. He shrugged sheepishly. "Wouldn't you two like it if I decided to stay there? Then you could rest your weary bones and get fat and lazy." Burton looked interested. Naomi snorted again. "Yes, well, that's your opinion."

He clucked, slapping the reins. After pausing a moment to let him know that she was only moving because she wanted to move, Naomi started again, and Burton went along obligingly, as he always did.

"You've got to show your independence, don't you, Naomi? Just like your namesake." Blair had named the mule after his mother. Some might say that was an insult, but it wasn't. Blair had cherished his mother, but he wasn't blind to her faults.

Naomi Sandburg was a woman born out of her time. Blair felt sure that in a hundred years or so, a woman like Naomi would have been admired, or at least tolerated. As it was, her family, and society as a whole, had found her scandalous.

When she had turned up pregnant with Blair, not only had she refused to marry the father, she had refused to name him. Since there was only one person to be ceremoniously shamed instead of two, Naomi's parents had banished her from the family fold, and the world where she had grown up. They would support her and her bastard as long as she stayed away, and did not draw unwarranted attention.

This suited Naomi just fine. She had always felt stifled by the limited life she was forced to lead, and dismayed by the even more limited future she had been expected to pursue. As a fallen, disgraced woman, Naomi was free to actually live her own life, and she did, with a vengeance.

Blair's childhood was spent in dozens of different locations: London, Paris, Vienna, Moscow, Rome, and Edinborough, but Naomi did not limit herself. They also visited India, Japan, China, and Tibet. By the time he was in his early teens Blair had traveled more than most seasoned explorers thrice his age. He and Naomi were, as she liked to say, 'citizens of the world'.

Everywhere he went, Blair learned. Books were considered a necessity, not a luxury. There was some formal education, but most of it was self-taught. Naomi had tried sending him to a 'real school'. Once. Blair had corrected a master on a scientific formula. Surprisingly ungrateful for having his mistake pointed out before the class, the man had administered several strokes across Blair's bare buttocks with a peeled willow switch. Naomi noticed Blair rubbing his bottom, and asked why. The reaction... Blair likened it to the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, near Pompeii: huge, violent, and with massive destruction in the fallout. That was the last of his time in the schoolroom while his mother lived.

As the wagon rocked lazily along behind the two mules, Blair reflected that he might never have re-entered academia if Naomi hadn't gotten sick. If she hadn't died. It had started when he was sixteen. She'd never actually been robust, but her strength of character and iron will could fool most people about her physical nature. Not Blair. He had known almost at once.

The first thing he noticed was her lack of appetite. They didn't always have meals together so he might not have noticed for awhile. One day he realized that she'd left almost as much on her plate as she'd put on it. When he commented, she brightly finished her meal, and later he heard her throwing up into the porcelain washbasin in the next room. He didn't say anything right then. When it happened again a few days later, he did.

She denied any problem, of course. She denied it for almost a month while Blair watched her grow thinner and paler, saw her rush for the basin even when she hadn't eaten all day.

One day he found a single drop of blood on the washstand. The next time Naomi closeted herself Blair waited till he heard the retching sounds, then kicked down the door. He found her crouched over a bowl filled with bile and blood. They were in London at the time, and that next morning he sent a telegram to his grandparents in Boston. They wired back a substantial sum of money and told him to please contact them through their lawyer in the future. As far as Blair was concerned, they died right then.

Over her protests ("Who is the adult here, Blair?") he had booked passage back to America and had taken her back to what had once been her home: Boston. He did not try to speak to his grandparents. Instead he set them up in a small apartment. It was comfortable and close to a large, well run hospital. She refused to go into the hospital ("People die there, Blair." "They die everywhere, Naomi." "I won't have them poking and prodding me into the grave, darling. If I go, I want to go peacefully.")

He had talked to the lawyers. He had stated that if his grandparents did not wish to have their dying, wayward daughter and her bastard son show up on their doorstep in the middle of one of their 'functions', they would meet all expenses. Expenses were met. Naomi died peacefully at home, just before Blair turned eighteen.

Blair blinked rapidly, wiping a wet trail from his cheek. Damn road dust really gets in a man's eyes. I'll look like I've been rolled in flour by the time I reach Cascade. Maybe I can find a place outside of town I can freshen up a bit. Again he spoke confidingly to Darwin. "You, too, friend. We must make a good impression. These people may end up being our neighbors." He started keeping a look out for a convenient pond or stream.

He'd been at loose ends when he lost his mother. She had been the bright center that he revolved around. He felt hollow. Naomi had liked to tell him that he had eternity before him, to do with as he pleased. What was he going to do with it?

The family attorney had approached him as he was walking away from the grave, dusting the dirt from his hands after dropping the first handful onto the coffin. It had been very small, almost child-sized. There hadn't been much left of Naomi at the end except heart and spirit.

"Mister Sandburg, I hate to bother you at a time like this. I know how you feel..."

Blair stopped dead in his tracks. The lawyer flinched from the heat in those stormy blue eyes, but the young man's voice was low and controlled. "Has your mother just died, sir?"

"No. No, but..."

"Was she driven from her family and forced to live as an exile? Bought off to appease their sense of morality? Or rather the moral sense of their 'peers'?"

"No. I see..."

"Did your mother hear herself called a slut and a whore, her child called a bastard? And did she then spend her life devoting every ounce of love and care she had to that child before passing on in horrid pain, still abandoned by those who once said they loved her?" The lawyer opened his mouth, then shut it. Blair nodded. "You do not know how I feel. What do you want?"

"The Sandburgs send their condolences. They wish to place a discrete monument on Naomi Sandburg's grave, and they have instructed me to tell you that the allowance, with a small reduction, will continued to be paid to you till you reach the age of twenty. In the meantime, they will pay for you to be trained in the field of your choosing. Have you any ideas on what you want to do with your life? We could easily find you a fine apprenticeship in, say, carpentry. Or, if you are more ambitious, you might study to be a surveyor. It is possible that you could even get a clerkship in a law office. Not ours, of course."

Blair stared at him. So, his grandparents did feel a bit of remorse for how they had treated their only child. Or were they merely following form again? One had responsibilities, and one met them, no matter how distasteful. Well, if they wanted to expiate their guilt...

"As to the monument, I can't stop them, but don't involve me in it. I don't want Naomi coming back to haunt me. And as to my future, yes, I do know what I want." He glanced back to where the sextons had begun filling in the grave, dropping the moist clods onto the wooden box with muted thuds. "I want to be a doctor."

It wasn't an entirely spontaneous decision, but he hadn't been sure till that moment. Naomi had seen a lot of doctors during her last two years. One of them had taken a liking to Blair, and he informally apprenticed him.

Blair went with him on calls, learned how to examine patients, recognize symptoms, prepare medicines... He was particularly good at the last. Medicine had fascinated him from his earliest memories and, whatever country he and Naomi were in, he had sought out the healers. Almost all had been flattered and amused by the voracious interest and intelligence of the small boy with the impish face and the long auburn curls. Yes, another matter of non-conformity for Naomi. Blair didn't want to cut his hair? Blair didn't have to.

In his travels, Blair had learned the healing techniques of a dozen different cultures. He had studied the odd Chinese method of treating an ailment in one part of the body by putting pressure on another, or pricking with tiny needles. He learned how to use the power of the mind to cure ailments, those that were brought about by stress, worry, or grief. He knew hundreds of concoctions to help with everything from asthma to yaws.

They tried to persuade him to try something less ambitious. His grandparents wanted to 'do their part', but apparently didn't think that part included helping their bastard-grandson to a respected profession. He was offered carpentry, masonry, landscaping. When he couldn't be convinced to accept a manual labor position, they tried shop clerk, printer (this might have tempted Blair, if he had not been so determined, for books were his greatest love, now that Naomi was gone). When they suggested valet or butler, he walked out of the attorney's office and would not speak to them for a week, till they were begging his forgiveness. By then they were ready to offer teacher or law clerk. Blair held firm.

Finally, with bad grace, they agreed. He was warned that the course of study took at least three years. He would turn twenty in two, and his stipend would be cut off. He would be on his own. Wouldn't it be more sensible to accept training in a more humble vocation?

After extensive testing (during which he quietly amazed his future professors), he was entered in the Harvard School of Medicine. He studied furiously. His fellow students, all from well-to-do, socially prominent families, pretty much left him to himself. Blair didn't mind. He really didn't have time for a social life, even if one had been offered.

As promised, at twenty, the flow of money cut off abruptly. The lawyer handed over the last check on his twentieth birthday and informed him that his grandparents had magnanimously decided to give him one more chance to be sensible and change to a more fitting profession. Blair ripped the check into tiny pieces and left without a word.

He contracted with his landlord to do repairs on his property in exchange for a smaller, less desirable room. He supported himself by working nights in several of the many saloons that laced the rougher sections of Boston, tending bar and cleaning up. He wasn't afraid, and he wasn't ashamed of his work.

Certain people approached him with offers of ready money, if only he would... Blair was an extraordinarily handsome young man. He had not grown tall, but his sturdy body was slender, and sleek. His features were elfin, his eyes smoky blue, and his hair tumbled halfway down his back in a riot of auburn curls. He drew attention from both women, and men.

Blair turned down all such offers with a smile. Oh, he wasn't a monk. He took bed partners, but not lovers. He had been at ease with his body and his desires for a long time. One matured quickly on the road, and Naomi had always been open and honest with him. Every question was answered, fully and frankly. When at fourteen, living in Japan, Blair had shyly confessed his attraction to the almond-eyed son of their neighbor, Naomi had simply nodded.

"You don't mind?"

"Why should I mind? He's a nice boy."

"But he is a boy."

"Yes."

Blair tried to think of how to express his doubts. Finally he said, "Many people think it is wrong."

Naomi stroked his hair. "Many people think having a child out of wedlock is wrong, but it was the most blessed thing ever to happen to me. Don't worry so much over what 'people' think, Blair." She tapped his chest. "Worry about what this tells you. If it comes from love, and it harms no one, then how can it be wrong?"

What the ones who sought him offered was not love, but usage, and Blair declined. There were more than one that took in his surface delicacy, and thought they could demand, or force. They quickly learned differently. Small he might be, but Blair Sandburg was far from helpless. Herbs and treatments were not all he head learned in the east. He could lay a man near twice his size out flat, groaning, with only a few moves, done so quickly that those who watched were left gaping, whispering of unnatural things.

Blair felt sweat trickling down his temple, and used his shirttail to wipe it away. He hadn't anticipated it being this hot, this far north. But then, it was full summer. The August heat was still and stifling. The mules didn't pull the wagon fast enough to churn up a decent breeze. That wouldn't have been advisable, in any case. The wooden box wagon was a little top-heavy, and prone to overbalancing at awkward moments. He'd been lucky so far, always having someone come along who could help, but he didn't believe in tempting fate. He let the mules go at their own pace which, since Naomi set it, was never more than a sedate amble.

His mind turned again to that last year of medical school. It had been heavenly and hellish at the same time. There never seemed to be enough time to sleep, and there was seldom enough to eat. He could have had leisure and plenty if he'd consented to sell himself, but he wasn't going to do that. He endured. He persevered. He succeeded.

He graduated first in his class, the youngest M.D. Harvard had, to that date, turned out. He graduated with honors, and with several offers to go into practice with established physicians.

After the ceremony, he'd stood to one side, fingering his diploma, and watching the proud families surge around his classmates. There had been a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to find an elderly couple in rich, somber dress studying him. The old man, his lips pressed in a thin line said, "Well, you weren't hard to recognize with that mop of hair. I couldn't believe it when the attorney told us about it. Just like Naomi to let you do something so foolish."

Blair stared at them blankly. The woman said stiffly, "We are your grandparents, Blair. Rebecca and Nathan." Blair nodded slowly, showing that he understood.

"Well," said Nathan. "I didn't believe you'd pull it off, but you did. I honestly didn't think Naomi's child would have enough gumption to stick it out." He didn't notice Blair's brows drawing together. "And, I suppose, now that you've made something of yourself, you'll be wanting to come back into the family fold. We've thought of a way."

Rebecca sounded almost eager. "It isn't unusual for an established family to act as patrons to a young physician, just starting out. We've discussed it, and we're prepared to give you lodging in our home. You would have your own room, and rooms downstairs to run your practice."

"Of course," rumbled his grandfather. "You'll have to work under a different name. We couldn't have the... the association with... I think perhaps Saunders would work well. Or you might prefer Bergman..."

Blair interrupted. "I haven't seen you since I was an infant."

The couple exchanged uneasy glances. "Yes, that's true," said Nathan. "You've been in the world, Blair. I'm sure you understand..."

"Do you know how I recognized you?" He took a small object from his pocket, and pressed it into Nathan's hand. The couple looked at it. It was a daguerreotype, no bigger than a woman's palm. It showed the two of them, much younger, posed stiffly with a dark haired little girl leaning against her mother's knee. "She kept that with her always, through all our travels. She was holding it when she died."

They had stood in stunned silence as he turned and walked away from them.

A few days later, he was still trying to decide what to do with the rest of his life. He knew that he wanted to help people. His landlord, watching as Blair painted a stairwell, had opined that he was a 'knot-headed fool' for not accepting any one of the positions as junior partner that had been offered to him by older, more established doctors. Blair hadn't told him about his grandparents offering to take him in and set him up in practice. The man surely would have had him carted off to the asylum for turning that down.

A knock had come to the front door, and the landlord had gone to answer it. It was the family attorney. Blair paused in his labor, surprised. The fastidious man had never before consented to come to Blair's place of residence. Always before the meetings had taken place in his well appointed office, downtown. Now the lawyer gazed up to where Blair stood, halfway up the staircase, paintbrush in hand. "Mister Sandburg."

Blair put his hand on his hip, scowling at him. "Yes?" He wouldn't dignify the man by using his name. When the man hesitated, he said, "Please state your business quickly. This will dry streaky if I don't hurry."

The man shook his head, murmuring, "I never thought I'd see it. A Sandburg, working as a common laborer....."

He backed up, becoming a bit alarmed as the young man came down the steps toward him, his pace slow and deliberate, and his eyes hot. Blair advanced, and the man backed up till he could go no farther, his back against a wall. Leaning into him aggressively, but not quite touching him, Blair growled, "I may labor, but I am far from common! Tell me why you are here, and then get out of my life."

"Y-your grandparents... a peace offering... set you up however you like..." the man babbled. He slapped a piece of paper down on the hall table, and fled.

Blair snatched up the check, intending to shred it, as he had the last one. But then he paused, and took a closer look. He noted the figure. Slowly his creased forehead smoothed, and his lips pursed in a silent whistle. This was more than a comfortably off man made in a year's time.

He held the check between thumb and forefinger, as if it might bite, waving it gently. While he hated the idea of accepting anything from the two shrivel-hearted beings that had exiled him and his mother, a lot of good could be done with a sum like this. He tried to think.

How can I use this to the best advantage, and give them the most aggravation? After a moment, a slow smile formed on his face. The smile was angelic, but the devil glinted in his blue eyes. Then next day he contracted to have the physick wagon built.

Part Two

Jim Ellison got his horse from its stall in the town's stables, saddling it himself although the hostler offered to do it. He enjoyed taking care of Rainier; he didn't really look on it as a chore. He saddled the big roan, gently working the bit between his teeth, then stopped. Putting his face close to the horse's mouth, he sniffed, high brow wrinkling, then scowled.

As he led the horse between the box stalls on either side, he called to the stable master, "Rafe! I told you not to give Rainier any more sugar unless I said so! His teeth are going to rot if you keep loading him with sweets."

The dark haired man mending tack near the exit looked up in surprise, and guilt. "It was just one lump, Jim. He teases me something awful when I muck out his stall if I don't feed him."

"Well, give him a carrot, or an apple, or something like that. No more sugar." As he led the horse out, and swung up into the saddle, Rafe called, "How did you know?" Jim pretended not to hear the question, and set off on his patrol.

How did I know? I smelled it on his breath, that's how. Squinting in the sunlight, Jim pulled the dark spectacles out of his shirt pocket and slipped them on. That was better. Sometimes simple daylight was almost more than he could stand. Funny thing was, it wasn't that the brightness washed out details. On the contrary: he could see too much. There was just too much there. It could get... overwhelming at times. He found that the smoked -glass lenses usually kept it down to a tolerable level.

Jim took his job as constable seriously and made a daily round. He earned the small salary the city had awarded him for keeping the peace. He rather thought that, when they decided it was time for a more official form of law enforcement, he would see about running for sheriff. He'd most likely get it; he had a good record. They seldom needed to use the two small barred cells that were set up in the back of his blacksmith shop.

The patrol of the town streets was quick and uneventful. There still wasn't much to Cascade, only a couple of dozen streets branching off from the main road through town. Besides his smithy, they had a church, a general store, three saloons, a barbershop, the stables, and the undertaker.

There was talk of getting a school, but for now the parents taught the children, some gathering a handful in their homes to share lessons. There was even a small bawdy house, but it operated outside the city limits, so it was no concern of his, and since it catered mainly to the single laborers from the area, and passing travelers, it didn't bother the womenfolk of the town overmuch. He might eventually have to see about closing it down, but for now there was no problem.

Jim made his rounds of the small town, nodding to the men, waving to the children who greeted him, and lifting his hat for the ladies. There was more than one woman who watched him ride past with an appreciative eye. Constable Ellison was a fine figure of a man: tall, muscular, and ruggedly handsome. He had icy blue eyes that too often were hidden behind the smoked lenses of his dark glasses, but somehow, the mystery of that just made him more attractive. He was still in his prime, hardly forty, and it was whispered that it was a shame that he didn't have a woman.

He had been married before, to a woman named Carolyn, but no one seemed entirely sure what had happened to her. He had been alone when he came to Cascade a half-dozen years ago, and no one had quite had the nerve to question him closely about his past.

His patrol of the streets finished, Jim began to ride the perimeter of town. He kept his eyes open, and he tuned his hearing as acutely as he dared. He had to be careful that the sound of the wind rustling the leaves didn't send him into a trance state. He had the same problems with all his senses as he did with his sight. They were very acute, and sometimes, the details just overwhelmed him.

Today Jim was particularly interested in the area to the south. A little earlier, he had seen a faint cloud of dust rising above the road that led into town. Not much of a cloud, probably just one rider, or one wagon. It was most likely just a peddler coming to town, or a drummer planning to sell some stock to the general store. Still, he'd check it out. Particularly since the traveler hadn't arrived yet. The cloud was gone. That meant that they had stopped somewhere out on the road. If they had stopped this close to town, Jim figured he'd better find out why. There might be some sort of trouble.

A little ways out, he heard something, and tuned his hearing up even higher. There was the creak of leather harnesses, and the stamp and snort of draft animals; two, from the sound of it. There was also the sound of water splashing. Yes, there was a nice little pond about a mile outside of town. The traveler must have stopped to water his team before coming in. If he hadn't unharnessed them before he led them to the water, his wagon might have gotten bogged down. It had happened more than once.

But as he got closer, Jim decided that the splashing was from another source, because he also heard someone humming cheerfully. It sounded like 'Sweet Betsy From Pike'. So, the stranger had decided to freshen up before going into town. Jim couldn't blame them, it was hot and humid today, and the road dust would have made it miserable if they'd been on the road for any length of time.

He topped a little rise, and there was the wagon, pulled off beside the road. Jim's eyebrows climbed. Well, now. What have we here? That wasn't any ordinary wagon, or carriage. It was a huge, boxlike affair, and it was painted a red so screaming that it was even bright through the layers of trail dust. A pair of fine mules, still in harness, was patiently cropping the lush grass. Jim dismounted, leading Rainier onto the grass so that his steps would be muffled. He didn't exactly intend to sneak up on whoever was there, but it never hurt to be cautious.

The pond was in the center of a small stand of close growing trees. Jim made his way to the pond, moving through the greenery with no more noise than a prowling mountain lion. When he was just at the edge of the trees, he halted, dialing his hearing back down to normal, then stepped out of the trees.

The traveler was, indeed bathing. There was a pile of crumpled clothes almost at Jim's feet. The humming had stopped abruptly, and he did not see anyone in the water. For a moment he was worried that the traveler had stepped off into an underwater hole. He was just about to kick off his boots and dive in when she broke the surface.

She was facing the center of the pond, with her back to Jim, in water up to the middle of her back. The first thing he noticed was the magnificent wet cascade of dark red-brown hair than spilled down her back, the ends trailing once again in the water. The bather, totally unaware of her watcher, reached back and gathered the lush hair into one thick handful, wringing out water.

The back was slim, but well muscled, the shoulders wide. She's a sturdy little thing. Jim thought admiringly. He wished that she'd chosen a shallower spot for her bath. He really would have liked a look at that ass. He had a feeling that, given the toned look of the rest of her, it would be firm and round.

She was holding a bar of soap, and began scrubbing with it, humming again. Her movements were vigorous, but graceful. Jim watched the foam gather on the pale skin, then watched the water glisten as the soap was sluiced off. He found that he was getting hard. Turn around. He thought. I just want one good look, then I'll leave you to your privacy, and maybe we can meet in town. I think you're someone I'd like to know.

As if hearing his wish, the bather, massaging a handful of lather over her face, turned slowly toward Jim.

Jim Ellison got one of the biggest surprises of his entire life. Instead of the plump breasts he had been expecting, there was a broad, well muscled, very hairy, distinctly male chest. His jaw dropped. The bather splashed water on his face, revealing piquant, elfin features. His eyes shut against the soap, his lashes lay thick and dark against his cheeks, and his mouth was as beautiful as any woman's. Then he opened his eyes, and Jim's heart almost stopped.

They were smoky blue, and they were gazing right into his own.

The young man (because there was no denying that this was a young man) blinked in surprise, stumbling back, slipping, and going under water. He came up again almost immediately, spluttering. When he caught his breath, he cried, "Jesus, don't do that to me, man! Were you trying to give me apoplexy?"

"Sorry." Jim apologized. "I just wasn't sure how to make myself known." I was too busy lusting after you in my heart, until you turned around. And he suddenly realized, to his shock and embarrassment, that the turning around hadn't greatly changed things. He was still half hard.

"'Hello' would have worked. Even 'You there!' Why didn't you say something?" He started wading toward the shore.

Jim tried to explain. "I saw you from behind, and I thought... I didn't want to embarrass..."

The young man nodded, eyebrows lifting. "Oh, I see. You saw this..." He shook his head, and the wet hair flew about his head. He wiped away several of the strands that had plastered themselves across his face, grinning, "and thought you'd found yourself a lady." He shrugged good-naturedly. "Sorry to disappoint you." He didn't seem offended by the mistake.

"I'm not disappointed." Again the eyebrows rose. "I mean, I would have been surprised, a woman traveling by herself." Smooth recovery, Jim. You only sound half a fool.

The young man had stopped waist deep in the water. He pointed to the ground at Jim's feet. "How about tossing me one of those towels?" Jim looked down to see two towels folded neatly next to the clothes. He picked them up and walked to the water's edge, tossing one out.

The boy caught it neatly, and began wading toward shore again. As he emerged from the water, he wrapped the towel about his hips, tucking it securely. "It's not that I'm very shy, mind you," he explained, "But I'm too modest to traipse about in just my hide if we haven't even introduced ourselves."

"Jim Ellison." Jim offered his hand.

"Blair Sandburg." Blair's handshake was firm and warmer than Jim would have expected with him fresh from the pond. "Are you from town, Mr. Ellison?"

"Yes, Cascade." He paused. "I'm the town constable."

Blair had taken the second towel and started drying his hair. Now he paused, peering out from under the cloth. "Are you, now? Well, I had expected to meet you, just not so soon." Jim felt a twinge of surprise. He had been... expecting him? Blair was drying his arms with long, brisk strokes. Jim imagined how the rough texture of the towel would feel, moving over his skin.

"Now, why would you expect that?"

"I make it a point to meet the law in every town I come to. It just makes things a little easier if we understand each other right up front." He was raking his hands through the long fall of hair.

"That's a sensible attitude, Mr. Sandburg. If everyone had it, my job would be a lot easier." Jim noted that his compact body was slender, but muscular. This wasn't a boy, despite his lack of stature. This was full-grown man, and very definitely a man, despite the long hair and almost pretty features. The tangle of chest hair was as impressive as any Jim had ever seen. There was something about his chest that nagged at the corner of Jim's mind, but Sandburg was speaking to him again, and he dismissed it.

"Do you mind if we continue this discussion back at the wagon? I'd like to get into some fresh clothes and get this mop combed out before it gets a chance to tangle."

Jim followed him back to the wagon. He actually had to hurry a bit to keep up with him. He might have shorter legs, but he was a real bundle of energy, making up for length of stride with his rapid pace. At the wagon, he climbed up and opened the door to the box. Hesitating, he said, "Would you mind waiting out here a minute while I get dressed? Then you can come on in for a drink."

"That would be fine." He went inside, shutting the little door. Jim took the time to study the wagon itself. He drew a finger in the road film that covered it, and the trail he left showed screaming red paint, fairly fresh. There was a sign on the side. In impressively ornate letters of shining yellow it said 'Dr. B. Sandburg, Medicines and Physiks. Men, Women, and Children Attended. Sorry, No Horses.'

Jim grinned. It was common in the less settled areas for the local 'horse doctor' to treat both man and beast if an actual medical doctor wasn't available. This man was boldly declaring himself to be a 'people doctor' only. Probably not true, though. What would a real doctor be doing way the hell out here?

The door creaked open. "Come on up."

Jim climbed up onto the wagon and went through the door. He almost had to squeeze. He was a big man and the entrance was not built on generous proportions. The interior of the wagon was dim, but he could see well enough with his sensitive vision. He saw Sandburg in the process of lighting a lamp, and looked away quickly, shielding his eyes before he could be blinded by the sudden burst of light. When he was sure he could handle it and looked back, Sandburg was watching him curiously. But he didn't say anything. He just pointed to a small bench fitted on one wall. "Have a seat. I'll just be another minute or two."

Jim sat on the bench while Sandburg continued buttoning up the loose white shirt he'd donned. Jim had never been inside a physik wagon before, and it was interesting. Both sides were lined with deep shelves, the shelves having barriers around them to keep the various jars, bottles, and boxes from flying off when the wagon moved. There were also cabinets and a small fold down desk, which now held the lamp. The unfortunate thing was that the smell of herbs and chemicals was nearly overwhelming. He was going to have a raging headache if he stayed more than a few moments.

Sandburg had taken a comb from one of the shelves, and was stroking it through his hair, fluffing it as he went. It was already starting to dry. The lamplight picked out red glints in the rich brown. Jim looked away. "I don't see any bed."

"I could have had one, but I preferred to use the space for storage. I sleep on a bedroll, outside most of the time. If it's too cold or wet, there's just enough room to spread it out here in the aisle."

He put aside the comb, stroking the length of his hair between his hands in a final smoothing motion. "Now, about that drink. Would you like a nip of spirits, or is it too early in the day for you?"

Jim pulled out his watch and consulted it. "Well, I expect I'll just have something the temperance ladies would approve, if you have it. It's still a tad early for me."

Blair nodded. "Sensible. You have a choice of cold brewed herb tea or sarsaparilla."

"Sarsaparilla will do fine."

Blair got two glasses out of a cabinet and took a jug and a small bottle off a shelf. He filled the glasses from the jug, explaining, "Sugar water. I keep a little mixed up, but not too much at a time, else it'll start to ferment." He added a few drops of dark liquid from the bottle to each glass, and stirred them with a long, slender rod, then handed a glass to Jim. "Sorry it's not colder. I keep the jug in the coolest part of the wagon, but that's none too cool these days."

Jim took a sip. The sweet of the sugar and the bite of the flavoring filled him, and he knew he wasn't going to be able to drink much of it, but felt he had to manage a few swallows, for courtesy's sake. "This is fine." He took another small sip.

Sandburg picked up his own glass and cocked his head. "You sure about that?"

Surprised, Jim replied, "Don't I sound sure?"

Blair nodded, "Oh, you sound sure, right enough. But the face you just pulled..." Jim felt himself flush. Had it been that obvious? "Look, Ellison, you don't have to force anything down to spare my feelings. I haven't had to do for anyone but myself for a long time, so my skill with victuals and potables may be a bit rusty."

"I'm sure it's fine." Jim set the glass down, a little relieved that he wasn't going to have to keep up the pretense. "I just have funny tastes. Almost anything with a strong flavor is too much for me."

"I'll keep that in mind if I ever invite you to dinner. I happen to be a mite dry despite that ducking I got." He took a long swallow from the glass, tilting his head back.

Jim watched the pulse of his throat as he swallowed. "I'm sorry about that."

Blair licked the last of the sarsaparilla off his lips, and Jim was mortified to feel his dick stiffen just a little more. "No need to apologize, friend. It's my own damn fault for putting my back to the shore. I should know by now not to put myself in a situation where someone can sneak up on me after all the traveling I've done."

Sandburg sat in the only piece of furnishing not built into the wagon: a single straight back chair in front of the desk. "Well, now. We've had our introductions, and we've had a social drink. What shall we talk about now?"

"You're heading into Cascade?"

"That is my intention."

"Visiting someone?"

Blair cocked his head, combing his fingers through the sheaf of hair that swung over his shoulder, gazing at Jim. "I don't have anyone to visit, Constable Ellison," he said quietly. "My last relative..." he smiled faintly, "Well, the last relative I'd claim, anyway, died more than six years ago, and I've never stayed in one place long enough since to form any real attachments."

"So, you're coming to town for business purposes?"

"Business and personal. Tell me, does every traveler who comes near your fair township get the same interrogation?"

Jim felt a little stung. He didn't really consider this an interrogation but, looking at it from Sandburg's angle, he supposed it might seem like one. "I'm sorry if you think I'm prying, but it's my duty to see to the peace of this area. I can't do that if I'm not aware of who's about and what they're up to."

"I understand, and I don't mean to be snappish." He sighed heavily. "I'm a bit touchy about this, I'm afraid. You see, I'm rather tired of being viewed with suspicion, just because I'm new to the area, or I look or act a little different."

"Get a lot of that, do you?" Jim's tone was dry, and he was rewarded with a small smile.

"You might be surprised. No, on second thought, you wouldn't. Yes, I get a lot of it." He fluffed his hair. "You might have noticed, I don't exactly fit the general mold, though it's easier out here than it is in the larger cities. Tell me what you want to know, Constable Ellison. If it's too personal, I'll tell you so, but I'm a generally open sort of soul."

"Why are you going to Cascade?"

"As I said, business and personal reasons." He waved, indicating the stores of medicines. "I sell physiks, and I treat illnesses. I hope to do a bit of business in Cascade."

Jim's expression was stern. "You'll need to get a liquor license before you set up shop and the town council might be a bit hesitant about granting one to an itinerant."

Blair sat back. "Why on earth would I need a liquor license?"

"Well, your tonic. Or rejuvenator, revivifier, elixir, aqua vita, whatever you call it."

"First off, I don't sell any type of general cure-all. I mix specific compounds for specific problems. And secondly, I leave the spirit dispensing to the saloons. They're much better equipped than I am."

Now Jim was confused. "But you're a patent medicine man, aren't you?"

Blair shook his head. "No. I'm a traveling medicine man only in that I do practice medicine, and I do travel. I'm a doctor, Constable. A real doctor." When Jim's eyebrows lifted skeptically, he sighed. "All right. I should know by now that my word alone isn't worth anything." There was a bitter edge in his tone. He opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a leather folder, handing it to Jim. Ellison opened it, and was confronted by a handsome document, printed on vellum in graceful script. "It's my diploma from Boston Medical College. I'm a certified medical doctor."

Jim studied the document. It looked genuine. But then, so did many counterfeits. He closed it, handing it back. "Very impressive."

Blair took it, replacing it in the desk. "Sarcasm does not become you, sir. I suppose I can understand your skepticism. There are far too many fools and charlatans promoting themselves these days. Do you have a telegraph office in town?"

"Not yet. Soon."

"Damnation! Now how am I supposed to convince you?"

"There is an office in the next town over, Lansdale. Someone is bound to be going there in a day or two. Tell me what you want and I expect they'll be willing to send a message for you. Folks are pretty obliging around here."

"It isn't for me, it's for you. If you'll contact the Boston College of Medicine and ask Dean Herschel, he'll vouch for me. Would that satisfy you?"

"It would. But that may take a while."

"I need to earn my living. Can't I sell my physiks till you get word back?"

"If you let me check what you dispense first to be sure you're not passing off hooch as medicine."

"And how would you know?"

"I can tell if the alcohol content is too high to be justified."

"I told you, I don't just sell booze disguised as medicine. But I agree. Now, is there any particular area in town that you wish me to stay away from? Anywhere it would be best for me to set up? I'd like to be as close to the center of things as possible. My livelihood depends on drawing a bit of a crowd."

Jim thought. "Well, there was that millenary shop that burned down a few months ago. No one has cleared the lot yet, so you could park in front of that if you want. It's close to everything. And there's a stable that'll board your animals for a reasonable price. I expect Rafe might be willing to spot you a day or two board till you can raise some cash, if I recommend you."

"I like Rafe already. So," he held out his hand. "I'm welcome in Cascade?"

Jim shook hands. Blair's grip was firm from the hours he'd spent grinding medicines, and handling reins, but his hand was smooth. "You're very welcome in Cascade."

Part Three

"Now then," Blair clapped his hands, rubbing them together. "If you don't mind, I'd like to get into town so I can have Naomi and Burton settled by evening. Perhaps there will even be time for a short show to introduce myself and tease the interest of the townsfolk."

Jim regarded him laconically. "You're good at that, are you?"

Blair was opening a cabinet, but he turned back to smile at Ellison, one dark brow rising impishly. "I'm good at teasing interest."

I don't doubt that. Jim thought, as the younger man removed several items of clothing from the cabinet.

Blair turned back to him, a cream colored stock hanging from his hand, and said, "I have a request. Could you remove the specs for a bit? I like to see a man's eyes when I speak to him."

Jim considered. He'd be taking a risk. The lighting in the wagon, with the enclosed lamplight picking out glints on shiny surfaces, was a hazard. He might have one of his spells. But it was discourteous to keep the shielding shades on while visiting, and Sandburg had every right to ask. Jim liked to see a man's eyes when he spoke to him, too. He pulled them off, tucking them in his shirt. "Sorry about that. I'm so used to them that I forget sometimes."

"Are your eyes weak?" Blair was shrugging into a plum velvet jacket.

"No, quite the opposite. Sometimes things are just a little too clear, a little too sharp. It's hard to explain. I just seem to see too much."

Sandburg didn't look at him like he was crazy, like Carolyn had when he'd told her that. Instead, he looked thoughtful. Then he smiled, and said, "You look good in the specs but you look better without them. You have the most remarkably blue eyes, Mr. Ellison."

Jim could feel a flush rising in his cheeks. He wasn't used to physical compliments. The most he got was an occasional, 'Damn, you're a big bastard' from the rougher travelers he had to deal with.

Sandburg was fitting a pair of flashy cufflinks in his sleeves, and they caught Jim's attention. When he noted Jim's interest, he held out his arm, offering him a better look. "I got these in Peru. Lovely, aren't they?"

They were certainly unique. Shaped in the form of a big cat's head, they showed impressive fangs and the eyes were tiny, glittering green stones. "Only copper and some sort of semi-precious stone. They aren't worth much in terms of cold, hard cash but I'm very fond of them. They were given to me by a tribal shaman."

Jim extended one finger, touching one of the cufflinks lightly. At first there was just the coolness of the metal. Then a spark of light struck the green eyes of the cat, and suddenly, there was a flare of heat. The world crashed in on him. As it rolled over him, he thought, Not now! Not when I'm with someone I don't know a thing about.

But he had no control over it: he never did when these spells came. Suddenly one or more of his senses would just become unbearably intense. The softest colors nearly blinded him, the merest sound went through him like a spike, and his skin would be so sensitive that he wanted to rip his clothes from his body, unable to bear their weight. Smells suffocated. He even swore that at those times he could taste things on the air. He never knew what was going to set it off, or how long it would last. Usually the only remedy was to get himself somewhere quiet and dark and ride it out.

This one was different from any that he'd had before, though. It was summer, yes, but he suddenly felt an even greater than normal heat. It was humid, too. Almost like the steam room he'd been in once in San Francisco. Along with the heat there were smells, like forest smells, but somehow different: stronger, riper, and wilder.

There was a river of sound washing over him: the rustling of millions of leaves, and the furtive crackle of an animal moving through underbrush. The sounds were so clear. He could hear the pad of big paws, the whisper of grass and twigs against sleek fur. Green seemed to shift before his eyes in a pattern of moving leaves, and he knew that in a moment the creatures Yes, creatures. There are two of them. that were moving through the jungle Jungle? would appear. The idea excited and terrified him, all at once. It's too much. I can't... I don't want to see this.

But there was also one sound that, though stronger than the others, did not overwhelm him. It was a low, steady beat, an almost throbbing pulse. Ellison focused on this desperately, grabbing at it in the rush and swirl of sensations.

He concentrated on the sound, following it, gradually filtering out everything else till the world began to subside around him, returning to normal. He realized that what he was hearing was the heartbeat of the man standing before him. The man who was watching him closely with a very concerned look on his face.

Sandburg said quietly, "Are you all right?"

Jim shook his head, clearing away the last of the haze, and said casually; "I'm fine. Sorry if I stared. I've never seen anything like them before. Is that supposed to be a panther?"

"Jaguar, though the black variety are called panthers." He refused to be distracted. "You were... gone. Not for long, only, say, a half a minute. But a lot can happen in that amount of time. Has this happened before?"

"A few times." It isn't a lie, there's no quantity put on 'a few'. "If you want to finish getting ready, I'll escort you into town. If folks see you with me, they might be a tad less suspicious."

The slight frown said Sandburg knew he was changing the subject but he didn't call him on it, for which Jim was grateful. Jim didn't discuss his problems. Maybe Carolyn would have stayed if he had, but probably not. She just didn't have the patience to deal with them. Jim figured that no one did, so he didn't discuss it.

Sandburg turned toward a small mirror hung on the wall and wrapped the stock around his neck. "Now for the tricky part. I can grind and mix medicines to perfection, I can perform simple surgeries without trouble and stitch a wound neater than the best seamstress can hem a skirt, but I cannot tie these damn things."

He wasn't exaggerating. Jim watched in amusement as he fought and swore at the simple garment, finally producing a tangled mess. He glared at his reflection belligerently, and Jim found himself offering, "Need some help with that?"

Sandburg glanced back at him through the reflection, and said wryly, "Only all I can get."

Jim stood up and moved to stand behind him. "Hold still, now. I'm afraid this is the only way I know how to do it." He reached around the shorter man; unknotting the mess he'd made, and began to wind the stock into a neat knot. "I doubt it's what's fashionable right now, but it's the only one I know how to do, and it's good enough for a backwater like Cascade."

Blair stayed very still, watching as Ellison's big hands moved with surprising delicacy. He could feel the heat of the constable's body along his back and his own body started to react. He closed his eyes briefly. Careful, Sandburg. A lawman would be a bad one to have against you, you know that.

"There." The hands came to rest lightly on his shoulders. "How's that?"

Blair opened his eyes, and his gaze met Ellison's in the mirror. He only barely managed to repress a shiver. God, those eyes... "Splendiferous, my man. I thank you."

Did he imagine it, or was there the tiniest bit of pressure before the hands were withdrawn? "Any time." And was there the least bit of huskiness in that low voice? Probably wishful thinking, Blair. You've been too long between bed partners. You'll have to try to find someone here or else you're liable to do something not only embarrassing, but downright dangerous.

Ellison had stepped back and Blair picked up a black ribbon from the desk. He pulled as much of his hair as he could back and tied it into a tail. Strands still escaped to curl around his ears and face, but there wasn't anything he could do about that short of a vicious application of pomade, and he didn't like to do that. Finally he lifted a black silk top hat off a shelf and settled it on his head, tilting it at a rakish angle. He turned to Jim Ellison, spreading his arms wide, smiling. "Doctor B. Sandburg, traveling medicine man, ready to enter your fair city and charm the citizens."

Jim couldn't help smiling in response. "You might at that." Be damned if you don't already have a head start on the constable. Jim pulled out his glasses, putting them on again. "Let's get you into town." He climbed on Rainier while Blair took the reins of his mule team.

I'm going to do well here. Blair thought as they entered the little town. Oh, it was small, but it was prosperous and it was growing. He could see several new buildings in various stages of completion, one of them obviously a good-sized hotel. Lots of workers meant lots of minor injuries. Possible work. There were many families in from the surrounding area, shopping or just visiting. He nodded to himself. Lots of children, lots of sniffles to be attended to. Good, good. And they all followed the big, red wagon with the exotic driver with curious eyes. Blair smiled to himself. A good entrance was half the job.

Jim led him to a spot on main street, just in front of a tumbled, charred ruin of a building. Blair situated the wagon so that it was sure to be out of the way of any traffic, then climbed down. Ellison had dismounted also. "I have to go stable my horse now. Unhitch your team and I'll take them over for you. You can go by and talk to Rafe later."

"He'll trust me before I pay him for their board?"

"If I vouch for you, he will."

"Then thank you kindly. I appreciate it."

"Not at all. We help each other out here." It was a bit of an exaggeration. Yes, Jim felt it was part of his job to assist travelers, but he seldom went as far out of his way as he was doing now. "I'll unhitch them. You don't want to get your outfit messed up."

Blair shook his cuffs, grinning. "Nope. We must look nice for the customers. Do I need a permit to put on a show?"

"You're not gonna have any naked dancers, are you?"

Blair's mouth dropped open for a second. "Um... no. My repertoire does not include naked dancing."

Pity. "Then it's all right. As long as you don't offend the womenfolk, give the kiddies an education their mamas and daddies wouldn't approve of, or scare the horses."

"I think I can keep it within those restrictions." Blair reached back into his wagon and came up with a banjo. He plucked it experimentally; adjusting a couple of strings while Jim unhitched the team. Nodding his satisfaction, he laid it back down and unhooked some sort of fastenings on the side of the wagon, then went inside. A moment later, Jim was astonished when the side of the wagon lowered, opening it up.

Sandburg hopped back down out of the wagon and busied himself setting braces under the platform that had been formed. Jim realized that it was now a stage, with the man's 'office' open behind in. Blair went out onto the stage. The bench Jim had sat on inside was a solid block, and it served as a seat, even tipped on its side. Sandburg sat on it, put his banjo over his knees, and began to pluck out a lively tune. People were already beginning to stop and listen when Jim reluctantly led the mules away.

Rafe met him at the entrance. "Jim, is the circus coming to town? I saw what had to be the gaudiest wagon on the face of the earth roll past a minute ago."

"Not the entire circus, Rafe, just the ringmaster. I need you to put these beasts up for a few days. He hasn't got the cash right now, but I'll take care of it, if it comes to that."

"Sure, Jim, no problem." Rafe called a groom over to take the mules. "I think I want to go see what's happening down at the other end of the street. Looks like it might be interesting." They walked back down together. There was already a fair sized crowd around the physik wagon, and more coming.

Sandburg, looking totally at ease, was strumming out a spirited rendition of "Oh, Susannah," singing along in a pleasant, slightly cracked voice. A brown mongrel dog was on the stage in front of him, prancing along on its hind legs, yipping excitedly. The crowd laughed as it spun, waving its paws and hopping. Laughing children clustered around the front of the stage, with indulgent, curious parents behind them.

Sandburg finished the song and there was a generous smattering of applause. He stood, removing his hat in a sweeping bow. Several coins were tossed, ringing on the stage at his feet. He placed the hat on the stage and said, "Darwin, please be good enough to collect the generous offerings." The little dog immediately began to pick up coins in his teeth and drop them in the hat. This generated another small hail of money. Children were begging their parents for pennies.

Blair laid aside the banjo. "Now, good people, as talented as I am in music," the smile was self-depreciating and he rolled his eyes. The audience tittered. "Now, now. As I was saying, as much as I love music, it is not my profession." He pulled a cord, and a small sign unfurled over the wagon opening, bearing the same words that were painted on the wagon.

"Doctor B. Sandburg, Esquire, at your service. As the sign says, I treat only God's noblest creations, and I'm sorry ranchers, I do not mean horses." More laughter. "No, I only treat people. It's what I was trained to do. It's my passion. Let me assure you that I am qualified. I attended the great medical college in Boston. Your esteemed constable..." Eyes turned toward Jim, and he tried not to shuffle. "...will be checking the veracity of that claim. Now, what do I offer? If you're looking for a cure-all to treat everything from grippe to goiters, and fit to rub on or consume, you will be disappointed. If you expect bottles of spirits with medicinal labels, you may as well go to one of the fine saloons I noticed on the way in. I sell medicines. I listen to your complaints, review your symptoms, and prescribe accordingly. I will not just hand over anything you ask for. I will examine you, judge what you need, and prescribe accordingly."

His smile faded, his blue eyes becoming more serious. "I may as well also add that if you are one of those unfortunates who have become dependent on laudanum or opiates, I cannot and will not feed your addiction. I will, if you ask, try to help you wean yourself away from it."

There was a slight, uncomfortable shift in the crowd. People didn't like to think or talk about such things. Oh, they knew they existed, even in such a small town as Cascade. Jim had seen the results of the sort of problem Sandburg mentioned himself. Occasionally the unconscious man he picked out of an alleyway or gutter would smell of opium smoke instead of whiskey. It was rather remarkable that the young man would so boldly mention the problem, much less offer his help. Society, in general, seemed inclined to ignore the ones who suffered with this problem.

"Now, one more tune, and I'll be ready to listen to any who want to consult. There's no rush. I intend to be here for awhile, so take your time." He sat back down, took up the banjo, and struck into "Buffalo Gals." The music was infectious. Most of the children, and even some of the grown ups, danced with it.

Rafe poked Jim in the side. "Well, this is the most excitement we've seen around here in some time."

"He's different, all right."

"I'll say. There's gonna be some daddies locking up their daughters, I think." Rafe indicated a cluster of teenage girls near the stage. They were whispering and giggling to each other. When Sandburg shot them a pointed grin, they almost collapsed in fits of nervosa excitement. He was the most exotic thing they'd ever seen in their young lives.

Jim sighed inwardly. With that sparkling personality and offbeat attractiveness, of course Sandburg would be a magnet for female attention. You were fooling yourself, old man, thinking that there might have been a spark back there. Even if he was the sort to consider a man, what makes you think you could compete for a young stallion like that?

As Blair laid aside his instrument and prepared to greet his first customers, his eyes were drawn again to the tall figure at the back of the crowd. Ellison was wearing the smoked glass spectacles again and Blair couldn't read his expression. He seemed to be watching closely enough, though. Jim turned and walked back up the street and Blair took a moment to admire the smooth glide of his walk before turning with a gentle smile to the young woman who was holding a croupy baby in her arms.

Part Four

Jim had work to do. Simon Banks, a local farmer, had a set of wagon wheels that needed new rims. He was a good customer, and Jim had no desire to make the man wait for his order, no matter how interesting the traveler might be.

His forge was seldom cool, and it didn't take long to heat it to the proper temperature. Jim made a pot of coffee while the metal bars were heating, taking the time to savor a cup while the forge did its work. Then he stripped off his shirt, put on his heavy work gloves, and got the tongs. He reached into the forge with the tongs and extracted a bar of iron. Yes, it glowed the right cherry red color.

He picked up his hammer and laid the iron on the massive black anvil that was the center of his work world. He turned the metal a couple of times, looking at it, getting a feel for it. Then he tried to push down his sense of hearing, raised the hammer, and brought it down ringing on the bar in front of him.

He pounded with steady, heavy strokes, gradually stretching and thinning the metal, working his way down the bar. When he had it flat and thin enough to suit him, he dropped it into the large tub of water he used as a cooling bath. The metal had lost heat as he worked, but it still hissed and sputtered, sending up steam when he dropped it into the bath. Then he went and got another bar from the forge, and began the process again. He'd need at least three of these, possibly four, to make one rim.

As he pounded, he was grateful that his sense of touch wasn't over active today. There were times when he couldn't work, as much as he wanted or needed to, because of the sparks. They would be painful and irritating to anyone with normal tactile senses. When his started to act up, it was sheer agony. A shirt would have helped shield him a little, but in this summer heat? It would be courting heat stroke.

***

Blair gathered the small collection of bottles into a box and spoke to the half dozen people clustered around his wagon. "I'm sorry about the delay but I promised Constable Ellison I wouldn't dispense any medicines without getting his approval first. Please understand that he's only doing this for your own good, to protect you. After all, he doesn't know that I'm not a quack." Blair smiled sunnily. "Though how he could not trust this face is beyond me."

There was laughter, and someone directed him to the smithy just a little way down the street. "I'll be back in just a few minutes, friends. I just need to present these and get approval." He bustled down the street to the large building with the huge double doors standing wide open.

He paused at the entrance. The sound of metal ringing on metal had been clear, even at his end of the street. Here it was almost strident. He stepped cautiously into the dim interior. The large room, almost the size of a small barn, was lit only by the sunlight spilling through the doors behind him, and the glow of the open forge at the other end.

There were stacks of different sizes of ingots of metal piled in various spots. Tools he couldn't identify hung neatly on the walls above leaning wagon wheels. There was a large wooden tub filled with water in the center of the room. Next to that was the huge anvil, and before that was Jim Ellison. Blair froze, staring at the man, the box of medicines in his hands forgotten.

Ellison was standing with his legs spread for balance and stability as he swung a large; flat headed hammer again and again against the piece of metal that he held against the anvil with a set of tongs. The jeans he wore were old, faded and worn thin by many washes, and so tight that they hugged his body like a lover's caress. They coated long legs, and defined one of the most perfect asses Blair had seen in his wide, wide travels. But that wasn't the most alluring part of the picture.

Ellison was working stripped to the waist. Blair was treated to the image of a wedge shaped back, glistening with sweat, the muscles rolling smoothly as his arm rose and fell with the steady rhythm of his pounding. He watched for almost a minute, almost hypnotized by the steady ring of the hammer and the flow of his muscles.

Suddenly the hammer fell still as it landed one last time, and Ellison's head jerked around. Blair almost flinched as the pale blue eyes found his own, and he thought, almost panicked, He knows. He knows I've been looking, and he knows what I've been thinking. But that was ridiculous, of course. He hadn't started to get erect. Yet. He no doubt would have, if he'd watched much longer.

He smiled bravely, and came forward. "Hello. Sorry to disturb you but you said you needed to approve anything I wanted to dispense. Well, I already have three patients."

Ellison dropped the iron bar he'd been working on into the water bath, laying the tongs and hammer on the anvil, then pulling off his gloves to lay them aside also. "That was fast work."

Blair shrugged. "This is going to be a good town for me. Only a few wanted anything I could give them without a consultation. The others will be back tomorrow or the next day, and I expect word of mouth to bring me a good number of their neighbors."

Jim held out his hand, and Blair passed over the little box. "What do we have here?"

Blair started ticking off on his fingers. "Well, there's an elixir to soothe a cough for a baby. I made that one very mild. That's the only one that will be taken internally. The others are for a rather nasty poison oak rash, and to draw a boil to a head. He'll come to me to have it lanced in a day or two. You'll notice that I carefully labeled the one's that are to be rubbed on, not swallowed."

Jim opened each bottle in turn and held it to his nose. Blair watched in fascination as the well shaped nostrils flared. The older man frowned in obvious concentration, high forehead wrinkling as he sifted through scents. Can he really learn that much just from smelling those?

Jim held up the last bottle. "There's alcohol in this, but not much."

Blair was surprised. "Only a few drops, to help mix the other ingredients."

Ellison re-corked the bottle, returned it to the box, and handed the box back to Blair. "It's wood alcohol, not grain. Be sure you're firm with him about not drinking this. I don't want to risk any of my townspeople going blind."

"Of course." Blair started to turn to go, but hesitated. He had patients waiting, but still... He turned back, and his breath caught in his throat. Ellison had wet a towel in the tub of water, and was cleaning the sweat from his body. He'd already wiped his face and neck. As Sandburg watched, he rubbed the rough towel over his chest, down his torso, and across his flat belly. Dark nipples stood out sharply, puckered by the sudden coolness.

He didn't realize he'd been staring till Jim said, "Was there something else?"

"Oh. I... was just wondering how you could tell about the alcohol being wood instead of grain."

He shrugged lazily, walking toward him. "I could smell the difference."

"I don't want to say I don't believe you, but you have to admit..." He'd come very close. He was standing only a few inches away, stroking the towel down sinewy arms, wiping modestly furred armpits. Speaking of smells, that is the cleanest, most stimulating scent of a hard working male I've ever run across.

"Admit what?" His voice was husky, and Blair thought he detected a faint amusement.

"That it's a little farfetched."

Ellison shrugged again, and Blair tried not to be mesmerized by the play of muscle beneath smooth skin. "Maybe so, but that's just how it is." His eyes narrowed. He leaned another inch or two closer, and Blair saw his nostrils flare again. For just the briefest second, his teeth flashed in a smile that was not polite and civilized. "You'd be surprised what I can smell."

Blair actually felt himself starting to get hard. I've got to get out of here fast if I don't want to have this gentleman wiping the floor with me. Thank God I chose the loose trousers. He started to back toward the door. "Well, thank you again. Please keep an ear out for someone who might get to a telegraph station and send that inquiry. I'd really like to get started."

Oh, Lord, he was following him out. "I'll do that. I hope this pans out. We need a doctor around here something fierce."

Blair nodded; unaware of the way it made the curls that had escaped his ribbon bounce and float about his face. "Yes, several people mentioned that. It's a shame, a nice little community like this."

He'd left his top hat at the wagon, and Jim watched the way the sunlight seemed to set sparks in his hair, then he looked away quickly, pretending to study a perfectly ordinary section of wall, as if contemplating whether or not it needed painting. "A man could make a good living around here."

"Yes, I'm sure. Well..." He didn't seem to think I was that odd outside of town. Maybe it's just seeing me surrounded by all these nice normal townsfolk. I guess in his position he can't be seen to be too friendly with anyone most people would consider strange.

"Would you like to sleep here tonight?"

Blair's mouth dropped open. It snapped shut when he realized Ellison was staring at him again. "Beg pardon?"

He gestured toward the back of the large room. "If you don't mind bars. I have a couple of cells complete with bunks, and they're empty right now. No reason why we couldn't leave the door open and let you have a bunk for the night. Or for as long as you like."

"I... well... That's nice of you. But I can't afford..."

Ellison cut him off. "Did I ask for money? I don't run a hotel, I just have spare space, and there's no reason why you shouldn't share it if you've a mind. Well?"

Blair stared at him. Finally he said quietly, "You don't know me, Constable. Do you trust me enough to take me into your home?"

"Well enough. I haven't noticed anything threatening about you, doctor. A little off the beaten path, yes, but not..." He cocked his head. "Antagonistic."

"I get along with the world as well as it will let me. Sometimes it hasn't been too friendly," Blair said honestly.

"Hopefully, you won't have that problem here. These are good people. We get some roughnecks through, but troublemakers are encouraged to leave." His eyes glinted. "Encouraged strongly. But I get the feeling you'd be an asset to the community, unless I hear differently from your Dean back in Boston. I'd be pleased if you'd stay with me."

Blair took a breath. He might regret it. Being close to this man and not showing that he found him sexually exciting wasn't going to be easy. But passing up the chance to be close to him proved to be impossible. "I'd appreciate that, constable."

"Jim."

Blair nodded. "Jim. I have to go tend to my patients."

"Come by when you're ready. I'll fix supper, no need for you to spend money at the restaurant."

Blair felt a twinge. It had been a long time since anyone had offered to take him into their home as a guest, not a boarder. "Thank you." He turned and hurried back up the street.

Jim leaned in the doorway for a moment, watching him retreat. Even when he hurried, there was a certain grace to his bouncing stride. The young man's voice had been almost a whisper when he said the last two words. He's lonely, like me. His eyes half closed, and his sex stirred as he remembered the musky scent that had first alerted him to Blair's presence. It had reached him even over the sharp metallic tang of the iron he was working and his own sweat. It was the unmistakable smell of male sexual arousal. And in the brief pause of his hammer strokes, he'd heard that soft, thudding pulse again, heard it speed up slightly, and had known exactly who he would find when he turned around. He was watching me and he smelled like sex.

Then, at the wagon, Jim saw the trio of giggling teenage girls milling around the medicine man. One of them reached out flirtatiously to touch the tiny gold hoop in his left ear, and Sandburg smiled at her. Catching her hand, he gave it a quick kiss before releasing it, which sent her and her friends into fresh paroxims of ecstasy. Jim felt a sinking sensation, and sighed. So, that was it. Stupid, Ellison. Good thing you saw that before you did something very stupid.

Blair managed to fend off the girls without being too obvious, but he felt relieved when they left in a swirl of skirts. Teenage girls made him nervous. They usually came with large, irate fathers or brothers. And I never do anything to provoke it. he thought with utter innocense. They're nice enough, I suppose, but they're not really what I want out of life. I'm interested in more mature partners. At that age they're just too... unformed.

Blair liked women. Hell, he loved them. But he was honest enough with himself to admit that he liked men a hell of a lot more. He supposed it might have had something to do with his upbringing. It had been so unsettled, so unsure, that he couldn't help but be drawn to strength. Not brutish strength, though. That was disgusting, and frightening.

No, what really drew Blair, what really quickened his heart and heated his blood, was a man that was strong enough to be gentle. One who took the time to be considerate of others when his greater strength would have allowed him to trample feelings and sensibilities.

As he handed the proper bottle to the man who had the boil coming up in an embarrassing spot, and warned him sternly to rub, not drink, he found his gaze wandering back to the smithy. Ellison was still in the doorway, looking up the street toward him. Even at this distance, Blair could see the blue of his eyes.

But his face was a mask, bland and blank. He turned and went back into the dusky room. Just frontier hospitality, he thought sadly. Or maybe civic duty. He may be hoping to persuade me to stay around a little longer.

Blair thought again of the way those tight jeans had hugged Ellison's lower body, presenting his buttocks as two near perfect globes. Actually, it might be a good thing to stay around, for a little while at least...

Part Five

Rafe at the stables turned out to be a very amiable man, and Blair parted with a few of the coins that he'd collected for his show, making payment for the care of his team rather than running an account. It left him with precious little cash, but he had the promise of room and board himself with the town constable, and he could afford to stretch his finances a bit.

Rafe was also a handsome man, Blair noted. But after a few minutes of pleasant conversation Blair had decided that he wouldn't be seeking a bed companion here. He could always be wrong, but there just wasn't any sense of attraction from Rafe, no interest beyond the kind that always seemed to result when Blair met someone. He knew that these people considered him strange and colorful, and he tried not to confuse interest with attraction.

His animals seen to, Blair took a short tour around Cascade, getting a feel for the place. Like most towns in this part of the northwest, there wasn't much to see--yet. But everything was built solid, meant to last. Nothing had been thrown up in the hasty, lackadaisical way that characterized a lot of frontier boomtowns. The people of this township intended for it to grow, they weren't here just following a gold or silver strike like some of the Colorado and California towns he'd passed through. Blair had a feeling that many of them would be nothing but rotting shells in the next twenty years, but Cascade... Well, Cascade was like a sturdy oak sapling in a stand of brush: you just knew it was going to outgrow and outlive all that was around it.

The golden light of evening was starting to give way to the lavender of dusk when he came back to the main street. He briefly considered one of the saloons, but decided he wanted a better feel for the place before he ventured into one of those establishments. So far the community seemed fairly tolerant of his eccentricities, even amused, and intrigued, but that attitude did not necessarily extend to the denizens of the rougher establishments.

Instead he went to the general store, glad to see that the OPEN sign still rested in the front window. There were no other customers, most of the townsfolk were at home preparing supper or readying children for bed by now. The only occupant was a strikingly handsome woman behind the counter. Blair might not be tempted to bed women very often, but he appreciated beauty in all its many forms, and this was a beautiful woman. Especially when she gave him a wide, friendly smile. She had a distinct accent when she spoke. "Well, you'd be the new sawbones the girlies have been twittering about."

Blair swept her a courtly bow. "One and the same. Dr. Blair Sandburg, at your service. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"

She sketched a curtsy that was good-naturedly mocking. "Megan Connor, if it please you, sir." Her cheeky grin said and even if it doesn't please you.

He returned the smile. "You're a long way from the outback, ma'am."

She looked surprised. "Well, bless me! You're the first one to get it right, mate. Most of 'em figure me for a Brit. How did you know?"

He shrugged. "I spent some time down under when I was in my early teens. Learned a few things from the aboriginal wise men about herbs and such. What brought you to Cascade?"

"I could ask you the same."

"You could, but I asked first."

She shrugged. "My husband had a dream." She waved her hands around. "This was it. Not a bad dream, as dreams go, but he didn't live to enjoy it. He passed on last year. I suppose I could have sold and moved back to stay with my mum and dad but I rather like being independent. Now you."

"What brought me to Cascade? Naomi and Burton." She looked puzzled. "My mules." When she made a clucking sound he relented. "Not much of a story, really. I'm just looking for a place to settle down, somewhere I'm needed, and accepted for who I am, not who I might be or could be."

Megan nodded. "You might find it here. They've accepted me, and I suppose you know how a single business woman is usually thought of."

Blair knew. Widows had it a bit better than spinsters, but any woman not living under the direct care of a man was suspect. More than one woman, left alone by the death of a husband or parent, had felt compelled to seek a 'protector', a man who would defend them from predation. "Have you had much trouble here?"

She shrugged. "A few of the rougher men tried to get funny a time or two, but Constable Ellison put a stop to that quick enough." She grinned. "Laid the fear of God into them. Or rather the fear of his fists."

There was open admiration in the woman's voice, and Blair felt his heart sink. The widow obviously was interested in Ellison. Well, Blair couldn't blame her, but it did sort of quash any faint hopes he'd been harboring. "Yes, he seems like quite a man. Speaking of him, he's letting me stay in the lock-up for a bit, and I'd like to give him a thank-you present." He pursed his lips, then said in a resigned voice, "A bottle of whiskey would do."

"I have that," Megan agreed. "But you don't sound too enthused. Was there anything else you'd rather have?"

"Well, I would have preferred a bottle of wine."

"Red or white?"

Blair regarded her in surprised. "I'm not sure. I don't know what he's fixing."

She shrugged. "I'd say red, then. It's most likely meat, as the fishing hasn't been too bountiful in this heat. Just wait."

She came around the counter and went to a large iron ring set in a panel in the floor, one that Blair hadn't noticed. When she stooped to it, he sprang to her side. "Here, allow me." He lifted, straining a little. She must be sturdier than she looks if she does this by herself.

There was a short flight of steps, and Megan went down them. Blair saw that she had to duck her head to move off into the space that was at the bottom. He heard a few clinks, and a moment later she was climbing back up, a dusty, greenish bottle in her hand. As he shut the door, she displayed it to him. "A nice little burgundy, not quite five years old. I can let you have it at a reasonable rate." She sighed. "It just doesn't sell well around here. A bit too refined for most of the population's tastes."

Blair took the bottle, examining it. "Oh, I've had a vintage from this vineyard before. They're good." Now it was Megan's turn to look surprised. "I spent my fifteenth summer in Paris," he explained. "They let the children have wine quite young over there." He smiled fondly. "Well, my mother did, anyway. I'd like this, but I may not have the full price."

She waved her hand. "No need to pay now. If Jim trusts you enough to have you in his home, then I can trust you for the price of the wine. Besides, what's the point of having the only wine cellar in the region if no one ever drinks any of it?"

Blair left the store feeling an odd combination of elation and depression. He felt that he'd made a new friend, but the man he was finding increasingly erotic apparently found that new friend attractive.

The wide double doors had been closed, shutting out the evening, and Blair went instead to the simple front door near the side of the building. He knocked and waited, thinking Oh, well, I can enjoy his company. Surely it's possible for me to just be friends with him? The door opened and Ellison stood there, smiling down at him. Blair's heart rose into his throat. Or maybe not.

For a moment the two men just looked at each other. Jim broke the silence first. Stepping back he said, "Don't just clutter up my doorstep, Chief. Come on in."

Blair accepted the invitation. As Jim was shutting the door, Blair said, "I meant to ask you, why do you call me Chief?"

"Well, I've only seen two other men in my life who had hair as long as yours. One of them was an Indian, and one was a Chinaman, and you just don't look like a Fong to me." Blair laughed. He hadn't often found a good sense of humor in such a big man: usually they took themselves much too seriously. Ellison smiled at his amusement. "Where's your dog? He's welcome to stay, too."

"Maybe later. This first night he's sleeping in the wagon, as a precautionary measure. He may look like a clown, but he's very protective of his territory."

Jim frowned. "I can't have a biting dog in town."

"As long as they stay out of my wagon, they have nothing to worry about. A man is allowed to protect his property, isn't he?"

Jim nodded. "When you put it like that..." He pointed at the bottle of wine. "What's this?"

Blair handed it to him. "My contribution to supper. I was quite amazed to find out that Cascade boasts a genuine wine cellar."

Jim studied the bottle, wiping a bit of dust off the glass. "Oh, you've met Megan, then." His voice was casual.

He heard Sandburg's heart rate pick up at the mention of the Australian woman's name, and his spirits sank, then sank a little lower when Blair said, "Yes, I have. A charming woman."

Jim's senses told him that Blair's pulse raised again when he replied, "Yes, very pretty," but they didn't tell him it was because the younger man ached, thinking that he heard a special interest in Jim's voice. "Come on back to the kitchen. Supper is almost ready."

He led Sandburg back through the front room, which wouldn't have looked out of place in a genteel home in Boston, to a cozy kitchen. Blair was amazed at the cleanliness of his surroundings. He'd never yet known a bachelor to be so careful of his living space and it made him suspicious. As he sat at the table and Jim went to stir a pot bubbling on the wood burning stove he said casually, "The place is nice. Who does for you?"

"Hm?" Jim was getting bowls and glasses out of a cabinet.

"Who does for you? Takes care of the place."

Jim rummaged in a drawer for spoons. "I do it myself."

Blair sat up a little straighter. "You're joking." A questioning glance made him continue, "I mean... it's so neat."

Jim set the table. "A place for everything, and everything in its place. I have Mrs. Remington do my laundry, but the rest of it I do myself." He shrugged. "Living alone, it isn't such a hardship. I was in the army for almost ten years, and then Carolyn wasn't much for housework. I'm used to it."

"Carolyn?"

"My wife," he said shortly.

Blair was curious, but he bit back the inquiries that swirled through his mind. There was no wife in evidence now; ergo there was no wife. Why there was no wife could wait for another time. The subject obviously made Jim uncomfortable, so he would leave it for the present. "If you have a corkscrew, I'll open the wine. It should breathe for a couple of minutes."

There was, of course, a corkscrew. Jim handed it over and watched as Blair carefully twisted it into the cork, then began the painstaking process of working out the recalcitrant plug, wiggling the bottle minutely while exerting a steady pull. "Why don't you just jerk it out?"

"And have the sediment mix in with the wine? I don't think so." He worked a little more, and again Jim admired the graceful strength of those hands. Finally the cork pulled free with a subdued pop, and Blair grinned in triumph, setting the bottle on the table. "There. How much longer for the food?"

"Oh," Jim stirred the pot thoughtfully. "Say, another ten minutes. I want to be sure the carrots are done."

"Can I have a taste?" It smelled good, and Blair's stomach gave an interested growl.

Jim chuckled. "It's just stew, but sure." He dipped up a small spoonful and offered it to the younger man.

Blair started to lean forward to taste it, then noticed the steam wafting up. He took hold of Ellison's wrist, bent a little closer, and blew on the stew to cool it. Jim froze when the slim, firm fingers closed around his wrist. He watched as the generous mouth pursed, and felt the cool breath wafting across his skin. The tiny hairs on his forearm prickled at the sensation. Dark lashes drifted down as Sandburg took the spoon in his mouth, concentrating utterly on the food. Then the eyebrows went up, and he pulled back, smacking his lips thoughtfully. "Something wrong?"

"Um, no, not really. It's just a tad... bland."

Jim rubbed his forehead. "Damn! I forgot. Look, I have salt and pepper, but I generally don't use them much in my food."

Blair cocked his head. "So the heightened senses extend to taste, too?"

Jim dropped the spoon in a dishpan set in the sink, sighing. "Yeah. Too much of anything and my belly rebels. There's been times when I could hardly keep down enough to keep body and soul together."

"Hm. Would you be willing to let me try a little something? I think I might be able to put some flavor in that without it necessarily grating on your senses."

"Chief, I'm willing to try almost anything."

Again the dark brows rose. "That's nice to know. I'll be right back." He bustled out; on his way back to his wagon Jim assumed. When he was gone, Jim tasted the stew again, making a face. Bland was too nice a word. Tasteless was more accurate.

Sandburg returned quickly, carrying several twists of paper. He shook mysterious powders into the stew, and dropped in what looked like a leaf, then stirred it. "Now, we just let that simmer so the flavors can meld."

"What was that you put in it?"

Blair looked at him impishly. "Well, I could be all mysterious, and go on about secret family recipes. The truth is that my mother felt hard used if she had to boil an egg, and it's just something else I picked up in self-defense. It's a little basil, thyme, powdered garlic, dried chives, and a bay leaf. Oh, and I almost forgot the most important thing!" He took the wine bottle and poured a health slug into the stew.

"Hey! I thought we were going to drink that."

"We are. But you now have boeuf bourgingoin, rather than simple stew. Trust me on this."

"If you say so," Jim said doubtfully. "Has that stuff panted enough now? I could use a drink."

"I suppose so." Blair poured wine into both the glasses; careful not to let any of the sediment get out. Putting aside the bottle, he lifted his glass. "What shall we toast?"

Jim stopped, the glass halfway to his lips, and smiled at the smaller man. "A toast, eh? I've only done that once, when my brother Steven was married."

"Go on," Blair urges. "You're the host."

"All right." Jim thought for a moment, studying the young man sitting beside him. At last he lifted his glass toward Blair, "How about 'To new friendships'?"

Blair's smile grew a little broader. "That's as fine a sentiment as I've ever heard." He touched his glass to Jim's. "To new friendships." They both drank, watching each other over the rims of their glasses. There was silence for a moment, then Jim cleared his throat and went to stir the stew again. Blair watched him as he moved about, doing useless things, and the smile lingered about his lips. Yes, to friendship. He liked this man. Even if he never got him into bed, he wanted to know him. "So, Jim. I expect you've been here since the town was founded, eh?"

"Mm, no, not really." He leaned back against the cabinet, sipping his wine, brow wrinkled. "I guess it's been about six years since it went from being a handful of buildings to a town, and I've been here about three."

"Really? That surprises me. Your roots seem to be sunk pretty deep. I mean, the way everyone treats you..." His voice trailed off. He wasn't exactly sure what he wanted to say, or how to say it, and that was unusual for Blair.

"I know. This is home. Sometime you know quickly. You come to a place, look around, and know that's where you want to spend the rest of your life. Kind of like with people. You can know someone forever and never feel close to them, then you can meet someone else and it's like you've known them forever."

There was another silence. Both of the men sensed something unusual, some current running beneath their words. But neither was sure of what the other thought or felt, so neither was willing to take it any farther. Still, the silence was not uncomfortable, as it should have been. Finally Jim said, "I think it's ready now."

"Good!" Blair jumped up, bringing both of the bowls to the stove. "My belly thinks my throat has been cut."

"Well, I just hope it doesn't wish that it had been after you get a taste of this."

"Oh, I'll have to take at least half of either the blame or the credit, you know, after tossing in my magic spices." They sat at the table and dipped up a spoonful at almost the same time.

Jim sat back with a low whistle, then grinned at Blair. "I'd almost forgotten how good food could taste."

Blair sampled his stew, then nodded. "Not bad, if I do say so myself."

Jim ate hungrily, then went back for seconds. "Better than not bad. I can't remember the last time I actually wanted a second helping of anything. If you need to supplement your income, I could hire you as my cook."

"You couldn't afford me." Blair joked. "But I'll be happy to do my share of the cooking while I'm here, and I'll show you a few tricks so you can do it yourself when I'm gone."

Jim had been in the process of pouring himself more wine, and he set the bottle down with enough of a thump to make Blair blink. Jim saw his questioning look, and shrugged. "You just arrived. You may like the town enough to stay for awhile."

"I might. I'll admit that I've been looking for a place to settle."

"We need a real doctor around here."

"But you're not sure I'm a real doctor."

Jim flushed a little. "I'm sorry if you feel I'm being too suspicious, but..."

"No, not at all. I can understand. You obviously care about your fellow citizens and take your responsibility seriously. I just want to get someone to Lansdale to contact my college so I can set your mind at ease."

"I think Simon Banks will be in sometime tomorrow to check on the progress of his wheels. He usually rides on to Lansdale this time of the week to take the mail in to the post office. I'm sure he'll be willing to send the message then and pick up the reply in a couple of days."

"Good. But I already have people who want to consult with me. What will I tell them?"

Jim frowned. If Sandburg was legitimate, (and he had a gut feeling that he was, despite his odd appearance and free manners), then Jim didn't want to deny people his services. He said slowly, "There's no reason why you can't see them, talk to them. I'll still need to check anything you prescribe, and I'd rather you didn't do any major procedures or operations."

"That sounds fair. But I'll warn you in advance, Constable." His voice was serious, formal. "If I run into an emergency, or a condition that will worsen with waiting, I WILL treat them. You may run me out of town afterward if you feel it necessary, but I've sworn to heal people whenever I can. I CAN'T see someone suffering and do nothing."

Jim fidgeted. He didn't like that officious tone: it felt too distancing. "If it's an emergency, I won't object. Hell, you couldn't do any worse than anyone else around here, and you'd probably do a lot better." Blair relaxed again, and Jim felt relieved. The last thing he wanted was to alienate this man. On the contrary, he wanted very much to know him better.

They talked some more over the last of the wine. Jim was fascinated. Blair seemed to have been everywhere and seen everything. Things that were just rumors and myths to Jim were facts to Blair. He spoke of a huge winged lion in Egypt, made of stone, and with the crumbling face of a man. When he told of the huge wall in China that ran for hundreds of miles and was wide enough for two good-sized wagons to pass each other on its top, Jim could almost see it.

Blair insisted on helping him wash the few dishes, and they worked together, still talking. As he was folding his towel, Blair said, "Your turn now. I've told you a good bit of my life, time for you to tell me about yours."

Jim opened the back door and threw the dishwater out. When he closed the door and turned back to Blair, his expression was closed. "Maybe some other time, Chief. It's late now, and I need to get to bed. I want to work on those wheel rims a bit more before Simon gets here, so I can show him that I haven't been slacking off."

"Oh. All right." What would a small town constable have that he wanted to keep secret, Blair thought as Jim got sheets and a blanket out of a closet. He lit a lamp and led Blair out to the large attached room.

The two cells were set in the back corner, side by side so that the one in the corner had two solid walls and the other had one. Other than that there were bars: sturdy, thick iron bars. Jim indicated them. "A little grim looking, I know, but you won't have the door locked against you. Pick either one."

Blair chose the second cell, the one that was closest to Ellison's living quarters and most open, and stepped inside. There was a relatively decent cot. He nodded in satisfaction. "Much better than some of the places I've slept." Blair turned, and almost bumped into Jim. The other man had followed him into the cell so quietly that Blair hadn't an inkling he was so close. Jim didn't say anything, just setting the lamp on a shelf, but Blair went on, "And before you ask, yes, I have seen the inside of a jail cell or two. I won't bore you with details, but I've never stolen and I've never hurt anyone who didn't try to hurt me first."

"I wasn't going to ask," Jim said quietly, looking down at the younger man.

Blair looked back at him, and went to the door of the cell, putting his hand on the bars. "Thank you for that."

Jim shrugged. "I try not to judge people until I know them. Until they show me something of themselves."

"But you do judge."

Jim's tone was matter-of-fact. "I have to. It's what I do."

Blair studied him. "Yes, I suppose so."

"Well..." Jim shifted again, awkwardly. "If..." He stopped abruptly, then slipped past Blair, exiting the tiny cell.

He moved so close that his sleeve brushed Blair's hand, there on the doorframe, and Blair found himself shivering. Blair said, "Wait!" Ellison turned back, his gaze questioning, and suddenly Blair had no idea what he was going to say. He gestured helplessly at the lamp. "Hadn't you better take that with you? If you fall in the dark, I'd end up having to treat you and I'd rather like some time off right now."

"I don't need it, Chief."

"You know your place so well?"

"Something like that. Sleep well."

"You, too." He watched Ellison walk back to the entrance to his little home, but lost sight of him in the gloom till he opened the door, spilling golden light out into the darkness. He arrived there so quickly that it was clear that there had been no hesitation in his pace. Blair shook his head. It must be wonderful to be so familiar with a place that you could move in it that confidently.

Part Six

Blair finished making up the cot, then stripped off his clothes, down to his linen drawers and blew out the lamp. He slid between the sheets and punched up the pillow, trying to settle down. After a moment he sighed, stood back up, and removed the drawers before getting back in bed. It's just too damn hot to sleep with anything next to my skin.

Even the sheet was too much, and he soon kicked it off. That was better, at least tolerable. He'd just have to remember to pull the sheet back up some time later. It had been a long time since he'd had to worry about that. Between towns he slept out under the stars, and Naomi, Burton, and Darwin didn't give a damn if he was nude or not.

Blair tossed and turned, and finally sighed. Admit it, Sandburg. You're not hot just because it's summertime. You're hot because of that gorgeous man sleeping a couple of rooms away. His hand rose to his chest, idly brushing through the crisp curls. His fingers came to the small golden ring that pierced his left nipple, and he tugged at it gently. It stayed half-erect, but now with the physical stimulation, it quickly hardened all the way.

Blair groaned. Damn. I wasn't going to touch myself tonight. But his other hand had come up, and now he was toying with his other nipple, teasing it, also. In moments it was a firm peak, and he pinched both of them, drawing his breath in with a sharp hiss as sparks of pleasure lanced down to fan the heat that was building in his crotch.

Oh, hell, why not? This room is huge, any noise will get lost in it, and there are three or four walls between us. It's not like he's going to know...

Jim Ellison was sitting on the edge of his bed in the dark, staring at nothing in particular. In cooler weather he slept in his long johns. In the summer heat, like tonight, he wore a nightshirt. Not that he wanted to: he thought they were rather ridiculous things, actually. But he had to wear something, in case there was an emergency he had to attend to as constable, and at least with the nightshirt he could catch a breeze occasionally.

I should go to sleep. I have to get up early tomorrow, like I told Sandburg, and I shouldn't have thought of Sandburg, because he's why I can't go to sleep. Why doesn't he just settle down? A tiny voice in the corner of his mind said You could try just ignoring him. Sometimes it works. But there wasn't any way he could do that. His senses seemed to be focusing in on the young man on the far side of the building without any conscious effort.

He'd heard the rustling of cloth that meant first that he was spreading his covers, then that he was removing his clothes. Two thumps heralded the removal of his shoes, and another rasp of cloth said he'd gotten in bed. He was puzzled when there was more rustling. It was almost as if he were removing more clothes, and the sound of him sliding between the sheets again had a different tone. With a flush of heat, Jim realized that he'd removed the last of his clothing and gotten back into bed naked.

For a few moments he was still. Jim concentrated harder, finding the slow, soft thump of his heartbeat, letting it wash over him. It sped up a little, and he wondered if he was asleep and dreaming? But his breathing had never entered the steady rhythm that Jim associated with slumber.

There was a soft exhalation, a sigh, then a groan and a hiss. Jim sat straighter, alert, focusing fiercely on gleaning every scrap of information he could. If Sandburg was in any kind of distress, he wanted to know about it, and offer help. Then a faint, musky aroma drifted to him, and he relaxed, smiling. Pheromones. The groan and sigh took on a new significance now.

Well, now. Someone's feeling a little randy. Jim knew that he should lie down, put a pillow over his head, and try to sleep. The man out in the cell obviously thought that he had a reasonable amount of privacy. He knew that Jim's senses were acute, but Jim doubted that he'd be so self-amorous if he knew that they were attuned to the point where Blair's actions were almost as clear as if he were on the other side of the bed. He should try to ignore what was happening out there in the hot darkness. Looking down at the way his nightshirt was beginning to tent in front, he knew that he wasn't going to do that.

Out in the cell, Blair let his hands slide down his torso, over his ribs to his abdomen. His eyes closed, he imagined that it was not his own hands making that erotic journey. Instead he thought of large, square hands, hard and a little rough from swinging a heavy sledgehammer against heated metal.

He skimmed over his hips, then moved to rub his thighs, carefully avoiding the erection that was angling up against his belly. There was no rush: he could take all the time he liked with this fantasy. He spread his legs and let his hands slip around, rubbing and pinching the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. His cock head was leaking a small puddle of pre-come on his belly by now.

Blair swirled his fingers in the warm, slippery wetness, then lifted them to his face and sniffed delicately, smelling his own desire. Would Jim smell differently? Would he ever have a chance to find out?

In his room, Jim closed his eyes. The smell of Sandburg's heat and musk was thick, intoxicating. With an impatient motion he jerked his nightshirt over his head, reached down, and gripped the thick erection that jutted hungrily from his loins. It's been so long.

Jim didn't frequent the bawdyhouse outside of town, and the reputations of single women in small towns were too easily damaged to trifle with them. His only outlet the last few years had been his own hands and the occasionally 'lady adventurer' who drifted through town on her way to richer pickings. He hadn't had sex in over three months, and that time had been about as enjoyable as blowing his nose. And now, to have a dream only a few yards away...

Blair's heartbeat sped up, and his breathing became deeper, more ragged. The sliding sound of skin-on-skin increased. Oh, Lord. He's doing it. He's touching himself. Unable to resist, Jim began to masturbate, imagining smaller, more elegant hands, with smooth, strong fingers.

In his minds eye he saw the sturdy, yet graceful, body sprawled naked in wanton abandon. He imagined Sandburg lifting and opening his legs, bending his knees, presenting himself for Jim's delectation. Jim moaned as he contemplated the shadowy crease of Sandburg's firm, white ass, and his hands sped up. God, it's a good thing his hearing and smell aren't as good as mine. If he knew what I was doing... what I was thinking, he'd run like a rabbit.

Blair rolled on his side on the cot. One hand never stilling on his cock, he reached behind himself with the other. His fingers slipped into the crack of his ass and he found the pucker that marked the opening to his body. He rubbed around it with one finger that was slick with his body's juices, then pushed slowly inside. The momentary ache drew a whine from him that quickly changed to pleasure as he moved the finger in and out slowly. Once his body had adjusted, he began to pump strongly, matching the movements to the strokes of his hand on his shaft.

His lips moved, forming words without sound. More. God, please. Fuck me, Jim! Fuck me hard. If he had even whispered these words things might have been very different in the next few days. Time would have been spared, misunderstandings avoided. But it was only thought and motion, no sound.

His orgasm struck, making his balls and his ass clench. He whimpered. In the bedroom on the other side of the building, Ellison heard the soft cry, smelled the ripe, somehow spicy scent of Sandburg's sperm, and came. His utterance was more of a growl and the spasms that racked him were so sweet that they were near pain.

He sat panting, listening to the racing heartbeat slow again to a steady bump, the breathing smooth out. There was the rustle of a body turning, then nothing except the minute sounds of a man who was in the grips of a deep, satisfied sleep.

Jim rubbed his hands over his face, then finally lay down. I ought to ask around and see if there's someone in town who can give him board. I ought to, but I'm not going to. He'll move out soon enough, and maybe he'll move on. I want him to stay as close as possible for as long as possible. It won't be much, but maybe it will be enough.

Out in the cell, Blair drifted off into a peaceful sleep, and the dream came again. He'd been having the dream for a long time, since he was a small child, and only recently had he come to peace with it.

He was moving through a thick growing forest, pushing his way through brush and high grass. The significant thing was that he was doing so on all fours. Blair had realized a few years back that, in this dream, he wasn't human. Once he had come to that conclusion, it became less disorienting.

He'd even recently become aware of just what he was. In one nocturnal rambling he'd found a small, silvered pond and bent to lap cool water. Gazing into the smooth surface he had seen the reflection of the moon... and his own face. He was a wolf, a blue eyed wolf. It hadn't been so hard to accept. Many of the cultures he'd become acquainted with believed in animal spirits. Blair just assumed that he had found his own, personal spirit, and it was lupine.

It visited him again tonight, and it seemed to have a purpose. This time he was not the wolf, but he walked beside it, naked, through the forest. It led him to a small clearing and crouched at its edge, looking up at him with a whine.

Blair looked. There, under the silver moonlight, two figures slept on the ground. He stepped out, going closer. Dark and light seemed interwoven. As he got closer he saw that one of the figures was human, and the other was feline, so dark that it seemed to melt into the shadows on the ground.

Finally he was close enough to see clearly. It was a great black panther and a naked man, sleeping together. Massive black paws lay against pale skin, and Blair almost winced, imagining how easy it would be for dagger claws to spring out and rip bloody furrows.

But the great cat opened its eyes and regarded him calmly. Blair froze. Instead of the green or gold he had expected, the jaguar had blue eyes, eyes that looked very familiar.

The jaguar yawned, lips wrinkling back from ivory fangs, whiskers bristling, and looked at Blair again. You have been a long time coming.

Blair felt the brush of fur against his leg and looked down to see the wolf sitting by his feet. They're stubborn, these humans.

I know. The jaguar gave the hair of the man sleeping between his forepaws a rough, affectionate lick. He never stirred. You see? His mate has arrived, and still he sleeps.

Blair looked more closely. It was Jim. Of course it's Jim. Who else would it be?

Hesitantly, Blair knelt down. He reached out and touched Jim's shoulder. The skin was warm, and smooth. I've never had such a vivid dream.

The wolf went to lay beside the jaguar, resting his head on the big cat's furry side. I'm afraid mine isn't any more alert. He still thinks that he's making all this up in his own mind.

You might be civil enough to talk to me, Blair complained.

The blue eyes of the cat regarded him. We talk to you all the time, cub. You just have to listen. In any case, there's nothing to be done right now. It's enough that you've found each other. The rest will follow. Now sleep.

Blair lay down beside Jim, moving close to him. But I'm sleeping now.

The scene was fading into the darkness of deep sleep, and he heard the wolf's voice, amused, as he fell into it. Whatever you say.

***

Blair got up early, pulling on his drawers and going out into the large room to sluice himself off at the large cooling tub. He was drying himself off when Ellison opened the door from his quarters. "You're always wet when I see you."

"In this heat, it's hard to resist."

"Come on in when you're done. Breakfast is almost ready."

"I get breakfast, too? My, this is better service than any hotel I've ever stayed at. I won't be but a minute."

Jim watched him as he returned to the cell, studying the flow of muscles in his strong, hairy legs. His hair was loose again, trickling almost to the middle of his back in a thick mass. He's going to comb it, or brush it, work the sleep snarls out of it. It would be easier for him if someone else did it. I bet it feels like silk. Jim contemplated this. He could almost feel the smooth slide of the hair, feel it tickling his palm as he stroked it, following the path of a comb as he pulled it gently through the auburn mass, coaxing out tangles. "I wonder if this is what it's like to get foolish in you're old age."

A little later Sandburg came into the kitchen, buttoning his shirt. "You know, it's so hot that I'm even foreswearing flannel for the time being. That's unusual for me."

"Cold natured?" Jim put a plate of eggs and bacon before him and went to pour coffee.

"I'm afraid so. The least bit of chill and I want to wrap myself up tight in several layers of blankets." He started on his food. "Preferably with someone else to share body heat."

Jim almost choked on a sip of coffee. "You're a... an open sort of person, aren't you, Sandburg?"

He munched, returning a steady gaze. "I never pretend to be what I'm not, and I'm not a monk. Of course, traveling as much as I do, it's made such things a bit difficult at times. That would be one advantage to settling down. I'd like to find a mate."

Jim cleared his throat. I have to promote Cascade for all it's worth and try to get him to stay. I have to try to avoid thinking of him mating with anyone. Anyone else, anyway. "Well, that could happen here."

"Could it?" Maybe I'm not ready to tell you what I've been thinking about you, Mr. Ellison, but I may as well let you know how things stand with me. I at least need to know how you feel about men being together. Then I'll know whether I should run, or whether there's a chance.

"Sure. There are a number of nice single women in town and on the farms roundabout. And if you aren't interested in settling with one right away, there's..." He trailed off.

He's blushing. Good lord. "There's what?"

"Well, there's a few women outside of town who are no better than they should be."

"Prostitutes?" Jim winced at the bald term, but Blair, usually so in love with words, had little patience with euphemisms about such things. "No, I don't think so. I don't believe in putting a price on anything so intimate."

The blush had faded and Ellison's expression was cynical. "For them, it's hardly intimate." Blair was a little surprised that the man, who seemed so literal, could make the distinction between physical and emotional intimacy when many more 'sophisticated' people could not. "But it is for me. I do not buy, neither do I sell. But now that you've mentioned them, I should make a point of trying to talk them into consulting with me. Ladies in such professions have a wide range of problems that need to be addressed. Now," Blair used a bit of bread to wipe up the last of the yolk on his plate, then popped it into his mouth. "You've apprized me of the single woman situation. What about single men?"

"I'm afraid you'll have a bit of competition. There are more married men than there have been, but there are still a good number who are looking."

"That wasn't what I meant."

Ellison looked mildly puzzled. "No? What did you mean?"

"I meant are there any single men in town that might be looking for other single men?"

This time he didn't blush: he went pale. After a moment he said quietly, "Not that I know of, but I could be wrong. Are you saying that you... like men?"

"Yes. I like women, too, but I prefer men. Is this a problem for you?"

"I... no, I don't think so. I'm just a little surprised. It's not something people generally discuss when they've known each other only a day."

Unless they want to sleep with that person. "I figured since you were being kind enough to let me stay here, I'd better be up front with you. And I wanted to assure you that I'll be discreet. I know this isn't something most people are comfortable with, so I don't flaunt my preferences."

"Like I said, I don't have any problems with it. I just ask that you don't bring anyone here. But then, I'd ask the same concerning women." And I don't think I'd be able to stay sane if you were with someone else here. Because I'd know, and with these damn senses it would be like watching you make love with them.

"That goes without saying." I believe that's our problem, here. I believe there's a great deal going unsaid, but it's too soon to push, so I'll just leave it alone. Blair got up and took his plate to the sink, dropping it in the pan of warm, soapy water that was waiting, and beginning to wash it. "I don't abuse the hospitality that's offered me. If I find anyone to spend some time with, I'll arrange for it to be somewhere else."

Jim wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he treated it like a lot of things in his life that troubled or confused him: he decided to ignore it. He pushed away from the table, saying, "I have to get to work on those wheel rims. Simon will be in sometime soon and I want to be able to show progress. I'll be sure to get him to send that message."

"Good, good." Blair wiped his hands dry, and went to Jim, digging in his pocket. He pulled out a small handful of coins and stirred them with his finger. "How much do you suppose the wire will cost?"

"You don't have to do that, Chief. I'll stand for the wire. I consider it a civic action."

"Nonsense. I pay my own way, Constable. There's only been one period in my life when I accepted what could even remotely be considered charity, and I didn't do that for myself." He chose two silver dollars and offered them, but Jim refused to take them. Shaking his head, Sandburg caught Jim's wrist, pulling his hand toward him. "You're a stubborn man, Jim Ellison." He pressed the coins firmly into Jim's palm and folded his fingers around them, holding Jim's hand closed with his own. "Take them. Please don't turn this into a silly contest of wills."

Again those hands, those strong but gentle hands. Yes, they were the hands of a healer--or a lover. Jim said, a little roughly, "All right." Blair gave his hand a tiny squeeze before letting go. Needing to say something, anything, Jim said, "There's left over stew, if you think your dog would like it."

Sudden change of subject. Interesting. "I'll tell him it's from you. You'll have a friend for life."

Darwin was, indeed, grateful. Blair sat in the wagon, watching as he cleaned the dish thoroughly, taking a moment or two to make sure that he couldn't remove the pattern of flowers painted on the bottom, then sat back with a replete sigh. "Good?" Blair scratched a spot on his chest, and his hind leg thumped ecstatically. "You know, Darwin, you're living proof that one part of the body can be affected by stimulation of another. That sumptuous meal was courtesy of my temporary landlord, Mr. Ellison."

The dog burped. "I'll tell him you said thank you. So, Darwin, you've met him. What do you think?" The dog whined. "My sentiments exactly. Very nice. The question is, would he be interested, or would he thrash my tail clear back to Boston?" The dog yipped. "Yes, I think he could. Well, time will tell. Do you think you'd like to stay here for awhile? Maybe more than awhile?"

Darwin yawned and settled down, head on his paws. In just a moment, he snored. "I'll take that as a yes." Blair got down out of the wagon and looked up and down main street, considering. He'd just more or less looked around the day before. Today would be a good day to make a closer inspection of the town, and begin introducing himself formally, then perhaps another small show in the afternoon, when more people were in town.

It was a quiet morning. All the business people Blair visited were more than happy to take a little time to chat with the interesting young man. Everyone knew he was in town (that was one thing about small communities that could be both a blessing and a curse), and were curious. He graciously turned down numerous cups of coffee and tea, getting curious looks when he said something about too many stimulants not being good for the health. In compensation he accepted, at various establishments, ginger snaps, sugar cookies, pound cake, and a rather spectacular piece of fudge. He reflected that if he did settle in Cascade, he'd have to take up an exercise regime.

By the time he felt as if he'd made enough progress for the day it was noon. He decided to make one last stop: at one of the town's saloons. He might be holding off on caffeine, but the idea of a beer was very tempting in this heat. He chose a saloon that looked a little more respectable than some of the others, but not so respectable that he thought his long hair would be an obstacle, and stepped into the dim interior.

Part Seven

Garret Kincaid was spending the day in town. He often did this. He knew many men would have been skeptical if he had mentioned the fact that being surrounded by women all the time could be cloying, but it was. He just had to get out of the house sometimes and be around other men, men who weren't totally distracted by the prospect of getting some poontang.

Garret ran the local bawdyhouse. In a bigger town it might have been different. There would have been a steady stream of customers all day instead of the concentration in the evening and early night. No one wanted to pay extra to stay overnight, so the place was usually deserted again by midnight, or one o'clock.

He was there because things had gotten a little hot in Sacramento, and he felt it was prudent to lay low for a few years. But soon he planned to save up enough money to try his luck in San Francisco. There was real money to be made there. Just a few good girls to start with, and with his business sense he could build it into an empire, maybe even get into gambling and the opium trade. That was where the real money was.

Yes, just a couple of more years. What with the charges he laid on top of the cut he took from his girls, he'd have enough money by then. There was already a nice nest egg stashed in a deposit box in the Cascade bank. But in the meantime, my God this place was deadly dull. He'd been in New York and Boston and was used to a more cosmopolitan atmosphere. This town was provincial in the extreme. He had to work to keep the local bumpkins from realizing his contempt. These sturdy pioneers did not react well to disdain.

Not that there was anything wrong with sturdy pioneers, but they were a little tiresome if they were a steady diet. There was usually some farmhand or drover who was more interested in Garret than the girls, once they realized that Garret didn't mind the interest at all, but they were all so rough.

Garret sighed, staring morosely into his glass. When was the last time he'd been with someone who didn't have calluses like leather on his hands? Someone who didn't view the occasional flea as the natural order of things? Someone who didn't think that a boozed up saloon girl singing 'Oh, Dem Golden Slippers' was the height of cultural entertainment?

He heard the batwing doors creek, signaling the entry of another patron, and looked up, more out of habit than hope. Then he straightened alertly, interest immediately piqued by the figure that hesitated just inside the saloon.

He was on the smallish side, perhaps an inch or two shorted than Garret, and Kincaid was not a tall man. The first thing that caught his eye was the hair, all of it. He was turning his head, perusing the room, and Garret saw that the thick ponytail reached almost to the middle of his back. It was a rich red-brown, and even the flickering lamplight picked out glints in its depths. From the tendrils that he was pushing back from his face it was curly, too. Kincaid had an immediate image of what it would look like spread out across a pillow.

The face strengthened the first thought. A lively freshness about it drew you. The eyes that narrowed to peer through the near gloom were a dark blue, clear, and searching. He wasn't a boy: his sturdy body showed the musculature of a fully-grown man. But he was young, quite young. Young enough.

He came a few steps farther into the room and the dolt who tended bar finally noticed him. "Hidy, there. He'p you?"

The stranger broke into a smile that seemed to brighten the room as he walked toward the bar. "I certainly hope so."

As he walked past the table where Kincaid was lounging, the older man shifted in his seat so that he could watch him as he approached the bar. Oh, oh, oh. That ass was absolute perfection. This was someone he needed to get closer to. Much closer.

At the bar Blair offered his hand to the bartender. As they shook he said, "I'm Blair Sandburg, and I just arrived in your fair city yesterday. It's a charming town, but a bit sultry. I was wondering if it would be too early to get a draft of beer?"

Blair heard a soft laugh behind him, and turned at the sound. The man sitting at the table was in his early forties, sandy haired, dressed a little better than most of the townspeople he'd seen so far. His sack suit was well tailored, although a bit out of date. Blair had seen the most recent fashions when he passed through San Francisco, and it was understandable that they might be a little slow to reach this close to the wilderness.

"I said something amusing, sir?"

The man continued smiling. "I wasn't laughing at you, young man. It's just that the very idea of it ever being either too early or too late for a beer in this establishment is... Yes, it's amusing. Hollis, get our visitor a beer, and another one for me. Mr. Sandburg, if you'll join me, I'll be happy to spring for your libation."

"I couldn't possibly refuse such a kind invitation. Besides, though I haven't checked my theological guidelines too closely recently, I believe it is against my religion to turn down a free drink."

Blair waited while the bartender drew two glasses of rather thick looking, dark beer, then brought it over to the table and sat. Kincaid offered his hand, "Garret Kincaid, Mr. Sandburg. I had heard that there was a traveling medicine man in town but you're not what I expected."

Blair took a sip of the beer. "I'm very seldom what anyone expects." He licked a bit off foam off his upper lip, and Garret watched the flicker of the pink tongue with growing interest. "My, this is much better than I had hoped. I haven't had anything this good since I was in Hamburg."

"Very perceptive. The brewer is a German immigrant. We're lucky in that respect. Most spirits of any kind out here are slop."

"I don't know about that. I ran into a rather nice wine yesterday from a Miss Connors' wine cellar."

"Ah, yes. Miss Connors." Megan was a bit of a sore spot with Garret. He'd been hoping that her business would fail after her husband died. It would have made it easier to proposition her about joining his stable. That accent would have made her exotic enough to be very popular with the locals. But the business had prospered, and the constable had made it clear that 'mashers' would not be tolerated, so he'd given her up as a lost cause. "Lovely woman. I suppose in your profession you've traveled a good deal in the states, but you just mentioned Germany. Where else have you been?"

Blair sipped the beer appreciatively. "The more easily answered question would be where haven't I been." He said it as a simple statement, no brag intended. "My mother was a foot-loose spirit, Mr. Kincaid. From infancy to my sixteenth year we seldom spent more than a few months in any one place."

"So your father was a traveling man also?"

"He may very well have been," Blair said placidly. "I wouldn't know. I never met the man."

"Oh." Kincaid winced inwardly. "I am sorry."

"For my illegitimacy, or for having brought it up? Please, don't trouble yourself in either case. For the first, it doesn't bother me. It's a minor part of my makeup. For the second..." He smiled charmingly. "You meant no harm, it was a natural enough question."

"I hear that you're an actual medical doctor."

"I am, complete with the sheepskin to prove it."

"Wonderful. We've been needing one."

"So I've heard, from several people."

"Might you consider settling here? You could make a fair living, though it would be much duller than the life you're used to."

"Mister Kincaid, there are moments of interest and excitement, but there are long stretches of tedium. There's nothing very exciting about sitting behind a mule team for hours on end, traveling from one spot to another."

"It will certainly be welcome to have someone a bit more cosmopolitan in town. I'm glad you dropped by. Many men thinking of setting themselves up in business in a town would avoid an establishment like this and concentrate on tea parlors." He smiled. "If we had tea parlors."

Blair drained his beer. "I quite enjoy tea, but I'll admit to being a little more comfortable in a place like this. I supported myself through my last year of school working somewhere a good bit rougher than this."

"Really?" Kincaid's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. So, you're at home in a less tightly-laced environment, are you? That's very encouraging.

Blair set his glass down with a sigh. "That was precisely what I needed, and I thank you."

"Please don't mention it. The least I can do is provide a bit of common hospitality for a traveler. And speaking of hospitality, perhaps you'd like to visit my establishment in a day or so." He studied his well manicured nails with a faint smile. "Most young men passing through the area find their way to it at least once."

Blair looked puzzled, but then his expression cleared. "I noticed that you said establishment instead of 'home'. Constable Ellison mentioned a, um..."

"Brothel. No point in being too terribly refined about it. It's nothing like what I had in Sacramento, but it's quite good for such a godforsaken area. You'd be most welcome. The rates are reasonable, the girls are clean, and they'd look upon a chance to bed such a handsome young man as yourself as a positive treat." And they aren't the only ones. If I can get you out there, with your mind on sex, half the battle is won.

But Sandburg was shaking his head. "No, I'm afraid I won't be patronizing your business. But I was thinking that I might be able to help you."

That's exactly what I have in mind, but we may have different interpretations of 'help'. "How so?"

"You say your girls are clean. It's difficult to tell with just a casual examination. I could give each one a thorough exam and treat anything that needed treating."

"That would be an excellent idea. It would be a major selling point to be able to tell the customers that my girls were doctor approved."

Blair's smile became the tiniest bit strained. "I'm suggesting it because that line of work can take a lot out of a woman. They need to take care of themselves, and I've found that most of the ladies of the evening tend to be a little casual about their health in general."

"Whatever you say. Just come by during the day: late afternoon and evening is our busy time, and the girls wouldn't be able to take any time off. I'm usually there, but I'll tell the girls to be expecting you, and co-operate. How much for each girl?"

"That will depend, of course, on whether or not they need treatment but I'm a reasonable man. Say... two dollars each for just the initial consultation. We'll see after that."

"Fine. I'll pay you. I take care of all my girl's needs."

Blair smiled at that as he stood up. "Wonderful! Not all bosses in your profession are so caring. I hope you'll strongly urge them to consult with me. It really will be in their best interests. Good day to you, sir."

Kincaid enjoyed watching him walk away. He signaled for another beer, settling back in happy contemplation. That is prime. Co-operate? Oh, yes, Mister Sandburg, they'll co-operate, if they want to keep their teeth in their heads. And I do want to keep my stable in good condition. Let's see... He said two dollars. I'll tell those stupid bitches it's seven, that'll leave a tidy little profit. And if some of them need more treatment, so much the better. As for not using my services... His smile became predatory, and the bartender began to feel a little sorry for the curly-headed young man who'd just left. there's service... then there's service.

Part Eight

Jim was slicing thick slabs off a loaf of bread when Blair returned to the smithy. "I got some cold chicken from the restaurant. Simon was here earlier and he left some fine tomatoes, too."

"Sounds wonderful." Blair worked the handle of the pump at the sink to rinse off his hands.

"So, which one of the local saloons did you patronize?"

Blair wiped his hands thoughtfully. "Do you mean to tell me that you could smell the beer from over there?"

Jim shrugged. "There's an atmosphere that hangs around those places. You might have been offered a beer at one of the other establishments, like Megan's, but there probably wouldn't have been tobacco smoke there, too."

"I didn't check the name. It's about half-way down the block."

As they sat Jim said, "Simon will be sending that telegram, and he'll look for the answer when he goes back day after tomorrow."

"Good. I really don't enjoy having this hanging over my head." Jim started to comment, and Blair said, "It's all right. To tell the truth, it's a little heartening to find someone who doesn't trust too blindly. Many people have been badly hurt that way." Blair's hand hovered over the dish of chicken. "Mind if I have the breast?"

"Help yourself. I don't have chicken all that often because it's a waste with me. All I want is the legs." He demonstrated by taking a drumstick and tearing off a healthy chunk.

"Between us we'll be like Jack Sprat and his wife: we'll lick the platter clean. Did you know," Blair took some bread, "that in the 'better' circles back east, asking for breast of chicken in the presence of a lady could earn you a thrashing?"

Jim regarded him with skepticism. "Why?"

"Too indelicate." He pointed at Jim with a mock stern expression and intoned in a stilted Boston Brahmin voice. "Curse you, sir! You shall ask for a portion of white meat in the presence of ladies!"

Jim almost choked on his mouthful of food. When he could speak again, he managed. "And I suppose asking for a leg would be out of the question?"

"Then you would desire one of the fowl's nether limbs."

Jim shook his head. "I expect that type of delicacy could make it a bit difficult to doctor someone."

Blair sighed. "You have no idea. Modesty is a fine thing, but not when it goes to the point of endangering your health. I'm hoping that won't be a problem when I go to visit the ladies at Kincaid's establishment."

Jim got up quickly, going to the cabinet. "I should have asked. Would you like water?" He didn't want to look at Sandburg till he was sure that he had his expression under control.

"Please."

Jim got two glasses, and worked the sink pump till the water ran cool, then filled them. He brought them to the table, and sat again, saying casually, "So, you changed your mind?"

"What?" Blair sipped the water.

"About visiting the bawdy house. Can't say I blame you. It must have been lonely on the road."

"No, I'll be going there in an official capacity. Kincaid asked me to check over the girls."

"Uh huh."

Blair looked at him sharply. "I already told you, I don't believe in commercializing those relations, but I don't penalize those who do. Those women deserve treatment as much as anyone else here in Cascade."

"I agree with you. But you ought to have them come to town, instead of going to them?"

"Why?"

"In the first place, it will look better." Blair started to protest, and Jim spoke over him. "I know, it isn't very fair, but that's the way it is. If there's a chance that you will be staying on, you have to have a little consideration for what the locals think. And in the second place," he frowned, "I wouldn't advise you to go out there and meet Kincaid on his own space."

"Why not? He seemed like a pleasant enough fellow."

"Oh, I'm sure he did. Kincaid can be very smooth. So can a snake."

Blair put down the chicken bone he had just finished stripping and wiggled his fingers. "Do you have a napkin, or do I have to lick these clean?"

Caught off guard by the sudden subject change, Jim looked around, "Um..."

"Too late." Blair sucked each finger clean.

Jim watched, feeling himself start to get hard. Damn! I can't seem to be around him without getting stirred up. Does he know what he's doing to me?

"Now, why do you distrust Kincaid so much? Is there a history here?"

Jim looked away.

***

There was a history, all right. After Carolyn left, he'd visited Kincaid's establishment a few times, hoping to relieve some of the loneliness he felt. Kincaid had been more than a gracious proprietor, urging the girls to do their bests to please him, pressing free drinks on him. Then there was the night he had a little too much to drink and fell asleep in the girl's bed instead of heading home.

He'd awakened to the feel of a talented mouth caressing his sex. He'd been surprised, as the girls had always been adamant about money up front, and he knew that he'd already gotten all he paid for. Still, he wasn't fool enough to protest this unexpected boon. He'd lain in the darkness, letting the pleasure wash over him. Then...

He couldn't help it; it was his senses again. The smell wasn't right. The hands on his thighs were too large; the nails pricking at his skin didn't have the smooth coat of lacquer he knew the girl he had bedded earlier had been wearing. And as a cheek brushed against his quivering erection, he felt a faint rasp that could only be beard stubble.

He'd propped himself up, staring down the length of his body. The girl who had brought him to this room was nowhere to be seen. Garret Kincaid, his shirt open to his waist, was kneeling between Jim's spread legs, now lapping slowly at the thin trickle of pre-ejaculation fluid that drizzled from the slit in Jim's cock head.

Jim was horrified, as much by the fact that he had not gone soft when he saw who was pleasuring him as by the situation itself. He sat up, pulling away from the warm, insistent mouth, and said, "Kincaid..."

The blonde man's smile was cat-like. "So, you're awake. Good. I prefer my partners alert and squirming, anyway."

"This isn't going any farther. You shouldn't have done this."

Kincaid snorted. "Come on, Jimmy. You were enjoying it, right enough."

"I was drunk."

"Sure, you can tell yourself that, if it makes you feel better." He started to crawl up the bed. His dark eyes were black pools in the moonlight. "Lay back down."

"No, damn it!" He suddenly realized that he didn't like Kincaid. Really didn't like him. It might have been different if the man had approached him openly with an offer of physical pleasure. Jim might have considered it, but he'd never know now. The man had tried to take what he wanted through trickery, and Jim was disgusted by his devious nature.

As Jim started to get up, Kincaid suddenly threw himself at the other man. Garret was smaller than Jim, but he was solid, and strong. He knocked Jim back onto the bed and swarmed on top of him. "You're not going anywhere till I get what I want, big man." The feel of another body, hard and male, pressing down on him was shockingly erotic. Jim froze for a moment, his sensibilities warring with his senses. Then Kincaid laughed, a nasty sound, "I've always been fond of the ones who think they'd never let a man inside."

Jim bucked. "I said no!"

"Just relax and take it. I'm going to enjoy fucking you..."

It wasn't like the other 'spells' he'd had. This one was pure, white-hot rage. He didn't know exactly what he did, but the next thing he remembered clearly was one of the girls trying to drag him away from a limp Kincaid, hissing, "He ain't worth it, mister! He ain't worth hangin' for!"

Jim, now stone cold sober, had stared at the man huddled on the floor, cradling his face in his hands. He reached out with his senses, though the thought of observing the man who had attempted to rape him that closely made him gag. Kincaid's heartbeat and breathing were strong and steady, but the smell of blood was sharp in the air, and there were dark stains on the injured man's hands. Judging from the various aches that were now making themselves known, Jim hadn't done all the damage, but he had done most of it.

Satisfied that Kincaid wasn't seriously injured, Jim had gotten dressed and ridden back into town. He'd waited to see if Kincaid would go to the city counsel to complain, but several days passed, and Jim heard nothing of it. Then he'd seen Kincaid going into one of the local saloons. The sandy haired man had spotted him, and paused on the sidewalk to glare at him.

Fading bruises marked Kincaid's face, and his nose was swollen. Thereafter it would never be quite as perfectly straight as it had been. The two men stared at each other for a moment. Kincaid didn't look away, and Jim felt a crawling sensation at the back of his neck. Then a citizen had come up to Jim to ask him a question about whether or not he could require his neighbor to pen his chickens in order to keep the birds out of his wife's flower beds. By the time Jim had finished speaking to him, Kincaid had entered the saloon.

Since then Ellison had never spoken to Kincaid face to face, and he fervently hoped he would never have to. The man gave him a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he found himself worrying about some of the younger, more naive farmhands that visited Kincaid's establishment...

***

"Jim?" He blinked, looking back at Sandburg. "What is it?"

Jim took a deep breath. "Kincaid is a dangerous man, Sandburg. I just want you to be careful."

"I can take care of myself, Ellison, I've been doing so for a long time now." He smiled. "It's nice to know you care, but you didn't answer the question. Is there a history between you two?"

Jim was silent, turning his glass in his hands as he considered how to answer. If he refused to say anything, it would leave him open to all sorts of speculation. He didn't want Blair hearing Kincaid's side of the story without his own, but he wasn't sure how to phrase it. He studied the young man waiting patiently on the other side of the table. Somehow he felt safe in revealing it to him. He knew instinctively that Blair would not condemn a man for an interest in his own sex.

Finally he said slowly, "There's a history of sorts. He paid a lot of attention to me for awhile. I didn't think much about it. Then he got me drunk one night when I was over at the house, and I woke up with him in my bed, and his hands on me. I... wasn't ready for anything like that, and I told him so. He didn't want to listen when I said to stop, so I had to insist."

"Ah." Jim dared a look at Blair and was relieved to see no disgust or scorn in his expression, only sympathy, and understanding. "I've had similar incidents, though it never got that far. I'm going to ask you a question. You don't have to answer it, if you don't want to..." he smiled. "but then, you already know that."

"What is it?"

Jim waited for him to ask if he had somehow led Kincaid to expect he'd welcome the advances. Instead he said, "Did you object because he was a man, or because he was Kincaid?"

There was a knock on the front door. Jim stood quickly. "I'd better get that."

As he went to answer it he heard Blair whisper, so softly that no one without his freakish hearing would have heard, "That's one question I'm not going to let you dodge, Jim." Jim dreaded answering it because he had puzzled over just that thought himself for a long time.

Megan stood outside. "Well, hello, Miss Connors."

Megan slapped him lightly on the shoulder. "I think you can call me Megan by now, Jim. Is that handsome guest of yours anywhere around?"

"In the kitchen. Come on back."

Blair rose to his feet to greet the woman, offering her a warm smile and handshake. "Megan, good to see you again."

"I thought I'd check to see how that wine was."

"Excellent! I drank more than I should have, I suppose. What can I do for you?"

Megan looked at Jim, then back to Blair. "Can we talk back at your wagon?"

"Of course. Jim, thank you for lunch. Don't worry about supper, it will be my turn to cook." He walked Megan to the front door and they started off down the street together. Jim watched him go, feeling a twinge at seeing their heads so close together. He resisted the urge to listen to what they were saying, instead going back to finish the rims he had promised Simon.

***

Megan bit her lip, looking at Blair nervously. "What do you think?"

He studied her, careful to keep his expression and tone neutral. "It's still rather soon to be certain, but I'd say... probably." When he saw the smile break out on her face he was relieved. "So, this isn't bad news?"

She kissed his cheek. "Not bloody likely! My husband and I had been trying when he passed away. I've always wanted children."

"Good." Megan pulled her skirt back on. Blair had only done an external palpitation, listening to her describe the recent nausea, bloating, ravenous hunger and, most telling, cessation of menstrual flow. It was always a pleasure when pregnancy came as a wished for blessing. Too often in his career he'd had to deal with desperate women, aching when they turned away after his refusal to terminate the life growing in them, knowing that many would seek some back alley butcher, and probably lose their lives. He had ambivalent feelings about his decision, not believing in the blind, blanket statement that it was a mortal sin to even consider such a thing. But it just wasn't something he could do, personally. Perhaps because he knew that his own mother could have easily gone that route. Indeed, he had no doubt that his grandparents would have preferred it. "What about the father?"

She grinned. "Oh, I think he'll be pleased. I don't want to tell him just yet, though. I think he's going to propose very soon." She sighed, rubbing her still flat belly. "I hope it's just like him: a little dark-haired boy."

Blair waited a moment, but she didn't elaborate, and he couldn't ask. "You'll have to be particularly careful with your diet, if you're feeding a baby as well as yourself, and no, that does not give you a license to eat like an ox." He turned to his medicines, beginning to pull down bottles and boxes. "I'm going to mix up a solution of vitamins and minerals for you, but I expect you to eat properly, too. You're a little paler than I'd like, and that could indicate anemia..."

***

Blair found Jim at his anvil again, working furiously. The last wheel was already half completed, waiting patiently for the next metal strip as Jim pounded it into the proper shape. Still Jim stopped as soon as he and Megan entered the big room, and again Blair wondered how he had been able to hear anything over the ringing of metal on metal. Blair found himself wondering. The acuity of his physical senses was reminding him more and more of one of his personal obsessions and he was trying not to get his hopes up too high. There'd been a time or two when he'd thought he might have run across the living embodiment of one of his pet theories, but he'd always been disappointed.

Jim watched him silently, stripping off his gloves as Blair approached, and held out his hand for the bottle. "What's this?" he asked as he uncorked it.

"This actually is a sort of tonic. Mostly vitamins."

Jim passed it under his nose, brow wrinkling. "No alcohol this time. Smells like... raisins?"

Trying not to show his surprise Blair said, "I'd steeped some in the hot water I used to mix this. It adds iron."

Jim re-corked the bottle and handed it over, glancing at the woman hovering near the door. His voice low, he said, "Is Megan sick?"

Blair hesitated. "A doctor is bound not to discuss his patients, but I don't think she'd mind my saying that no, she isn't ill." He went back to Megan, presenting the bottle. "Twice a day, one spoonful, and take it on a full stomach, or with milk. In fact, I want you to drink more milk. Try for a quart or more a day. And eat lots of liver."

"Ew!" Megan's nose crinkled, and Jim found himself wincing in sympathy.

"All right," Blair said agreeably. "If you can't stomach liver, make it dried apricots. Dried, mind you, not fresh, and not peaches. Raisins, too, and spinach, if you can get it. I want to build up your blood."

"Yes, doctor. You'll be staying, then?" There was a hopeful note in her voice. "I'll worry a lot less with you around."

"For a while, anyway." She left, and Blair walked back to the anvil, watching as Jim doused the still glowing metal in the water.

Jim propped his hammer beside the anvil and said, "I'm glad to hear Megan is healthy. I've been worried about her?"

"Why? She looks fine."

Jim shrugged, rolling his shoulders. "I wasn't sure what to make of it, but now, I think I know."

"What do you think you know?"

"She's expecting, isn't she?"

Blair stared at Jim. "How did you...? Even I can't be one hundred per-cent sure about that."

"Maybe I'm wrong, then. It's just that she hasn't smelled right the last couple of weeks."

"Jim, she can't be more than two and a half months gone. You're telling me that you think she's pregnant because she smells different?"

He shifted uncomfortably, wishing he hadn't said anything. "Only for the last couple of weeks. I just hope that the father is going to do the right thing. Megan's a good woman."

Blair felt as if a stone had been rolled off his shoulders. "She said she thinks he's going to propose, whoever he is."

"I wish I knew who it is. That way if he doesn't do right by her I could have a little talk with him." Jim shook his head. "It's none of my business, I know, but I feel kind of protective toward her. She doesn't have had anyone else. Well, I think I've done enough for today. I'll finish this tomorrow." He walked to the front to close off the large doors and hang up his closed sign, but Blair followed him.

"You've already told me that your sight is very sensitive, and I've seen demonstrations of your sense of smell with the medicines, and now with Megan. Your need for bland food would indicate the same is true of your taste, and I've had the feeling for some time that your hearing is a lot better than it has any reason to be. What about your sense of touch?"

Jim sighed, locking the door. "Sometimes I wish I could just tear my skin off. Other times..." But those times, the times when the heat of another's skin or the merest brush had been enough to get him achingly hard, had been too infrequent.

"I can scarcely believe this, but... but I think it may be true. I need to get something from my wagon." Blair disappeared into Jim's quarters and he heard the front door slam a moment later.

Feeling the sweat from his exertions beginning to become sticky, Jim went back to the barrel and began to sluice himself off. He had expected to be done, dried, and dressed before Blair returned, but the young man must have been moving even more quickly than usual. Just as Jim was reaching for the towel on the bench beside the anvil the front door slammed again and Blair almost trotted over to him.

He thrust a sheaf of papers at Jim, and the older man saw that it had been carefully stitched together along one side to form a booklet. "What's this?"

"It may very well be the answer to what makes you different."

Jim leafed through the pages, frowning. "This will tell how to cure me?"

"If I'm right, there's nothing to be cured, just controlled."

Jim hung the towel around his neck, swabbing absently at his face as he walked into his little apartment, scanning the front of the paper as he went. Inside he went into his bedroom. Blair followed, hesitating only a moment on the threshold of the private room. Jim was still reading as he blindly opened a drawer and dug a fresh shirt out. Blair watched in gratified amusement as he shook it out one-handed, then tried to put it on while still reading. He went and took hold of it, helping him slip first one, then the other arm into the sleeves. Hardly seeming to notice, he sat on the edge of the bed, and Blair sat beside him.

Once Jim looked over at him and said, "Burton? Isn't your mule named Burton?"

Blair nodded. "Yes, it's a tribute to the man who wrote that. Don't frown, it's a compliment. After all, I named the other one after my mother."

Jim grunted and turned his eyes back to the papers. Time passed. The only sound in the room, besides their combined breathing, was the rustle when Jim turned a page. At one point Blair got up quietly, went to the front door, and despite his claim to only doctor humans, removed a nasty splinter from the hind paw of a cat belonging to a very distressed little girl. After binding the paw up in his second best handkerchief he advised the owner to bring Puss back the next day for a check up and some salve, if needed, then returned to the bedroom to find the constable still absorbed in his reading.

Jim finally came to the last page and closed the booklet. He looked around the room, blinking. The shades were drawn, and a lamp had been lit. He could hear Blair moving around in the kitchen, and delicious aromas were drifting out to him.

He came into the kitchen as Blair was pulling what looked like a custard pie out of the oven. He sniffed, then said curiously, "I don't smell any sugar or ginger."

Blair smiled, setting the pie on a cloth in the middle of the table. "That's because it's a savory instead of a sweet. This is dinner: eggs, onion, cheese, and ham."

"In a pie?" Jim sat at the table.

"It's called quiche in France." He set a plate and fork in front of Jim and handed him a knife. "Try it." As Jim started to cut a slice, Blair said, "Just a moment." He reached over and began to button up Jim's shirt. Jim was surprised to realize that it had been hanging open for... how long? "There. I'm not really formal, but I do think shirts should be buttoned at the dinner table."

Jim was surprised at how good the egg pie was. It was delicately flavored, but hearty enough to satisfy him, even after his exertions at the forge. Of course, he ate a little more than half of it. He was chasing crumbs around on his plate, and Blair was sipping coffee when he finally said, "So, you think I might be a Sentinel?"

"I'm almost certain you are. It's all there, Jim. The heightened senses, the imperative to protect your community, your tribe, the spells you get when your senses overwhelm you..."

"Everything but the most important part," Jim said bitterly. "Everything but the Guide. And according to the author, a Sentinel is only half a man without his Guide. I can believe that. It would explain why I feel so..." He trailed off.

Blair's voice was gentle, "What? How do you feel?"

Jim shrugged, looking away. He wasn't used to talking about his feelings: his father had thought it was unmanly, and Carolyn had thought it was unnecessary. No one had ever seemed genuinely interested... until this man. But Sandburg wasn't going to give up on it. Jim was beginning to learn just how stubborn the young man could be. "Talk to me, Ellison. How can I help you if I don't know what's wrong?"

The light blue eyes were hooded as he looked back across the table. "You want to help me? Yes, I suppose you would. It's your profession, after all."

Blair shook his head. "It's not just that. Yes, I've sworn to care for anyone to the best of my abilities. And, I'll confess, this theory..." he tapped the paper on the table, "has been a pet obsession of mine since I first read about it. But putting that aside, I want to help you, Jim. Not just a patient, not a possible Sentinel, but Jim Ellison. So tell me what it is that you've been feeling."

Jim sighed, and the next words were abrupt. "Empty. Alone." He paused, then forced out the final word. "Lost. That the most of all, always lost."

Blair reached over and laid his hand on Jim's, saying quietly, "Yes. You need your Guide."

"What if I don't have one?"

Blair squeezed his hand. "You do, all Sentinels do. It's just a matter of... of recognition. It was easier in the ancient tribes. There wasn't as much travel, communities were more close-knit. The Sentinel and Guide usually grew up side by side, and the bond was discovered early. Now..." Blair sighed. "I hate to think about how difficult it will be in the next century. Everyone will be on the move, what with the railways expanding. There's even talk of horseless carriages. I'm afraid that a Sentinel and Guide finding each other then may be even more difficult. But it will make the relationship that much rarer, that much more special."

Jim's voice was low. "Sandburg? The lost feeling... I haven't had that since that spell I had in your wagon. It was different from the others."

"This may be the key. What made it different?"

Jim took a breath, then forced himself to look into the warm, questioning depths of Blair's eyes. "You."

Part Nine

Blair blinked, but he didn't pull away, and Jim was grateful for that. "How did I make it different? Surely you've been around others when these zones have occurred?"

"Yes. Luckily, they've been short ones and I managed to conceal them fairly well. People just thought I was absent minded, or distracted. But at least once I was screamed at and slapped before I finally came out of it." Blair winced at the rough treatment. Jim grimaced. "Yes, Carolyn didn't handle it well. She was almost hysterical. I think she used the term 'freak'. She apologized when she calmed down but it was always there between us afterward."

Blair found himself gritting his teeth. He had thought that aside from his grandparents he would never be able to dislike someone he didn't even know. "Go on, Jim. What made the difference this time? I didn't really do anything. I wasn't even sure of what was happening."

"Usually I just get lost in whatever it was that set me off. This time everything around me seemed to change. It's summer, but there was suddenly heat like I'd never experienced, heat and wet. And the noises... It was kind of like when I was in the deep wilderness, all natural, but so much of them! Like I was surrounded by trees and plants so thick you wouldn't be able to push your way through them, and the sound of animals moving through them. There were smells, too. Earth and something wild, rank. That wasn't right, because I was there in the wagon, with you, but... But it was like I was somewhere else. The other times there was no specific sense of being anywhere."

"It sounds scary."

"I was terrified," Jim said baldly. "There was only one thing that was familiar: a sound. I'd never heard it before, but I knew it better than I know my own voice. A throbbing, a pulse."

"Drums? There are often drums in the jungle."

"No." Jim reached out and touched Blair's chest, spreading his fingers, feeling the warmth. Blair stayed very still, never taking his eyes off the man opposite him, unwilling to interrupt now that he had found the courage to speak. And somehow he knew what Jim was about to say. "It was you. It was your heartbeat. It was like a lifeline. I grabbed and held on, and I pulled myself back to this world." His hand moved, stroking lightly. "It wrapped around me. It kept me safe." He paused. His voice cracked. "Thank you."

"You could hear my heartbeat?"

"I could hear it when you were in your room last night."

Blair stared at Jim as the implications of this revelation sank in. If he could hear my heartbeat... Blair found himself blushing. Oh, God, did I say his name?

"Don't," Jim said quietly. "You don't have anything to be ashamed of. You're young and healthy, you're bound to have needs."

Blair swallowed his doubts and spoke. "What about you, Jim?" Ellison's fingers curled, winding in his shirtfront. If I'm wrong, I'm dead.

"You asked me before if I was bothered because it was a man who tried to seduce me or because it was Kincaid." Jim pulled, slowly drawing Blair closer, and closer still. Their faces were scant inches apart. "It was because it was Kincaid, Blair."

Blair felt a wave of elation pass over him at those words, and he leaned forward, closing that last bit of space, and touched his lips to Jim's. Jim remained still, his eyes open, his lips closed. He hasn't done this much before, Blair thought. I guess I really will get to guide.

Blair took Jim's head gently in his hands, running his fingers into the short, dark hair and rubbing his lips softly over Jim's mouth. He licked the seam, then pressed firmly. Jim made a surprised sound, but his lips parted, and Blair's tongue slid in.

Jim tasted the tang of tomatoes and the yeast of the bread Blair had just eaten. But then another taste, one he'd never encountered, overwhelmed those. It was sweet and earthy at the same time and Jim realized that it was the taste of the man himself. It was Blair. He licked out, eager to explore the intoxicating new flavor, and Blair made a pleased murmur as their tongues slid together.

Most of the women Jim had been with weren't much on kissing. The 'respectable' women felt that too much enthusiasm was improper, and the one's who were 'no better than they should be' usually saw kissing as a waste of time that could be devoted to more... intense activities.

More intense than this? Is it possible? The soft exploration of his mouth was driving Jim crazy. Every gentle probe and lick sent a flash of pure sensation straight to his groin. His arms went around the smaller man, pulling him closer. Blair pulled back a little, his quiet gasps telling Jim that the reason he had broken the kiss was simple lack of oxygen, and not reluctance. Jim let him breathe a moment, studying the flush rising in his cheeks. He took a handful of the auburn hair that lay across his shoulder, rubbing it through his fingers, then said softly. "Come to my bed tonight." Blair closed his eyes briefly, and Jim said, "I'll understand if you don't want to. I've never asked this of another man before, so I won't know what I'm doing. But I promise you that I'll try to see that you don't regret it."

Blair's answer was another soft kiss. He took Jim's hand and tugged, urging him to his feet, then kissed him again when he was standing. "Go to your room. I have to get something, but I'll be right back." When Jim clung to his hand he said quietly, "Jim, I just want to go to my wagon. I won't be gone but a minute." He touched the older man's face, stroking the strong edge of his jaw. "I'm not leaving you." He smiled. "Do you think I could stay away knowing that you'll be waiting for me in that big bed, naked?"

"Naked?"

"Naked," Blair said firmly. As if to illustrated he undid the buttons he had fixed at the beginning of the meal. "I'm a little old to be wrestling fully clothed like a teenager." He gave Jim another quick kiss, then turned him toward the bedroom, swatting his butt. "Move."

Feeling a little dazed, Jim went into his bedroom, hearing Blair hurry out the front. He undressed slowly, hanging his clothes neatly on a chair, then sat on the edge of the bed. Now what? He said waiting in the bed. Jim turned down the blankets and slid beneath the sheets. then he lay back, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing. Oh, God, I hope he knows as much as he seems to know because I haven't got a clue as to what he might like. Or really what I might like. I just know I have to hold him and be as close to him as possible.

He was a little startled to hear the front door open again so soon. He must have run there and back. The idea of the younger man being so eager to return to him was gratifying. In fact, Jim found that he was hard beneath the cool, smooth sheet.

There was the rap of Sandburg's footsteps approaching. The lamp in the kitchen was extinguished, and then Blair stood in the doorway. He paused, one hand on the doorframe, staring at Jim silently. Jim could feel himself beginning to blush, and Blair said quietly, "Don't be embarrassed, Jim, please. I can't help looking. You're just so beautiful."

Jim was pleased, but he frowned. "Beautiful?"

Blair smiled as he walked to the bed, setting a small bottle on the night stand. "Beautiful. Handsome doesn't do you justice. Men can be beautiful, too, in a different way from women. You..." Jim's breath caught as Blair ran a hand across the sculpted planes of his chest. "You're like a Greek statue, Jim, but in warm, living flesh instead of cold marble."

Blair began to remove his clothes. Jim watched closely and, yes, he could very well see how a man could be considered beautiful. Blair was smaller than Jim, smaller than many men, but there was nothing delicate or fragile about his body. He was graceful, but sturdy, with a broad chest and narrow hips. When his shirt was gone, Blair began to unbutton his pants, and Jim suddenly leaned forward with an intent look on his face.

Blair stopped moving as Jim reached out and tentatively touched the shiny gold hoop that pierced his left nipple. "I knew there was something different about your chest, but I wasn't sure what. It's like the ones the women wear in their ears."

"Yes. I had that done when I was fourteen, in Japan." He smiled. "I wanted a tattoo, but for once Naomi put her foot down. It's just as well. The design I'd chosen was a dragon that would have covered my entire back, and she never would have stayed there long enough for me to have it finished."

"Does it hurt?"

"No, no more than it does for the women. It did when it was done, of course, but I was careful about keeping it clean, and it healed quickly."

"But why would you do something like that?"

Blair shrugged, and the ring flashed in the lamplight as he again began to open his pants. "I don't know. Adventure? Decoration? It seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I wish I'd had both done."

Jim looked shocked. "Why?" In answer Blair took his hand and drew it to his chest, then closed Jim's fingers around the tiny ring. Watching his face, Jim gave it a gentle tug. Blair's eyes seemed to darken as the pupils expanded and the soft flesh of the nipple swelled and hardened around the ring.

"That's why," he whispered. "Now, let me finish this." Jim lay back while he quickly finished stripping. Then, finally, he reached back to untie the ribbon that held his hair.

But Jim held up his hand, saying, "No, wait. Let me do that?"

Smiling, Blair sat beside him on the bed. Jim reached around behind him, finding the ends of the ribbon, and carefully untying the bow. He pulled the ribbon away, and it slipped from his fingers to the floor, unnoticed. He pushed his hands up under the heavy mass of curls, lifting and loosening, till it was spread freely over his shoulders and halfway down his back. "I've wanted to do that since you tied it up yesterday."

Blair smoothed his hand over Jim's shoulder. "Jim, you said this was the first time you'd asked a man to your bed. Have you ever done anything, aside from that abomination with Kincaid?"

Jim flushed. "When I was a kid. I had a friend and we slept over at each other's house sometimes. We got... curious. But never more than just touching each other."

"Oh, my." Jim looked at him sharply, but there was nothing but warmth in his eyes. "It's just that it's been a long time since I've been with a virgin."

"Virgin?" Jim sounded almost indignant. "I've been married."

"It isn't the same thing, trust me. In any case, I think it might be better if you let me take the lead this time. Do you think you can do that?"

"I... don't know."

"Jim, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. You can ask me to stop at any time, and I will. But I'm going to ask you to give me a chance."

He looked down for a moment, then looked back up at him. "I'm not a coward, Sandburg, but..."

"It doesn't have to hurt, Jim, not if we're slow and careful. Just trust me, and I'll make this good for you. For us both."

Blair waited for his answer. He got it when Jim took hold of his shoulders and lay back, pulling him down with him. He kissed Blair, lips moving from his mouth to his ear, and whispered, "Show me."

Blair tossed the sheet back to the foot of the bed and moved over Jim, arranging his body along the other man's. Jim shuddered at the first touch. Carolyn had never been adventurous enough to try it on top. Anyway, he knew that it would have been different. Blair was so solid, so warm. There was the smoothness of his hands as he stroked Jim's arms and sides, but there was also the tickle of hair, from crisp to silky.

Blair knelt up, straddling his hips, then began to caress Jim, slowly and sensually. When his fingers found the older man's nipples, Jim arched up to his touch, groaning. Jim bit his lip, embarrassed by the sound. "I'm sorry, but no one's ever..." Blair pinched gently, the little bits of flesh stiffening between his fingertips, and Jim groaned again. "Oh, God. I don't know..."

"It's okay, Jim. Lord, don't apologize for enjoying what I'm doing. Don't you realize how big a compliment every noise you make is?" Blair bent his head. Jim felt the cool silk of his hair trail teasingly over one nipple while the other was engulfed in warm wetness. The sound he made was indescribable. He felt as well as heard the chuckle. "That was a good one."

Jim had been half-hard when Blair climbed on top of him. He was fully engorged now, his cock lying stiffly up along his belly. Blair lay down again, still straddling him, and he felt the first brush of Blair's sex against his own. He immediately, instinctively thrust up, but Blair's hands came down on his hips, holding him. "No, not yet, it will end too fast. Just be still and let me take care of you."

Blair brought their staffs together, gathering them in both hands and holding them. Then he began to stroke slowly. Jim felt both the firm pressure of his fingers on the outside of his prick, and the maddeningly smooth glide of Blair's sex on the sensitive underside. He closed his eyes, gripping fistfuls of sheet in an effort not to buck. It was sweet torture.

Blair was watching him avidly. It was so hot, seeing this beautiful man experiencing this form of love for the first time. But Blair knew that, despite what he'd said, this encounter would not last as long as he might like. It was just too new to Jim, and he had apparently been without a partner of any kind for too long. He saw moisture at the corners of Jim's eyes and said softly, "Jim? Do you need more?"

"Yes." His voice was almost strangled.

Blair bent to kiss him, whispering against his lips. "I'm going to make love to you, but first, you have to be ready."

"I am ready." Jim bumped his hips up. "Can't you tell?"

"Yes, I see. But not like that." Blair moved off him, reaching for the bottle. "Lie on your stomach and spread your legs." Jim hesitated, and Blair assured him. "It's all right. I'm going to be gentle and careful. And any time you need to, anytime, just tell me to stop, or go slow. I don't want you doing anything that makes you uncomfortable just because you think it will please me. The best way to please me is to let me please you."

Jim rolled onto his stomach, spreading his legs wide. Blair patted his back in approval, then opened the bottle and knelt in the inviting vee. Jim lifted his head, sniffing slightly, and Blair explained, "Just some sweet oil to ease the way." He put a dab on his finger and held it toward Jim.

Jim sniffed again, and smiled. "Honeysuckle?"

"I can make it with rose essence next time, if you prefer. Or vanilla, if you don't mind smelling like a sugar cookie." That earned a laugh and Blair smiled. He had a feeling that Jim hadn't laughed very much in the last few years and it was a shame. It was a glorious, bright sound.

Blair dribbled the oil on Jim's buttocks, set the bottle aside, and began to massage, working it into the taut, smooth curves. As he had anticipated, the big man tensed a little at the first touch. But Blair was patient, kneading and stroking, moving down to his thighs and up to the small of his back. Gradually, Jim relaxed. Blair got more oil, coating his fingers, then pushed on each cheek, spreading them to expose the shadowed valley between. Jim didn't tense again but his breath sped up.

Blair took a moment to reach under him, rolling his balls carefully in his fingers, then reaching up to skim lightly over the still straining shaft. He got a pillow and slipped it under Jim's hips, tilting him to a better angle.

Satisfied that Jim was prepared for the next step, Blair stroked a finger over the starfish pucker of skin that marked the entrance to Jim's body. Jim shivered, and Blair said, "Is it too cold? Do I need to warm the oil a bit more?"

"No. It's just... strange. Go on, please."

Blair massaged the flesh around the anus some more, feeling the taut muscle finally begin to relax a little. Then he put the tip of his finger to the very center and applied gentle pressure. First the flesh dimpled, then he was sliding in. There was some resistance, but not a great amount, and Blair was fairly sure he wasn't hurting Jim but he wanted to be sure. He glanced away from the erotic sight of his finger penetrating the virgin flesh to study Jim's face.

His expression was a mixture of astonishment and revelation. When he saw Blair looking at him he said in a surprised voice, "It feels good."

"It gets better." Blair pumped his hand, sliding the embedded digit almost all the way out, then back in. Jim's forehead wrinkled, as if in concentration, and he bit his lip. On the second stroke the lines smoothed away, and he spread his legs another inch or so. Blair smiled at the silent invitation but continued to move slowly. So far it was going well, but he was too realistic to think that this encounter would be entirely without pain. He just wanted to be sure that the pleasure far outweighed the discomfort.

When Jim felt the second finger pressing in beside the first he grunted quietly. His voice a little stiff, he said, "Is that necessary?" He was feeling almost uncomfortably full.

"Yes, it's necessary," Blair's voice was patient as he worked the two fingers in Jim's ass. "You're very new to this. While I'll never rival Burton when it comes to equipment, I'm not exactly small, Jim. If I don't get you properly open this first time, there will be tearing. I'm a doctor, remember? I don't want to put you at risk for infection if I can help it." Jim made a quiet grumbling sound, and Blair's eyebrows rose in amusement. "Impatient? Well, there's something else about my being a doctor that might compensate you for having to wait. You see, I know anatomy."

He pushed deep, fingers crooking, and felt along Jim's internal walls. "Just a moment, and I have a surprise for you." His fingers found the little bump he'd been searching for, and he rubbed.

A burst of heat and pleasure blossomed inside Jim, flowing from deep in his bowels to wash through his whole body. He gasped, grabbing at the mattress, toes curling. When he got his breath again he managed, "What did you do?"

"It's called the prostate gland. Little thing about the size of a walnut. It can cut up the dickens when you get older, but when you're younger, it can be a source of joy," he said playfully. "Women don't have them, poor deprived things."

"Can you do that again?"

In reply Blair rubbed firmly. Jim moaned, sweat breaking out on his forehead. He hardly noticed when the two fingers were withdrawn and replaced by three, because Blair immediately sought that magical spot again. "I could bring you off, just like this."

"Don't." Blair hesitated in him ministrations, worried. If Jim asked him to stop, though, he would. He had promised. But Jim was saying, "I want you inside me when I finish."

Blair reached down with his free hand and caressed Jim's aching cock. He found it slick with pre-ejaculation, and he murmured, "Then we'd better get on with it because you're close, my friend. Can you get up on your hands and knees for me, Jim?"

Jim pulled himself up, bracing sturdily, and Blair moved up behind him. "I'm going to go slowly. Tell me if you need time to adjust."

"All right."

"I mean it, Jim. This is no time to be tough about resisting pain. If it hurts, I can take more time."

"Believe me, I'll let you know."

Jim felt another touch at his rectum, different this time. It was broader, hotter. It's his cock he thought, wonderingly. I'm about to let another man put his cock in my ass and it feels like the most natural thing I've ever done. Then he was being spread open, and the thick, solid mass that was Blair was slowly pressing into him. Jim concentrated on making his breathing steady. I don't want to pass out. I don't want to drop off the edge of the world now.

There was a slight ache as the inner walls of his rectum were spread apart for the first time, but nothing that approached actual pain. And even that small ache was a part of the pleasure that he was experiencing. Blair stopped moving. "Are you all right? You're so quiet."

"Yes, I'm good." He sighed. "Oh, I'm so good. But there's more, isn't there?"

Blair sounded surprised, and pleased. "I'm only about halfway in. But this is about as deep as I managed to go before, and I want to be sure..."

"More."

Jim heard soft laughter. "Greedy!" Blair took hold of his hips and pushed forward, sliding in another inch. He moaned, "Ah, Jim! You're so tight." Not really knowing what he was doing, but acting on instinct, Jim flexed inside. Blair gasped as he felt the squeezing motion. "Damn! Jim, hold up or it will be over before it's half begun."

"Then move, Sandburg! And I know there's still more of you." His tone was almost accusatory. "I want it. Give it to me."

"My, oh, my. You are the bossiest virgin I've ever run across. Well, ask and ye shall receive." Blair pushed again, and Jim groaned as the last few inches slid home. He felt Blair molding against his backside, the younger man's balls lightly tapping against his own.

"Oh, God. It feels like you're all the way up to my throat."

Blair ran his hands over Jim's back. "We can try that later, if you like. Are you ready?" Jim nodded. Blair gripped his waist and pulled back till only his cock head was still trapped inside Jim's body. Then he pushed back in, almost as slowly as he had entered him the first time.

It was incredible. Oh, sex was never less than good, but this... Besides the fact that Jim was so beautiful, so perfect, there was the added excitement of knowing that he was the first to ever give him these sensations. And Jim was an appreciative lover. Every murmur, every tiny motion showed Blair how much he was enjoying it. It made Blair hotter than ever, knowing that he was bringing pleasure to his partner. He pumped slowly, careful to allow Jim's body to adjust to the new activity. But he had prepared Jim well, and the joining was smooth.

"Jim, put your arms down, and lean on them." Jim obeyed, and it tilted his pelvis, giving Blair's penetration a different angle. This time when he moved back in he rubbed over Jim's prostate. His partner gave a pleased grunt and pushed back eagerly to meet him. In just a few strokes, they found a rhythm and moved together as smoothly as if they had been lovers for years.

At first, Jim was afraid to fully experience what was happening. The thought of zoning during this act was terrifying in its possibility for humiliation. That was what had elicited the screaming bout from Carolyn. They had been together in bed. She had taken a little more brandy than she usually did, and was feeling relaxed and kittenish. She had been more giving of herself than ever before and the sensations had overwhelmed Jim. He had fallen into the nothingness while buried in his wife's body. He could understand her rage. She'd taken it as an insult, believing that he'd completely lost interest in her. She wouldn't listen when he tried to explain that it was exactly the opposite.

He was so afraid that the same thing would happen now. He had felt it coming close: the first time he felt the wet swipe of Blair's tongue, the first time Blair caressed that magic spot deep inside. But when he felt the grayness closing in, Jim had concentrated on the strong, steady beat of Sandburg's heart and pulled himself away from the edge of oblivion. That was what he did now. But the difference was that he could not only hear the pulse, he could feel it, beating deep inside his own body.

Jim was concentrating so hard that he was startled when Blair reached around to caress him. The young doctor's fingers were slick with the oil he had used to lubricate Jim, and they glided easily on his turgid shaft.

"How do you like it, Jim?" he whispered. "Like this? Long strokes from base to tip?" He demonstrated with a full, tight stroke. "Or would you rather have me concentrate on the head? That can be so sensitive." His fingers encircled Jim's cock, just below the head, twisting and rubbing, then slowly squeezing up over the glans.

"Anything." Jim was surprised to hear that his voice was almost a whimper. One or two whores had asked him perfunctorily what his preferences were before they began their transactions but he had never felt that anyone was truly seeking out ways to give him pleasure, till now.

"Tell me. Because I'm close and I'm not sure you'll have your ambition of coming while I'm inside you if it isn't soon."

He's close? Suddenly his own orgasm seemed less important to Jim. He was determined to bring his lover over the edge now. He squeezed inside again and heard a breathy, surprised curse from Sandburg that made him smile. Then he began to shove back at him as hard and as fast as he could.

Blair realized quickly that he was no longer in control of the situation. With a big man like Jim it would be hard to make him do anything he didn't want to without ropes on him, or a gun to his head, so Blair simply hung on and enjoyed.

He almost made it. Jim was rushing toward orgasm when Blair thrust hard, and he felt the hot liquid gush into his bowels. It was almost enough to trigger his own release, especially with the muted cry his young lover made as he lunged one more time into his accepting flesh. Even with his own need pounding through him, Jim couldn't help but feel a certain smugness that he'd managed to do that to a partner who was so much more experienced. He whined in frustration, though, as the softening flesh slid out of him, and he reached down to finish himself off.

But his hands were pushed away. "Back. On your back," Blair said, his voice thick. Jim rolled onto his back, and Blair moved swiftly. He enveloped Jim's rigid cock in one long swallow, and began to suck, bobbing his head up and down. Jim's breath hitched. When he had finally pulled in enough to shout, he cried out Blair's name and climaxed. The young man did not pull away, but continued to suck, swallowing every drop of Jim's sperm as it pumped down his throat.

When he was done he gave the relaxing member an appreciative lick, then turned and crawled up to lie beside Jim. Ellison immediately pulled him into a strong embrace. He started to bend his head toward Blair, then hesitated. Blair understood. "It's all right. You don't have to. Remember? Nothing that makes you uncomfortable."

Jim studied him for a moment, then finished the motion he had begun, kissing Blair tenderly. His tongue moved over the younger man's lips, then delved inside. After a long moment he lifted his head and smiled. "So, that's what I taste like. Not so bad."

"Not bad at all," Blair agreed. He nestled against Jim, enjoying the closeness. This was one of the best parts when you truly liked the one you slept with: the intimacy afterward. He was pleased that Jim didn't push him away once the sex was finished. There had been a good number who did, more than he'd like to remember. "Can I sleep here tonight?"

Jim turned on his side to face Blair and threw a leg over him. "I suppose if you really want to find out what it's like to have me lay on top of you, you could try to leave, but I thought we might save that for another time. I'm kind of sleepy right now."

"What a surprise."

"Are doctors supposed to be so smart mouthed?"

"You weren't complaining about my smart mouth a minute ago."

"Sandburg," Jim's voice was drowsy. "I'd say you should add comedy to your show, but if you joke like this in public, I'll have to pull you in for public indecency. Go to sleep."

"Yes, Blessed Protector."

In a few moments they both slept, and it would have surprised anyone watching to note that their breathing fell into perfect rhythm. After the sweet vigor of that workout, Jim would have expected a dreamless sleep, but he was wrong.

He often dreamed of being in the forest. Hell, it was natural enough. He'd spent a lot of time in the deep woods, alone, on Army business. But this was different. It reminded him of that spell he'd had in Sandburg's wagon. This was a different type of forest: lusher, more verdant. He had the feeling that these trees never turned, never lost their leaves to the sad spell of autumn.

And he wasn't alone here. Someone... something moved beside him. He looked down and saw the smooth ripple of black fur, and halted in his tracks. The creature stopped also, and turned it's huge head back to look at him. He felt his mouth drop open in surprise. Cat's weren't supposed to have blue eyes. It was watching him with what could only be impatience. Well?

It wasn't exactly speaking, but he heard it, nonetheless. Who are you?

The animal sighed and sat down, looking up at him. It's hard to explain, Jim. It would be easier if you just accepted, and let the knowledge grow inside, gradually. Now is not really the time for long explanations. It stood up. Now, come on. They're waiting.

I'm not going anywhere with someone... something I don't know.

The tone was mildly disgusted. And he said his human was stubborn. You know me, Jim. You've known me for a long time. Remember all those months when you were in the woods, alone? Who do you think helped you through that? Kept you safe.

Jim had tried to forget that part of his life. He'd ridden to his new post, deep in the wilderness, only to find it deserted, abandoned. Whether it had been rebellion by soldiers tired of being isolated at the edge of nowhere or an Indian attack was never known. But Jim had been there, alone, for close to a year before the army had thought to check on why there were no reports coming from that particular station. He'd been half wild when the relief had arrived.

During that time alone he had not seen a single other man, but he had occasionally sensed a precense. It walked with him through the forest, somehow warning him when there was a danger of predators. More than once the sense of warning had prompted him to take cover just before a bear or a wild boar had appeared.

Considering the cat sitting before him now, watching him with cool blue eyes, Jim realized why it seemed so familiar. Yes, this had been his unseen companion. It said patiently, You trusted me then. Trust me now. Jim found himself nodding. When the beast continued on, he followed.

They came to a great tree. Lying beneath it, curved together, were Blair and a great grey wolf. Jim's heart froze when he saw the grizzled snout resting on the pale column of Blair's throat. But the shaggy head lifted, and turned eyes the same smoky blue as Blair's on Jim and the panther. Wonderful. And now mine is asleep. Do you think we'll ever get these two completely together?

The panther settled next to the wolf. We've made the first step. They've mated in body. I expect the mating in spirit won't be too far off.

Jim frowned. I'm right here, you know.

He never would have believed than animals could laugh, but both of them definitely chuckled. The wolf said, Yes, they're suited. He looked at Jim. Well? You know where you belong.

And he did. Jim lay down beside Blair, pulling him into his arms, and experienced the very odd sensation of falling asleep while he was asleep.

Part Ten

Jim had hoped to wake up to a warm Sandburg blanket, but not only was the young doctor not where he should be (draped over Jim) but he was not in the bed, and nowhere in the room. For a moment Jim had a sick, sinking feeling. He had gotten what he wanted, and stolen away in the night. His wagon would be gone from in front of the burned out store, his mules' stalls empty at Rafe's livery.

Then he heard the soft voice out in the cell. "Oh my darlin', oh my darlin', oh my darlin' Clementine. You are lost an' gone for-ever. Dreadful sor-ry, Clementine..."

Jim felt a smile spreading across his face. "All right, so he's not a nightingale," he murmured. "He has other talents." The pungent aroma of brewing coffee drifted to him, and suddenly his stomach was rumbling. Why not? he thought as he dressed. I guess I worked up an appetite last night.

Jim was pouring himself a cup in the kitchen when Blair came in from the forge. Jim eyed him. He was wearing his plum colored jacket again, and the hair that had tumbled so wild and loose last night was once again scraped into a semi-respectable tail. Again he felt the sick clutch in his belly, but he kept his voice calm. "Dressed for traveling?"

Blair laughed. "Lord, no! I wouldn't risk my best outfit on a long trek. However, I'm going to be visiting potential patients today, and it never hurts to look one's best." He did a turn, arms outstretched.

"Am I presentable?"

Jim slipped an arm around his waist, pulling him close. "You look good enough to eat."

Blair put his hands on Jim's chest and said in a deliberately simpering voice, "My, Mr. Ellison! How you do go on!" His voice dropped into its natural register as he planted a quick kiss on Jim's lips, then stepped out of his embrace. "Later, Big Man. I have work to do. I want to get out to Kincaid's and have a look at the ladies."

Jim scowled. "They don't usually welcome visitors till late afternoon."

"I'm not going to be a visitor. Look, Jim, you're a lawman, and a man of the world. You must know how much damage a single diseased prostitute could do? I must make sure they're clean, for the sake of the community as well as their own good."

"What will you do if they're not?"

"I can treat them for most things. They'll have to lay off work till they're cured, and..."

Jim gave a bark of laughter. "Yeah, I can see Kincaid letting one of his money-makers have a vacation."

Blair frowned. "This is serious, Jim. If any of the girls are infected, they must cease taking customers immediately. Normally, I'm all for letting them live their own lives, but this is too important. If I do find any that are sick, can I count on you to make the ban official?"

Jim sobered. His duty as law enforcer was being called upon. "Well, I'm not sure how I'd go about it, aside from putting her up in one of those cells. And she'd need some kind of support. It's their livelihood."

Blair sighed. "Well, we can worry about that when we come to it. This area doesn't have the flow of travelers that the bigger cities have, so there's a chance that none of the women have been exposed."

Jim stared into his cup and said softly, "I really don't like the idea of you going out there alone."

"I appreciate your concern, but..." he hesitated, then said slowly, "It is concern, isn't it?"

Jim's look was sharp. "Of course it is. I told you what Kincaid was capable of. What else could it be?"

Well, it could be jealousy, but I don't think now is the time to get into that. "Don't worry. I have more than a little experience with dealing with persistent people. Anyway, it's going to be broad daylight."

Jim's expression was bitter. "There's a lot of evil goes on in the light of day, Sandburg."

"I know. And the ladies will be there. Surely Kincaid won't try anything with witnesses all about, will he?" "Maybe. He didn't seem too worried that other time."

Blair sighed. "Look, caution is good, but I can't let it keep me from doing my job. I'll be fine. When I come back, I want to have another talk with you about your condition. I want to begin working on controlling your senses. I have to tell you, you surprised me last night." Jim's eyebrows quirked, and Blair smiled. "Oh, no. I knew you were going to be... mmm... special." He stroked Jim's throat. "I mean you didn't zone. I thought that the new physical sensations would probably overwhelm you. I was prepared to have to talk you down."

Jim laid a hand lightly on Blair's chest, over his heart. "This stopped it. I concentrated on your heartbeat when it started to be too much."

"That's good. But we need to find a method that will work when I'm not here."

"Why?" Blair went still. There was a world of meaning in that simple one word question. Jim was saying that Blair would be welcome to stay. No, he was saying that he wanted Blair to stay. But how can I trust that decision? I don't think he realizes what it would entail. Not just in dealing with his friends and neighbors, either. There's more to this Sentinel and Guide relationship than even I know. I know there were things that Sir Richard couldn't write about in his paper, things that just aren't mentioned in public. God, if only I could talk to him. But I have to stumble along as best I can, because it isn't just an interesting theory anymore: it's a living, breathing man. A man I think I may be falling in love with.

He said carefully. "I like Cascade. I think I'd like to stay here. But you never can tell, Jim. Things happen."

Jim's clear blue eyes clouded a little. He likes Cascade. Well, I couldn't really expect him to want to stay for me, not after just one encounter. But he wants to stay. There will be time. "Just be careful, okay? I wouldn't mind a reason to kick Kincaid's ass again, but I don't want to get it because he does something to you."

Blair stopped at the restaurant and got some leftovers from the sleepy cook, then went to his wagon and fed Burton. Afterwards, he loaded a carpetbag with things he thought he might need and headed to the livery. At the stable Rafe agreed to let Blair borrow a saddle and bridle. "I'll get your mule ready for you. Which one will it be?"

"Burton, of course. I have enough trouble persuading Naomi to draw the wagon. She'd be mortally offended if I tried to ride her and I'd rather not have to doctor myself after having a chunk taken out of my leg."

As Rafe saddled the mule he said casually, "I saw Megan... I mean Miz Conners out at your wagon yesterday. She's not sick, is she?"

Blair studied Rafe. He wasn't a Sentinel, but it was impossible to miss the genuine concern in the dark haired man's voice. "No, she's fine."

"Yeah?" There was a hint of relief, but he gave Blair a speculative look. "That's good to know."

Um. I think I just found Daddy. And judging from that suspicious look he's giving me, he's serious about her. I can't in good conscious tell him, though. As Blair mounted up he said, "Thank you. She should be all right, though I am a little worried about her lifting things around her store for the next few months."

Rafe wasn't a stupid man. Blair could almost see the gears meshing behind his eyes. "You just drop the mule back here when you're done, Dr. Sandburg, and one of my boys will take care of it. I need to go talk to Megan." He was hurrying toward the general store as Blair made his way out of town, whistling to himself. He just hoped Rafe didn't mention where he'd gotten the notion that Megan was expecting. Blair had a feeling that the Australian could be salty when she wanted to, and he wanted to stay on good terms with her, so he could keep an eye on her pregnancy. He was sure she'd be too practical to let irritation keep her from getting the best care, but he wanted to avoid any awkwardness if he could.

He found Kincaid's place about fifteen minutes outside of town. It was a large, pleasant house: two story, which was unusual. There was a stable and a corral off to the side, but at the moment the corral only contained one rather dispirited looking horse. Blair put Burton in with the other and carried his bag up on the front porch, then knocked on the door.

There was a sleepy murmur of voices inside, and the door was finally opened by a pretty, if rather blowsy young woman, wrapped in a flimsy robe. She regarded him, giving him a raking glance from head to toe, then drawled, "Sugar, you picked the wrong time o' day for a visit. An' if that," she gestured at his bag, "means you're plannin' on stayin' a bit, I gotta warn ya that the fees will be awful steep."

Blair bowed. "No, miss, I'm not here as clientele." Her lips pursed into a smile at the title of 'miss'. "Allow me to introduce myself: Dr. Blair Sandburg, traveling medicine man and physician. I'm here to see to the health of the ladies of this establishment."

Thin plucked eyebrows rose. "Wal, I'll be. Some o' the boys was sayin' somethin' about a new medicine man in town. Said you was a genuine doc, not a quack or a vet. That true?"

"I didn't bring my diploma with me, but yes, it's true. I am fully licensed to treat illness, prescribe medicines, and perform surgeries."

"Ain't no need o' that here, Sugar."

"Please, miss," Blair said earnestly. "Some of the diseases you could find yourself exposed to in your line of work are insidious, hard to diagnose and hard to treat."

"Lila, who the devil are you..." Kincaid, in his shirt sleeves, came up behind the woman. When he saw Blair his sour expression turned welcoming. "Ah, the good doctor! Don't just stand there, you ignorant twit.. Let him in."

Blair frowned, wanting to call the man to task over the insult, but Lila was watching him, and she shook her head minutely. He understood. It wouldn't be worth the trouble to her. As Lila shut the door behind him Blair said, "Good morning, sir. I suppose I should have made arrangements beforehand, but you'd left town by the time I thought of it, and I thought it would be good to get on with this. The quicker I can set the ladies' minds at ease, the better."

"To be sure. Some of them are still abed, lazy sluts, but I'll get them up for you. You can see them in the front parlor, if you like."

Blair hesitated. "They might want a bit more privacy."

Lila gave him an almost amused look, and her tone was sarcastic. "Doc, privacy ain't high on our list of necessities around here. I'll go tell the other girls. One at a time, Garret?"

"Yes." He turned to Blair. "There's only a half dozen of them. It shouldn't take you long. Do you need anything?"

"Well, a couple of sheets would be good." They'd entered the parlor. "I can put one on this settee for an examining table, and they can cover themselves with the other."

"You'll be examining them in the nude?"

Blair looked at Kincaid sharply. There had been an unhealthy note of interest in his tone. "Not if they object, of course, but it's much more effective if I do."

"They won't object." Blair had opened the bag and was removing his instruments, laying them out neatly on a table. As the young man pulled up a shade to let more light into the room, he examined them. "Quite an assortment you have here, Doc. Mind telling me what they are?"

"Well," Blair pointed to each instrument. "Stethoscope, to listen to the lungs and heartbeat. Many diseases can be diagnosed from abnormal sounds. This is a sphygmomanometer. It helps measure blood pressure."

"What?"

"Well, you know how water can be forced through a pipe by increasing the pressure behind it? Blood is pumped through the veins in much the same way by the heart, and if the pressure is too great or too weak it can cause all kinds of trouble. Then there's my magnifying glass, the funnel to make it easier to examine the ears, and the speculum."

Kincaid reached toward the spatulated metal instrument. "What's this for?"

"Don't touch it!" Blair said sharply. When Kincaid drew his hand back, frowning, Blair said more quietly. "I'm sorry, but it's clean right now, and I don't want it contaminated. I have to clean it with alcohol between uses. It's for the, erm, female examination."

"Oh, I see." Kincaid's smile was rather nasty. "But why bother? It isn't as if they're all that particular about what they put..."

"It's simple medical precautions," Blair interrupted. He was feeling more and more distaste for the other man. He had a very cavalier attitude about the women who worked for him. "I don't want to take the chance of spreading germs."

"Germs? Yeah, I heard of them. Supposed to be critters so tiny you can't see them." The disbelief was clear in his voice.

"They exist, and they are the major cause of disease and infection. I'd prove it to you, but my microscope was broken in Dodge City, and I haven't been in one place long enough to replace it."

A petite girl with long blonde hair done up in a messy bun wandered into the room and stared at Blair apprehensively while she spoke to Kincaid. "Lila said the Doc was here to check us out, Garret. I'm feeling good. I don't need no doctor."

"That isn't for you to decide, Rose. Now, strip off and let him look you over."

The girl wearily started to unbutton her dress, and Blair put a hand on her arm to stop her. She looked at him in surprise as he turned to Kincaid and said, "I'll ask you to leave now."

Kincaid frowned. "Doc, these girls are my bread and butter. I'd rather stay and see for myself that they're all right."

"No offense meant, Mr. Kincaid, but I doubt if you could tell the difference between a hematoma and a hysterectomy." He looked confused. "Please. The girls may have one of their friends present for modesty's sake, but I do not do examinations with another of the opposite sex present unless it is the husband, or in the case of the very young, the father."

"I don't know..."

"I do. I have to insist on this."

Kincaid finally shrugged with bad grace and left the room. Blair turned his attention to Rose, who was watching him with renewed interest. "Rose, isn't it?" She nodded. "Rose, would you like one of your friends here? Would that make you more comfortable?"

"Why do you care?" There was no real hostility in the remark, only curiosity.

He smiled. "Rose, my sole aim in life is to keep people healthy and happy. The more relaxed and comfortable you are while I examine you, the more accurate I'll be."

"I guess I'd like to have Lila here, if I could. She's sorta mother hen around here."

"Fine. Why don't you fetch her?"

Rose left and returned in just a moment with the older woman. Blair nodded to her. "Miss Lila, can you hold the sheet for Rose to undress, or do you need me to help?"

The two women exchanged looks, then Lila said slowly. "I reckon I can manage. You want her to strip all the way?"

"It will be the most convenience, but..." he addressed Rose directly. "as I said, nothing that makes you uncomfortable is required."

Lila held up the sheet while Rose stripped behind it, then wrapped her in the sheet. The girl sat on the settee, and Blair began the exam. He was quick, but thorough: peering, listening, thumping, palpitating. She didn't even blink when he asked her to lie down and spread her legs so he could give her a pelvic examination. The women again exchanged looks when he wrapped the speculum in a clean cloth and warmed it in his hands before using it. Rose screwed up her face as he began the exam, but gradually her expression relaxed. The young man was being incredibly gentle and careful.

When he was done he said, "Well, you seem to be in excellent health, aside from those blisters on your feet."

"She will wear her shoes a size too small, vain thing," Lila said in a scolding, but kind voice.

"Rose, I want you to stick with loose slippers till those are healed. Don't try to lance them, and try to keep them from breaking. Blood poisoning is a very real danger with those sort. I'm going to leave you some Epsom salts to soak them, and some salve in case they do break. That's all for you."

Blair cleaned his instruments as Rose dressed and the next girl was called. The exams went smoothly, and Blair was gratified that the women all seemed to be in good health. He examined three more girls, then Lila herself. As she was dressing again she said, "Doc, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

He was ready for a medical question, instead she said, "How much are you chargin' for this?"

"Mr. Kincaid said he'd take care of it."

"Oh, I've no doubt he said that. How much?"

"Two dollars each for the standard, plus a little extra if needed. Like Rose's salve and that throat wash I gave Julia."

Lila scowled. "Huh, I thought so. Would you mind if we paid you personally? It might take a day or so for some of us."

"Certainly, there's no hurry. But there's no reason why you should pay this yourself. Why not let Kincaid pay it for you? After all, I think it should come under working expenses."

"We'll do it ourselves 'cause if we let Kincaid do it he'll hold seven dollars outta our cut. Most of us can't afford that. Louise has a little girl in Sacramento, stayin' with her Ma, an' the kid starts school next year. She's got to save as much as she can."

Blair scowled. "Do you mean to tell me that he was going to charge you more than triple the proper rate?"

"That's nothin' new. You should see what he charges for board an' linens. I could have my sheets sent out to the Chinaman in town for less. Some of the girls wanted to do it themselves, but he charged so much for the soap that it wasn't practical. On the whole we get about a quarter, thirty-five cents outta every dollar that comes through here. Unless a customer wants to leave a tip, an' then Garret damn sure better not find out about it. Had a little gal about a year ago who didn't tell him about a silver dollar a cowpoke gave her. Knocked that girl clean out."

"But... that's outrageous!"

"Ain't it, though?"

"Why don't you report it to the constable?"

She laughed raggedly. "For a minute there I thought you was gonna ask why we didn't leave him. Glad you got better sense than that. I'll answer it anyway, 'cause I can see you're wonderin'. Cause as bad as he is, it's safer than workin' on your own out here. He runs off the ones who are too rough, an' sees that we get at least some of our money. That's somethin'. I useta run into too many men who didn't want to honor their bargains once they got what they wanted. And the reason we don't tell the law..." She shrugged. "Sugar, it ain't exactly illegal. Might be wrong, but it ain't illegal. There's no laws against a man bein' a hard business man."

Blair's expression was hard. "He won't be doing business with me. Yes, Rose, I'll accept direct payment. If he gives you a hard time about it, you can refer him to me."

"That's right nice of you."

Kincaid came into the room. "Well, Doc, all finished? How are my girls?"

Blair's voice was chilly. "The ladies are in excellent health so far. But I believe you said there were a half dozen. I've only seen five."

Kincaid looked at Lila. "Okay, who's trying to dodge?"

"It's Patty, and she's not trying to dodge it. She's just still asleep."

"What, at this late hour? Lazy slut. She's been sleeping more and more lately," he explained to Blair. "Hardly would bother to get up to meet customers if someone didn't haul her ass out of bed." His smile was greasy. "Of course, that's where business is conducted, but it's only polite to greet the customers in the parlor first, don't you think?"

Blair ignored him, looking at Lila. "Is she ill?"

Lila's expression was a mixture of sorrow and worry. "Not--exactly." She glared at Kincaid. "You know what the problem is," she said, her tone accusatory.

He shrugged. "She's a grown woman. She makes her own decisions. As long as it doesn't interfere with her earning power, who am I to complain?"

Again Blair ignored him. "Lila, what is it?"

"I think you better see for yourself, Doc. Come on up to her room."

Kincaid watched them leave, frowning. He didn't like the indifference the young man had been showing to him, he didn't like that at all. He wondered if Lila had been filling that pretty head with nasty stories. She was a trouble-maker, that one, far too independent. If she wasn't so good at keeping the other girls happy and productive, he would have gotten rid of her months ago. But lately she was the only one who could get Louise to stop crying over not seeing her brat, or get Patty up and semi-sensible when it was time to do business. Still, he'd have to think about letting her go soon if she was going to interfere with his plans for that sweet little sawbones.

Part Eleven

"Jim?"

Ellison looked up, startled. Rafe was standing in his kitchen doorway, regarding him with a concerned expression. "Rafe..."

The dark haired man gestured apologetically. "I'm sorry to just barge in like this. I knocked."

Jim sighed, putting down the Burton paper. He'd picked it up again, meaning only to skim it, and had found himself immersed once again, even more deeply than he had been the night before. "Come on in. There's coffee on the stove if you want it."

Rafe picked up the pot, then shook it and lifted the lid to peer inside. "I'm afraid this one is dead." He took it to the sink and pumped some water into it. The water hissed and steamed as it hit the heated metal. "It had boilded dry. You should be more careful, Jim. You're going to start a fire that way."

Now Jim noticed the acrid smell of burnt coffee. That was right, there had only been a little left in the pot. He should have taken it off the stove, but he had gotten so engrossed... "I'll be more careful. Sandburg was going to borrow some tack from you to get out to Kincaid's place. Has he come back yet?" Jim badly wanted to talk to the young man again. The more he read of the paper, the more he was convinced that Burton had outlined his situation exactly. He was a Sentinel and he needed a Guide. From what he'd already experienced with the curly headed young man, it seemed fairly obvious that Sandburg was the natural choice, and Jim couldn't help but be pleased by that prospect.

"That's what I came to tell you. He's been there, and now he's gone back."

"What?" Jim sat up, frowning. "What do you mean, Rafe?"

"Just what I said. He rode out there this morning, and came back a little while ago, got a few things from his wagon, and went back. Asked if he could keep the equipment for a few days, as he was going to be out at the... er, establishment. In fact, he sold his harness to me. Said he would be needing the money." Rafe snickered. "If he's going to be staying any amount of time out there, I guess he will need it. I thought he was staying here with you?"

Jim's voice was grim. "So did I." I can't believe it. After what we shared last night, he's going to go hole up in a cathouse?

"Anyway, he asked me to tell you. Don't know why he couldn't have stopped in himself, since it was right on his way." Jim knew, or was pretty sure. He hadn't wanted the awkwardness. He supposed he should be happy that Blair had stayed the night instead of sneaking out while he was still asleep. "Said he'd be back in a couple of days, not to worry, and he asked if you'd feed his dog for him."

"Why should I worry? He's a grown man. I guess I can feed the dog. No reason why he should suffer just because his master is irresponsible."

His friend's tone was unusually brittle, and Rafe looked at him closely. Jim looked strained, even more so than usual. Maybe his news would cheer him up. "Jim, I wanted you to be the first to know. Megan and I are getting married."

Jim blinked, and Rafe had the satisfaction of knowing that he'd taken his friend by surprise. "Well, I didn't see that coming. You kept it pretty quiet."

Rafe shrugged. "You know how people talk in a small town. We just thought it would be easier..." He blushed. "Oh, hell. You know how people talk about widow women, even when they're as proper as church mice."

"I know." He stood, patting Rafe on the shoulder. "I wish you both my best. I suppose you'll be getting married as soon as you can?"

"Next Sunday. I've already talked to the pastor, and..." He trailed off, looking at Jim suspiciously. "Why would you assume we'd be in a hurry to get married?"

Uh-oh. Don't want him to think Sandburg blabbed to me, though why I'd want to protect that brat's reputation, I don't know. "I just know that if it was me I'd want to be able to squire my lady around as soon as possible."

Rafe's expression cleared. "I'm glad you're all right with this, Jim. You know, for a while there everyone was thinking that maybe you and Megan would make a good couple."

"No, Rafe. Megan's a fine woman, and a good friend, but she isn't what I need." ...or want. Dammit, what I want doesn't seem to want me. I guess I should just forget him.

Jim tried. He threw himself into his work, turning out sets of horseshoes that he really didn't need, forming a new plowshare on the off chance that some sodbuster would need it when it was time to plant again. It didn't work. His mind kept drifting back to smoky blue eyes and auburn curls.

By the time late afternoon rolled around he was thoroughly disgusted with himself. He filled a bowl with chopped meat and bread and, after a moment, poured some bacon grease over it, then carried it to the physik wagon. As he approached, he looked for signs of the brown dog that had accompanied Sandburg to town.

He finally spotted him about a half a block away. The dog was on his hind legs, lapping water out of a horse trough. As Jim approached the wagon, though, his head jerked toward it, muzzle dripping. The dog dropped down and started back for the wagon at a fast trot, ears going back.

Jim stood still beside the wagon, hoping that he wasn't going to have to do anything to the animal. It was only doing its job, protecting its master's property, after all. But as the dog got closer it slowed. Bright, intelligent eyes studied Jim. Finally it sat before him, tongue lolling out in a doggy grin, and gave a short yip.

"So, you remember me, do you?" The dog yipped again, eyeing the bowl in Jim's hands. He sat up on his hind legs, front paws waving, nose lifted as he sniffed. Jim laughed and sat the bowl down. The dog began to eat with obvious appetite, but without the urgency of real hunger. When it was done it gave the bowl a few final licks then sat back with a sigh, and burped. Jim laughed again, reaching down to scratch its head. "Did Sandburg teach you your manners? His leave a bit to be desired, you know, running off like he did."

Jim sighed, leaning against the wagon. He put his head near the seam at the side, and closed is eyes, sniffing the complicated aromas that came through the crack. It was a rich, complex smell, comprised of the many herbs and medicines he stored inside. But overlaying it all was the scent of the man himself, warm and musky. Yes, he'd been inside this wagon not long before. The smell was fresh.

Jim frowned. But there was something wrong with it. It was heavy, and there was a faintly sour undertone. Not exactly fear, but worry. He had been very agitated about something. And there was another faint, sweetish odor that gave him pause. He recognized it from some dealings he'd had years before with certain Chinese gangsters in San Francisco. It was the aroma of opium. Not opium smoke, but it still was the drug. That scent didn't belong there. Sandburg had been very adamant about not using narcotics, and Jim was sure that he would have noticed the scent when he had been inside the wagon before.

Something's going on. Maybe he just came to the wagon for clothes, but then why would there be that poppy stink? It isn't like him to traipse off for a few days of debauchery without seeing to his dog first instead of leaving it to chance. Hell, damn my insecurities. I really don't think he'd just brush me off, either. His gut twisted into a knot. I'd better ride out to Kincaid's and see what's going on.

Jim went to the livery and got Rainier. As he rode past the wagon the dog trotted out and followed along after him. Jim thought about turning him back, but decided against it. The animal was used to staying close to Sandburg probably missed him pretty badly by now. Besides, he wouldn't mind having a protective dog along at Kincaid's.

It was evening by the time he reached the house, and there were several horses in the corral. He didn't see Burton, though, but there was a small stable where Kincaid kept his horse. Maybe the mule was in there. Jim put Rainier in with the other animals and went up on the porch. Darwin followed him and sat just behind him as he knocked on the door.

There was a murmur of voices behind the door, male and female. Somewhere in the background a girl was singing a bawdy song in a pleasant, husky voice, and a man was laughing. Footsteps approached. A brown-haired young woman in a low cut satin dress, her face thickly powdered and rouged opened the door. She looked startled, then grinned at him. "Wal, hello Sheriff!"

"Hello, Lila, and I'm a constable, not a sheriff. You know that."

She waved her hand. "Law is law, however you title yourself. Haven't seen you for a good long while." Her smile thinned, and her eyes were worried. "Not since... Didn't think I'd see you here again. Unless there's somethin' wrong? You after one of the boys? I know it ain't one of my girls. They all stay out of trouble."

"No, Lila. I'm just..." He shuffled his feet. "The young man who came here this morning?"

Lila nodded. "The doc. Yeah, he's here. Upstairs, with Patty."

Again Jim's stomach twisted, but he continued. "I want to talk with him."

Lila started to say something, but a voice from the front parlor called, "Lila, you ignorant bitch, what are you doing keeping a customer standing out on the porch? Bring him in." Kincaid's voice trailed off as he came into the doorway and saw who was standing at the door. "Well, I'll be," he drawled. "Certainly didn't expect to see you here, big man."

Jim stared at him, eyes icy, then looked back to Lila. "Could you ask him to come down and speak to me, please?"

"What, you asking after the little curly-haired dude?" He came up behind Lila. "I do believe he said that he didn't want to be disturbed unless it was real important." He smiled, and it was a nasty expression. "Took a real liking to our Patty. He paid for three days of her time, all to himself. That's quite a chunk of money for a common whore."

"Garret..." Lila started to speak, but the man gave her such a scowl that she bit her lip. "Mr. Ellison, he did say he needed time alone with her. I'm s'posed to bring him up some things in a little while. If you'll wait, I'll ask him then."

"I'd appreciate it."

"Why not?" Kincaid opened the door invitingly. "Come on in and have a seat in the parlor. I know you don't want to take advantage of my other hospitality, but I suppose I can stand you a drink."

Jim came in. "I'll accept the seat, but not the drink," he said stiffly.

"Oh, come now, Constable." Kincaid shut the door behind him. "Surely you're not going to hold a grudge over that little misunderstanding?"

Jim just stared at him, then walked into the front parlor. There were two cowboys and two girls there already. One of the men sat in a chair with a girl on his lap, the other two sat close to each other on the couch. Jim went and sat at the end of the couch, settling in to wait as long as necessary.

Lila hesitated at the parlor door, then came over to him. "Ellison, about the doc... I don't know what you think, but..."

"Lila," Kincaid came up behind her. "There's three potential money men playing cards in the kitchen. You go see if you can't coax one or two of them upstairs with you."

"I just wanted to..."

"Now, Lila. I've been more than generous, letting you help the good doctor, but now it's time for you to tend to your duties. Go on." She left reluctantly, and Jim froze as Kincaid sat down beside him. "Lazy women. I swear, I'd go bankrupt if I didn't keep after them all the time."

Kincaid grinned at Jim, studying his grim profile. "I heard that Sandburg was staying with you in town. I thought you didn't go that way, Jim."

Jim shot him a glance as cold and sharp as a knife blade in January. "Look, Kincaid, I don't want to talk to you. Just leave me in peace."

"You seem to forget," he drawled, "that you are in my home, on my sufferance. But," he stretched his legs out comfortably. "I'm willing to be tolerant. I'm in such a good mood, having Blair here." Jim glared at him. He didn't like hearing his erstwhile lover's name on Kincaid's lips. Garret could tell, and he smirked. "Such an interesting young man. You know, all that travel has really broadened his outlook on life. He isn't nearly as tight-laced as most people around here."

Jim stared down at his boots. "I can go wait out on the porch just as easily."

Garret stood up. "My, but you're touchy. Maybe if you'd been a little more sensitive before, things might have worked out between us." His hand moved toward Jim's face.

The Sentinel said coldly, "Kincaid, if you touch me, I'll have to hurt you. Badly."

Kincaid drew back his hand, unruffled. "All right, I'm not your type. I can understand that. But if you have your heart set on our little physician, I think you're wasting your time. I have plans for him myself, and I think he'll be more appreciative than you were."

Jim tensed, fighting the urge to just leap on the man and start beating him. "Leave him alone, Kincaid."

Garret's dark eyes were as flat and cold as stones. "He's a grown man, Ellison, and I don't recall him mentioning you as his guardian. He can make his own decisions."

"You just be damn sure that it is his decision, Kincaid," Jim snarled. "I seem to recall that you're bad at asking, and worse at taking no for an answer."

A man appeared at the door, a bored looking Lila snuggled against his side. "How's about a bottle to take upstairs?"

"Coming right up, my friend. That will be five dollars."

"Five?" Kincaid was unlocking a cabinet and removing a bottle from the stock inside. "Hell, I can get one for three in town."

"But you can't drink it in the company of such a charming young lady, now can you?" He took several coins from the grumbling man and passed over the bottle. "Personally, I'd drink that after you had your fun. She's going to start her time as soon as you get upstairs, and you pay extra for going over the hour limit."

"Aw..."

"Don't complain. In a good house in one of the larger cities you'd be charged by the half-hour. Now get on with you."

Lila looked past Kincaid to Jim. "I'll go see the doc as soon as I can, Constable. Just sit patient, okay? I know he wants to see you."

"Lila, keep your mind on business," Kincaid snapped. As the pair went upstairs he gave Jim one more considering, amused glance, and went into the kitchen, calling, "I understand there's an open chair in this game?"

Jim sat. He felt the urge to get up and pace, but forced himself to stay still and think. The more he thought, the more certain he was that any suspicions he had about Sandburg's reasons for being here were unfounded. Blair had said more than once that he didn't believe in paying for sex, and Jim knew that it wasn't just the masculine 'I never pay for it' attitude that a lot of men had. Blair didn't think he was too good to pay for it, he just thought that it was an experience that should be shared by people who liked and respected each other.

Jim closed his eyes and concentrated, letting his ears sift through the various sounds in the house, searching for one that was familiar, and fast becoming dear. He pushed aside the murmur of the men playing cards in the kitchen, the squeak of bedsprings and harsh gasps of people coupling in the upstairs bedrooms. There were so many heartbeats here, but he finally found the one he was looking for. It was unmistakable. He didn't question for a moment that he had found Sandburg.

He was relieved to find it strong and steady, but the more he concentrated on the area it was coming from, the more worried he became. There were disturbing sounds coming from there, too. Almost pathetic moans that chilled Jim's blood even after he realized that they were not coming from Blair. Then he heard Blair's voice. "Patty, no, don't try to get up."

A woman's voice, weak, but angry, answered him. "Let me up, damn you! I need it!"

"No, you don't. I know it hurts, but you're going to feel better by tomorrow. The very worst of it will be over by day after tomorrow, you have to trust me."

"Why should I? I didn't ask for this!"

"Yes, you did. You asked me to help you this morning. You made me promise that I would, no matter what you said or did, and I'm keeping my promise." His voice was firm, but gentle, and Jim felt his heart swell.

"I was crazy, I didn't know what I was saying. My... my brain was addled, you know that."

"You were affected, yes, but you never said anything saner."

"Oh, God, please. Just a little. I want to sleep. I can't sleep without it."

"Drink some of this."

There was the sound of something striking the floor, and the brittle sound of china or crockery breaking. Straining to hear everything, Jim even heard the slosh of liquid. Whoever was upset had thrown a glass or cup to the floor.

Perhaps more disturbing than these sounds was the smell that drifted down to Jim. It was awful. It was a combination of sweat, vomit, and human wastes. Someone up there was very, very sick. Without speaking to him, without speaking to anyone, Jim knew now why Blair was here. Despite the lascivious hints Kincaid had made about his motives, Blair was doing what he had to do: he was caring for someone. He was healing someone. And remembering the scent he'd smelled at the wagon, and Blair's speech to the crowd after that first show, he thought he knew just what he was fighting.

Jim waited, pulling out his watch to check it occasionally, waiting for the hour to pass. Apparently the cowboy had decided to pay for extra time. Finally he heard a voice call down from the top of the stairs. "Lila?"

Jim went to the bottom of the stairs and looked up. "Lila is busy, Blair. What can I do to help?"

Blair looked down at him silently, peering over the rail. He looked tired and drawn, his hair escaping from the ribbon to curl around his face. He was a little pale, and there were already shadows under his eyes, but when he smiled Jim's heart still turned over. "Can you bring me up a basin of water, and another cup? Maybe a few clean cloths."

"As quick as I can."

As Blair went back into the room behind him Jim headed for the kitchen. The three men at the table looked up from their cards as Jim came in. He ignored them and searched in the cabinets till he found a cup and a basin. He chose metal containers, remembering the sound of the cup breaking on the upstairs floor. After pumping water into the basin he picked up several cloths off the counter, and one of the men said jocularly, "What's the matter, Bo? The woman you picked so lazy that she's makin' you take care of the cleanin' arrangements?" Jim just shrugged and left, hearing the rough laughter behind him.

He carried them upstairs, being careful not to spill the water. Up on the second floor he tapped gently at the door, and Blair opened it after a moment. "Thanks, Jim. Lila and the other girls have been helping as much as possible, but they have to work. If they fall behind in their earnings, Kincaid makes their life hell."

"Can I come in?" Blair hesitated. "Please."

Blair bit his lip. "It's between doctor and patient, Jim. I can't tell you."

"You don't have to, Chief. I think I know what's going on." He smiled. "I'm a Sentinel, remember? Opium has a very distinctive smell, and I remember what you said in your show."

Blair took the cup and cloths. "All right, come on in. I may need to your help later. I've only done this a few times, and it... it's draining."

Jim came in, and Blair shut the door, and locked it. "Put that over on the stand by the bed, please." Jim went and placed the basin on the stand, then turned his eyes to the girl lying in the bed.

She was a pretty girl, or might have been. Her long, fair hair was in a sloppy braid, but it was unraveling from being tossed about, and it was soaked at the temples with sweat. The scent of the sweat was pungent, mingled with the smell of vomit and... other bad smells. Her face was thin and pale, and the shadows under her eyes were like bruises. Her lips were dry and chapped.

As Jim studied her, Blair poured something from a bottle into the cup and added water from an ewer. The he sat beside the girl on the bed and touched her gently. "Patty? Patty, honey, I need you to drink this." Never opening her eyes, the girl slapped out at him, but he moved out of the way. He glanced at Jim. "I wasn't fast enough last time. I expect you heard the cup break?"

Jim nodded. "That's why I brought the tin one."

Patty slitted her eyes. The lids were gummy. "Who's there?" Her voice was raspy.

"It's Jim Ellison, Patty," Jim said. "The town constable."

"You ain't takin' me in. I know my rights. I'm outside the city limits, got no call to arrest me. Garret promised."

"I'm not here to arrest you."

"No." The chapped lips curved into a sickly smile. "Oh, I see. Yeah, sugar, sure." Trembling fingers moved to the buttons of her gown. "I'll show you a good time."

Jim gently took hold of her hands and pushed them down to her side. "No, little girl. I'm not here for that, either."

She scowled. "Then what good are you to me? I need money. I took the last of my medicine, and I need more." She glared at Blair. "He won't give me any." Her eyes moved past Jim, fastening on the dresser on the far wall, and her voice became coaxing. "Look there. There's the bottle. He says it's empty, but there might be a little left. That's all I need, just a little. Get it for me, won't you? I... I'll do whatever you want, if you'll just get me my medicine."

Jim went to the dresser and picked up the small brown bottle, examining it. The label said 'Slumber's Friend. Laudanum. Administer in liquid. Recommended dosage..." It went on to suggest various numbers of drops for men, women and, to Jim's horror, children... and infants. The raw smell of alcohol and opium was heavy.

Patty's voice was eager. "There's some left, isn't there?" She held out her hand. "Give it to me!"

"No, Patty, it's empty."

"I don't believe you! Give it to me!"

"Patty," He uncorked it and turned the bottle upside down. "Nothing. Dry as dust."

The girl lay back, shaking, and tears began to seep from her eyes. She looked at Blair and whispered, "You could get me some, if you wanted to."

"Patty, if you drink this, it will help." Blair again offered the cup.

"Is it laudanum?"

"No, dear. But it will help with the pain and the nausea." She allowed Blair to support her head and put the cup to her lips, then swallowed the contents of the cup. When it was empty he glanced at Jim. "Jim, come turn the pillow, would you? It's gotten sweaty, and the fresh side will be cooler."

As Blair held her, Jim turned the pillow, and Blair let the girl down gently. She was so light. Under the voluminous nightgown her bones felt fragile, birdlike. She sighed, and looked up at him, her eyes over bright. "I...I'm sorry, mister. I'm not myself." She looked at Blair. "Doc? Have I been... very horrible?"

Blair smoothed her hair off her forehead. "No, baby. You've just been very sick. And I'm afraid you're going to be sick for awhile longer. But I'm here, and I'm going to help you. Can you sleep a little now?"

"I think so."

"Try. When you wake up we'll try to get a little soup into you. Louise promised to make some." He smiled. "Those new tinned condensed soups are wonderful inventions."

"That sounds good." Her voice sounded as if she were trying to convince herself. She clutched at his hand. "You won't leave me, will you?"

"I may step out into the hall, but I won't go far."

"Promise?"

"Promise." She closed her eyes. Blair sat beside her till her breathing evened out into the rhythm of sleep. He got up carefully and went to the door, beckoning Jim after him. Out in the hall he closed the door almost all the way, leaving a crack. Then he leaned against the wall wearily, rubbing his eyes. "God, it's been less than a day, and I'm already so tired."

"She's addicted."

Blair nodded. "When are they going to pass laws against that shit? Oh, it is a medicine, and it can be a very effective one. But they won't regulate it. They sell it to anyone who asks, and so many of them haven't the will to use it only as it should be."

He stared bleakly at the wall. "Most of them become addicted accidentally. They don't realize what they're doing to themselves, and if they have a supportive environment, perhaps they never realize."

"Blair, that bottle gave a recommended dosage for babies."

His hand curled into a fist and jerked toward the wall, but Blair barely managed to stop himself from pounding it. He jerked his fist a few times in futile anger, as if he desperately wanted to be beating something, or someone. His voice was choked. "They call it soothing syrups, and market it to help with colic and teething. But so many people use it to quiet fussy infants. And it's so easy to put just a drop too many in the dosage..." He turned haunted eyes to his friend. "Do you have any idea how many people murder their own children while trying to have a peaceful night's sleep?"

"You've seen that before, haven't you?"

He fell back against the wall and slowly slid down till he was sitting. Jim sat beside him. "I'd been on the road for about three months. I was treating myself to a night in a hotel. Oh, it wasn't much of a hotel. It was cheap, but it was close to the theater district in New York, that's where I was. That's why a troupe of players was staying there. The leading lady had a six month old little girl. Jim, she was the prettiest thing you ever saw, with big brown eyes and just the tiniest bit of peach fuzz hair, and such a wide, pink gummed smile. But she was colicky, cried and cried, and they don't allow that in hotels. The management said they had to keep her quiet or move out. I tried to help. There are herbs you can use, natural ways to help, but they don't work every time, and they can't just make the symptoms go away. So they bought one of those 'calmers'."

He drew his knees up, hugging them, and pressed his forehead to them. His voice was shaky. "I didn't know. I never would have let them if I had known. That night there was the most godawful screaming from their room. Everyone ran out to see what was wrong, me included, and she came out of her room carrying the baby. She ran straight to me and pushed her into my arms and said, 'Mary won't wake up! Make her well. You're a doctor, make her well.'"

His shoulders heaved, and Jim saw a tear streak down his face. He reached over and pulled him close. Blair's arms went around Jim, and he buried his face against his broad chest. "She was still warm, Jim. Oh, God. I might have been able to help, if only they'd known a few minutes earlier. There are stimulants. It would have been dangerous with a baby, but I could have tried. But it was too late."

Jim stroked his back. "You did all you could, Chief," he said gently.

"But it should never have happened." He was quiet for a moment, then said in a small voice. "That... was the first one."

Jim closed his eyes. This explained a lot of things: Sandburg's adamant refusal to sell any form of narcotic, and his pointed offer to help anyone who had a problem with the substances, and perhaps it had a little to do with his restless roving, too.

Blair was speaking. "I knew about it when I was in school, of course. The pain killers are still so new. They're regarded as miracles, and they are, Jim, they are. If only they had been more widely available during the War Between the States, unimaginable suffering could have been avoided. But they've flourished too quickly, their use has spread too fast, and people are using them to dull more than physical pain. They're escaping the pain of their lives instead of dealing with it. That's what happened to Patty."

He rubbed his cheek on Jim's shirtfront. "A lot of the prostitutes use opium in one way or another. Some of the pimps and madams purposely get the girls to use it because it makes them easier to control. You saw how she is. They'll do anything to get it. Anything."

"Did Kincaid..." Jim's voice was raw.

"No, I don't think so. She was already using it when she came here about a year ago. But he sure as hell hasn't discouraged it, and he's helped her get it. None of the stores locally carry it, it has to be ordered, and Lila tells me he's been placing the order for her when he makes a trip to Lansdale. He doesn't care, as long as she keeps making money. Lately he's been angry because she'd gotten to the point where her work was suffering. She didn't want to eat, and she's lost a lot of weight. She's been sleeping all the time, and when they could get her up she was only half-awake. Groggy. The customers thought she was disinterested, and that isn't good for business." The last words were bitter.

"So he was willing enough to have me try to cure her, but he wasn't willing to lose any of the money he might earn during the time she'd have to be isolated. He demanded to be paid if I wanted to keep her from working."

"That's why you sold your gear to Rafe."

Blair nodded. "It bought me three days. I don't know what I'll do after that. I may have to part with the mules. I'd hate to do that."

"You won't have to. I have some money saved."

Blair looked up at him, eyes concerned. "Jim, I couldn't do that."

"Maybe you can't, but I can. I can see how attached you are to those two ornery beasts. Do you think I'd let you part with them? Besides, I have the feeling that the next owner would have Naomi at the glue factory gates in no time flat."

Blair laughed weakly, and Jim felt his heart lift. "Yeah, she's cussed, all right. Thanks, Jim. A week will see her through the worst of it. After that... Well, it's up to her. Some of them make it, some of them don't."

"But will you make it, Chief?" He ran a thumb over Blair's chin. "You're already tired. I'm worried about you."

He said softly, "I have to make it. I will make it." He looked into Jim's eyes. "As long as I know you're there, waiting for me, I can do what I have to."

Jim cupped Blair's face and kissed him gently. The younger man put his arms around Jim, leaning on him as the Sentinel's tongue slipped between his lips and lapped softly. When their lips parted he murmured. "Be my strength?"

Jim gathered him even closer, burying his face in the still fragrant mass of his hair and responded. "Yes, Blair. And you... you be my heart."

Part Twelve

"Well, who says you can't find true love in a whorehouse?" The voice was snide.

Jim and Blair both started, but it was Jim who held on when Blair started to pull away. He glared at Kincaid, who was standing halfway up the stairs, watching them. The sandy haired man surveyed the embracing couple with a malicious smile and drawled, "I do hate to interrupt you, but if Patty is feeling any better I have a customer downstairs who's interested."

Blair did pull away from Jim, but gently, his hand lingering on his arm. "She's off duty, Kincaid, and you know it. Her time has been paid for."

"Look, Sandburg, from all I can see all she's doing is laying in that bed. She could be earning good money while she does that. Why don't you ask her what she wants?"

Blair stood up and went to the head of the stairs, glaring down at the other man. "You know damn good and well what she wants, and you know that it's the drug that's driving her to it. Why, Kincaid? Maybe you couldn't have stopped her completely, but by giving her such easy access and implicitly approving it, you've made it easy for her to almost kill herself."

He shrugged, "I told you before. She's a grown woman, she can make her own decisions."

"Damn it, she can't be more than eighteen!"

"And she's been earning her living on her back since she was fourteen. She's no delicate child who needs to be protected. And I didn't force her into this life."

"No, you just profit from it!" Blair spat.

Kincaid's dark eyes glittered. "Looking down on me as a pimp, Doctor? You hardly have room to be very moralistic when you're a..."

His voice trailed off as Jim stood up and came to stand beside Blair. His voice was low, deadly, and his eyes were flat. "What, Kincaid? Go ahead and finish your sentence."

"When he's no better than he should be. You know, Sandburg, you shouldn't keep that little nose of yours so high in the air--you could trip and hurt yourself." Blair started to say something, but there was a thump from the room behind them, and the sound of weak swearing. Dismissing Kincaid, he turned and hurried back into the room. Jim lingered long enough to give him another hard look before following him.

Kincaid looked after them, lips thinning into a knife edge line. Too good for old Garret, eh? Both of you, too good. Well, now, I have a little something to teach you, and that is nothing and no one is too good for me. His face thoughtful, he went down the hall to his room. Shutting the door behind him, he opened his closet and rummaged in it, then came out with a small box. He opened it and pulled out several wads of crumpled paper, then removed a small brown bottle.

He read the label. "Slumber's Friend. Dilute in water. Men--6 to 8 drops for gentle slumber. Hm. I wonder how much it will take to knock him on his pretty ass?"

Back in Patty's room Blair and Jim picked the delirious girl up off the floor, dodging weak swipes of her nails, and bundled her back into bed. When she had finally calmed down enough for them to release her Jim said, "Chief, I hate to say this, but maybe you ought to tie her to the bed."

"No, Jim. It's important that she be allowed to maintain what little dignity she can through this."

"Yes, well, the dignity isn't going to do her much good if she bashes her brains out falling, or attacks you when you're half asleep, but I suppose I can see your point."

"She's going to be very weak for awhile. I think I'll be all right watching her."

"When will you sleep?"

"The girls have promised to spell me when they can."

"That still won't give you much more than a couple of hours a day, and that will probably be in short naps that won't really do you much good."

"I swear, Jim Ellison, you worry over me worse than my mother ever did. Look, I know my limitations, I've come up against them time and again on the road. I won't push myself too far because that won't be helping Patty. I can't do her much good if I can't function to the best of my abilities."

He went over and looked out the window. "Well, I'll be..." He smiled. "I see Darwin followed you out. He's going into the stable. Must be going to say hello to Burton."

"He was worried about you." Jim came up behind him and slipped his arms around Blair's waist. The smaller man leaned back against him, putting his hands lightly on Jim's where they rested on his belly. "He doesn't have to be. Neither do you." Jim rested his chin on Blair's shoulder, and Blair reached up and back, cupping his cheek. "Jim, I had a funny dream the other night."

"Was it about a wolf and a black jaguar?"

Blair went very still. "How did you know?"

"Were they scolding you about being stubborn, and slow? Did the wolf lead you to the cat?"

"Jim..." he whispered.

"Was I there?"

Blair turned in his arms, looking up at him. "Shared dreams? I've heard of such things, but it's rare. The people have to be very close, share a special bond."

"I'm not entirely sure it's just a dream, Chief. I've felt the presence of the cat before. I'll tell you more about it when you're back home and we have more time to talk. But the strongest time I've ever felt him before last night was in the wagon, the first time I met you. You remember? I saw your cuff links and zoned. He was there."

Blair looked down, eyelashes veiling his eyes, and said softly, "They're rather presumptuous, don't you think? I mean, the cat said... something about mates."

Jim's arms tightened. "Yes. That we were mated in body and would be in spirit."

Now Blair looked up at him again. His voice was serious, his eyes grave. "I don't understand this, Jim, but I feel like I'm being pushed... no, led. Led into something... big. With you." Jim nodded. Blair bit his lip. "It's very sudden, I know. I can understand if you want to back off and take some time to look at it from all angles."

"Blair..." Jim put his hand in the deep thicket of Blair's hair, feeling the silky strands wind around his fingers. "I've been moving toward this most of my adult life. I just didn't realize it, and I wasn't ready for it. I think I am now." He chuckled. "I'd better be. I think the wolf and the cat will kick my ass if I'm not."

Blair swallowed. "You mean you're willing to consider... being with me?"

"Didn't you hear me, genius? I said 'when you get home.' Not back to town, not back to the forge: home. With me. I want you to stay, Blair. Not because the community needs a doctor, but because I need you. And I think you need me." He leaned close. He didn't kiss Blair, but their cheeks grazed, and he whispered in his ear, "If you'll have me."

Blair's arms went around Jim in a fierce hug. "Home sounds awful good to me, Big Guy. We're going to have so much to talk about, but..." he pulled away and went to pull the covers up over a shivering Patty. "It will be a couple of days. Why don't you go on home now?"

Jim followed him. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"

Blair patted his arm. "Of course I want you to stay, but you should go get some rest. Your place is back in town, in case something goes wrong and someone needs you. You can come back and see me again later. In fact, I'd appreciate it if you got me some fresh clothes out of the wagon and dropped them by tomorrow." He sniffed himself pointedly. "A little longer and it won't take a Sentinel to tell I've been living in these."

Jim nuzzled his neck. "Have I told you how good you smell?"

"Not directly, no, but I get the idea." He pushed Jim away, swatting him on the chest. "Now, go on before we get carried away and do something indecent in front of the girl."

Jim flushed. For a moment he had actually forgotten Patty. He gave Blair a quick kiss. "I'll be out tomorrow. Will you need anything besides your clothes?"

"Let me see." Blair got his case from beside the door and rummaged in it. "I brought a pretty good supply with me when I came out, but..." He held up a bottle that was about a quarter full of white powder, and examined it. "I'm a little low on amphetamine sulfate. She was in a bad way when I first saw her, she'd taken very close to an overdose, and I had to use it to bring her back. If you'd stop by my wagon and bring me a little more, just in case, I'd appreciate it. It's in a box on the second shelf, clearly labeled."

"Sure, Chief. What's it do?"

"I told you there were stimulants; this is one of them. I try not to use it unless absolutely necessary. I don't use much when I do use it, because too much can be just as damaging as too much of an opiate. I just wet my finger, dipped it in, and rubbed it on her gums. It works very quickly." He rummaged in the bag again and showed Jim another, smaller bottle. "I'd much rather use the ammonium carbonate."

Although it was tightly corked, Jim's head jerked back from the acrid whiff that rose from the bottle. "Smelling salts. God, that stuff could get a rise out of a week dead horse."

Blair smiled. "Colorful language, but it still wasn't enough for Patty. The amphetamine sulfate did the trick, though, thank God. I'd have had to try a stronger solution in an injection if it hadn't worked, and that's so chancy." He put the medicines away and stood up. "Anyway, that's all I need. I have stuff to help her with her nausea and constipation."

Jim studied the girl. She was pale, and sweating profusely, but she was shivering. He said softly, "She really did a number on herself, didn't she?"

"Most people who try to run away from life do."

Jim rubbed his thumb along Blair's jawline, acutely aware of the rasp where his beard was beginning to grow out. "Explains a lot of the trouble I've had. I'm through running now, Chief. I can stand and take whatever life decides to throw at me, if you'll be with me."

Blair took Jim's wrist and kissed his palm. "Get out of here before I'm tempted to throw you across Patty and climb on top of you."

Garret Kincaid watched as Jim Ellison went out to the corral and got his horse, mounted it, and rode off. Again he examined the bottle, smiling, then slipped it in his pocket and left the room to go downstairs. It was too early to try anything. Later, after the customers had left and the girls were asleep, that would be the time.

***

Blair wiped Patty's forehead, relieved to feel that it was cool. She wasn't sweating so badly now, and he thought that she might have actually slept a little. He'd managed to get her to eat almost a whole bowl of soup, and she'd managed to keep most of it down. That was good--she needed to keep her strength up.

He sat back in the chair, yawning. Damn, he was tired. He'd been up longer than this many times before, but this period had been emotionally as well as physically grueling. Still, he wasn't prepared to try to sleep yet. Maybe tomorrow, if she continued to improve, he'd find a settee and take a nap. He supposed he could doze a little in the chair: he'd done such a thing often enough before. But, truth be told, as appealing as a little rest seemed, he really didn't want to go to sleep in this house. Not unless he could put a stout lock between himself and Garret Kincaid.

He hadn't really liked the man before he came to the house. What he'd seen and heard since he'd been here had made him actively dislike him. He was cold and self-serving, lacking any human concern for the women who were more or less under his protection. And the way he had looked at him and Jim made Blair's skin crawl. He had been the object of unwanted attention before, and he knew what it felt like.

He heard the door open behind him, and turned wearily. "Lila?"

"She's gone to bed, like the rest of them. We ended up having a busy night tonight. Of course, part of that is because Patty was out of commission." Kincaid shut the door behind him.

Blair frowned at him. "Don't start."

"I'm not going to. I was just making a comment." He walked to the bed and stared down at the girl, showing a hint of detached interest. "How is she?"

"Better, but still a long way from cured."

"And how are you?"

"I've been better."

"You look tired."

Blair sighed. "I'm not surprised. Kincaid, I can't believe that you're overwhelmed by concern for either of us. What do you want?"

Kincaid shook his head. "I don't know where we went off track, Sandburg. We were getting along famously in the saloon. I had great hopes for our friendship." He put his hand on Blair's shoulder. "I'm not such a bad sort."

Blair shrugged his touch off and said coldly, "We're never going to be friends, Kincaid, and we're damn sure never going to be more than friends, so you might as well just leave it alone."

If he had been looking at Garret as he said this he would have seen the dangerous glint in his eyes, but when he did look up, the other man's expression was neutral, even a bit apologetic. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. No reason why I can't be civil, though. Could you use anything? A drink perhaps?"

"No alcohol, not while I'm watching Patty."

"How about a little coffee, then? It wouldn't take but a few minutes to fix."

Blair eyed him in disbelief. Kincaid was offering to go through the trouble of fixing him coffee? He considered. He could certainly use a boost: it was going to be a long night. He nodded. "That would be good."

"Fine. I won't be long."

When he left Blair told the dozing Patty, "Well, what do you know? I guess even the snake likes to be seen as civilized now and again."

"Shouldn't trust 'im, Doc." It was a whisper, barely a sound at all. Patty cracked gummed lids and looked at him. Her eyes were lucid. "You're right when you said he's a snake. Sneaky and slick."

"I don't trust him, Patty. Never fear."

"Where's your friend?"

Blair was surprised that Patty remembered Jim. "He had to go back to town. He's the constable, and can't be away for long."

"Too bad." She smiled faintly. "Big, pretty man." Blair had to answer with a smile of his own, and a nod. "It's good, you two bein' together." Blair's smile faded. She really had been more aware than he would have credited. Her smile grew a little broader. "Oh, hell, Doc. After all the things I've seen, you think I'm gonna be bothered that your sweetie wears pants instead of petticoats?" Her eyes closed. "Just don't trust that Kincaid. Tried to give this stuff up once on my own. I got so moody and hard to live with he bought a bottle himself an' gave it to me. Said to do everyone a favor and take it."

Blair felt chilled to his core. He counted himself a tolerant man, but when this was over he was going to see if there wasn't some legal way to get Kincaid run out of the area.

Kincaid came back and offered a thick mug of coffee. Blair glared at him as he took it, and Garret said mildly, "My estimation seems to have fallen even farther. What brought that on?"

"Contemplation." Blair sipped the coffee and grimaced.

Kindaid watched him. "Bitter?"

"Yes." Blair didn't feel obliged to coddle Kincaid's feelings.

"Must be the chicory."

"I've spent some time in New Orleans. That isn't chicory."

"Then I'm afraid the beans weren't roasted properly. Rose doesn't stir them, and they burn in spots." He paused. "I can make you a fresh pot, if you'd rather."

Blair sighed. "No. I'm drinking it for effect rather than pleasure. Maybe the taste will help keep me awake." He drank some more, then said baldly, "You can leave any time now, Kincaid."

The older man sat on the side of the bed. "I think I'll just sit for awhile. Everyone's asleep by now and I don't feel like going to bed."

"I'd rather you left."

Kincaid's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you would, but this is still my place, and I reckon I'm entitled to sit where I please. You'll just have to brace up and stand it, Doc."

Irritated, Blair finished the coffee in one gulp, trying to ignore the bitter flavor, then made a face as he set the cup aside. "Well, I guess that should keep me awake, if it doesn't kill me."

***

Jim was in the forest again, moving through moonlit trees. He was going somewhere this time, he knew he was. There was a sense of urgency, a feeling of dread that made the hair at the base of his skull prickle.

A solid shadow fell before him, dropping from an overhead branch to land crouching before him. Chill blue eyes in a feline face looked up at him. He needs you.

Jim sat up, sweating, eyes flying open...

...and found himself again looking into those same blue eyes. The black jaguar was crouched at the foot of the bed, staring at him. Jim froze, waiting for the last of the dream to dissipate, waiting for the panther to fade. It didn't.

It shifted, and Jim felt the mattress dip with its movement. The rank, feral smell of wild cat assaulted his nostrils. There was a soft, rumbling snarl. The animal twisted, leaping over the footboard to land lightly on the floor. It peered back over the barrier at Jim and gave a low, coughing cry.

"Good God," Jim whispered. "You're real." The beast crouched, tail lashing impatiently, and cried again. When Jim didn't move it stalked toward him. He flinched as it reared on its hind legs, front paws landing on the mattress near his hips. Massive jaws closed around his forearm, and he expected to have it ripped off at any moment. Instead the gleaming fangs barely dimpled his skin as the big cat tugged at him, then let go. Jim rubbed the spot, and his hand came away slick with warm saliva. Yes, this was real, and the animal wanted something.

Then he remembered the dream. He needs you. Jim threw off the covers and grabbed his pants. By the time he dressed the animal had vanished, and he hadn't seen it go. But he didn't care; he had other things on his mind. He headed toward the livery stable, hoping Rafe wouldn't grumble too loudly about being awakened in the middle of the night, but fully intending to use his status as constable, if necessary.

Part Thirteen

Garret carefully studied the young man slouched in the chair, watching for signs. Blair yawned and seemed to settle more deeply. Hard to do when you're sitting in an unpadded, straight-back chair Kincaid thought with satisfaction. Shouldn't be long now.

Blair blinked, rubbing his eyes. That coffee should have woken me up at least a little, as strong as it was, but I'm feeling sleepier than ever. No, I wasn't really sleepy before: I was tired. Now I feel like I can hardly keep my eyes open. He gave another jaw cracking yawn, and when his eyes squeezed shut with it, he had to think to get them open again.

Garret Kincaid's voice was sympathetic. "Tired, Doc?"

It would be foolish, considering his obvious state, to deny it. "Some. I've been worse."

"You've got a good spell yet to go on this, haven't you?"

"Yes. Several more days."

"I hope you don't intend to stay up that entire time. That could almost kill a man, and it wouldn't do my establishment's reputation any good to have someone doing themselves an injury here. You ought to take a nap."

Blair stretched, hoping that would revitalize him a little, but his limbs felt heavy. "Maybe tomorrow."

Kincaid plucked at the blanket. "Why not now? Patty's asleep."

"Too soon. I want to watch her in case there's..." For a moment his mind refused to come up with the proper term. "Convulsions." He forced himself up out of the chair, finding that he swayed slightly, and began to pace in hopes that would clear his mind.

Kincaid sat and watched quietly, noticing the slight weave that grew more pronounced. "Doc, I really think you ought to lie down."

"No." He stopped and put a hand against the wall, leaning on it heavily, the other hand to his forehead. "Just need a minute." There was a low, worried sound, a muted whine, and he went to the bed anxiously. But Patty was sleeping, as Kincaid had said.

Kincaid said, "What's wrong?"

"I... I thought I heard..." The whine came again, and he looked around, feeling puzzled. "Something's wrong."

"Are you lightheaded? You look a little dazed."

"Yes. I guess this is getting to me more than I thought."

"Maybe some fresh air would help?"

"Yes, air." Blair went to the window and struggled with the sash. He couldn't raise it. "Stuck."

"Yes, well, it's been humid this summer. It's possible the wood swelled. There's another window at the end of the hall." Blair started for the door, and stumbled halfway there. He would have fallen, but Kincaid leapt up and caught him. "Whoa, there! A little unsteady on our feet, aren't we? I don't want you going out around those stairs like this. I'd better help you?"

The feel of Kincaid's hands made Blair's skin crawl, but he was feeling more dazed by the moment, and desperately wanted to get some fresh air, so he endured. Kincaid supported him out of the room and began to lead him down the hall. At the end of the corridor he more-or-less propped Blair against the wall and tried the window. "Well, I'll be. This one is stuck, too."

Blair staggered away from the wall. "Downstairs."

Kincaid put a hand on his chest, pushing him back. "In this state, and risk you breaking your neck? I don't think so. There's another window in here. It catches the sun, so maybe the wood is drier." With an arm around his shoulders, he steered Blair into his bedroom.

***

Rafe hadn't been too grumpy at being awakened in the middle of the night, but Rainier was another story. The big horse obeyed readily enough, but he snorted continuously. "You've been associating with Naomi, haven't you?" Jim asked as they trotted out of town.

About halfway to the brothel Rainier shied slightly, ears flickering. Jim spotted the dark figure in the road, a solid shadow among other shadows, with the faint gleam of moonlight on blue eyes. As he approached it turned and loped down the road, paused, and looked back with a coughing cry.

As he did, another figure emerged from the gloom to join him. The silver-gray wolf skidded to a halt beside the panther. Glaring at Jim with dark blue eyes it lifted its snout and howled. The mournful sound died into a worried whimper and both animals looked at the Sentinel. Jim did something he very seldom did: he dug his heels into Rainier's sides. Luckily, the big horse was sensible enough to realize that his master wasn't just being difficult, that there was an emergency. He surged into a furious gallop, and the two spirit guides raced before Jim toward the place where his Guide and lover was in danger.

***

Kincaid opened the window, and Blair fell toward it. He would have ended up half-out of it if Kincaid hadn't caught his belt, dragging him back. Instead he dropped heavily to his knees, and leaned on the sill, drawing in great gulps of air. It didn't help much. The night was too sultry for the air to clear his head. He closed his eyes, mumbling, "Not working."

"Then you're body's trying to tell you that it 's time to rest." He was lifted and turned.

Blair managed to peel his eyes open again just as he was deposited on the edge of a bed. He looked down muzzily to see Kincaid squatting near his feet. "What are you doing?"

Kincaid pulled off Blair's boots. "Getting you ready for bed."

"No, I told you. Can't sleep now."

Kincaid stood up and smiled down at him. As dazed as he was, there was something in that grin that sent a shiver down Blair's spine: something predatory. The older man's voice was soft. "Doc, you don't have any choice in the matter."

The sense of wrongness swept over Blair again. He was alarmed at how slurry his own voice sounded when he spoke. "What did you do?" Kincaid removed a bottle from his pocket and showed it to Blair before setting it aside on the nightstand. "Jesus! You drugged me!"

Kincaid shrugged. "Had to, Doc." He reached for the buttons of Blair's shirt. "You were just being too stand-offish. Things were going fine till you went back and talked to that damn lawman. I guess he must've filled your head with nasty stories about me."

Blair slapped at his hands. "Nothing he told me could be worse than this!" He tried to stand, and Kincaid easily pushed him back.

"Yeah, well, it's a bit underhanded, I know. I'll just have to make it good enough for you to forgive me, won't I?" He'd managed to get Blair's shirt unbuttoned. Now he pulled it down his arms, trapping them, and shoved him so that he sprawled across the bed. Blair tried to struggle up again, but he was too uncoordinated to do it with his arms restrained. Kincaid immediately got up on the bed with him and knelt, straddling his hips. His knees were on the shirt, trapping Blair even more completely.

Kincaid stared down at the young man, watching as he struggled weakly, enjoying the smooth play of muscle beneath the dusting of body hair. "What's this?" His fingers found the nipple ring. "Oh, my! Sandburg, you are a treasure! You're just full of surprises." He tugged gently.

Blair was horrified when his body responded, the flesh swelling and hardening. He knew that it was just the sheer physical stimuli, but still the idea of his flesh betraying him like this, responding to this monster, was disgusting. Kincaid laughed softly, understanding the emotional turmoil Blair was feeling. "Yes, maybe you don't like me much, but your body isn't so particular, is it?" Blair struggled, trying desperately to throw the man off, but his efforts were pathetic. A hint of cruelty entered Kincaid's smile, and he tugged harder. Now Blair whimpered. The laudanum moving through his system dulled the pain, but he could still feel it.

"I'm sorry, did that hurt?" The contrition in his voice was patently false. "Well, you really shouldn't try to fight me, Blair. I get rough when my toys try to fight me." His hands smoothed over Blair's chest, combing through the crisp hair. "It's no use, you know. I gave you more than the dose on the bottle." He frowned as he moved his hands down Blair's torso. "I'm not really sure how much. I didn't bother with that damn dropper."

Despite the fog invading his brain, Blair felt a stab of terror. He had thought that he was reacting too strongly to a minimal dose of the medicine. Overdose, he thought. The bastard has given me an overdose. Oh, God, I could die. He managed to say aloud, "Kincaid, too much can kill. I need my bag. Let me take an antidote."

"Oh, I hardly think it's dangerous." He sounded completely unconcerned as he removed his own shirt. He began to stroke his own chest, toying with his nipples till they rose to stiff peaks. "Of course I'd hate to have anything happen to you, but if it does..." He shrugged. "I have a nice nest egg in the bank. I'm pretty sure I could get into town, withdraw it, and leave before anyone really misses you. But it shouldn't come to that."

Blair realized with outraged terror that Kincaid really didn't care. If Blair died he'd be irritated at losing a new bed warmer so soon, and angry about having to either explain or flee, but it wouldn't affect him any more than that. He wouldn't lose any sleep because he'd killed a man just to have sex.

Kincaid unbuttoned his own trousers, pushing them down his thighs, then did the same with his drawers. His cock jutted out from a tangle of sandy brown pubic hair, thick and hard. "I've been hard since I went into Patty's room, just waiting for this. I'm afraid the first time is going to be rather quick, but I'll make sure the next time is nice and slow."

As he spoke a clear drop of pre-ejaculation fluid oozed from the tip of his penis and fell, landing on the flat plane of Blair's abdomen. Blair flinched as Kincaid dipped his fingertip in the warm slickness. He tried to turn his head when he saw what the other man was going to do, but Kincaid took a punishing grip in his hair, holding his head still, and rubbed the wetness across his lips.

Blair spat, and managed to hit Kincaid's forearm as he drew back. Garret slapped him almost casually.

"Guess I'll have to wait till you're out to fuck your mouth, but that will come. I'm going to have you in both holes before the night is over. I figure this is my only chance with your stud standing guard, so I'd better make it count. But I'm willing to start off with something a little milder till you're..." he chuckled, "in the proper frame of mind."

He opened Blair's trousers and lifted his soft prick out of the fly. Stroking it, he said, "I don't suppose you'll get hard for me. Still, I wouldn't mind trying." He moved down, still straddling Blair's legs. With a supreme effort of will Blair managed to half rise, only to be knocked back down with another slap, this one more vicious than the first. "Stay down, Sandburg. Don't make this any harder on yourself than it has to be."

Blair almost cried when he felt the hot wetness engulf him as Kincaid swallowed half of his cock and began to suck. It could be such a warm, beautiful act, but this was perverted. It was an attack instead of a caress.

Blair was realistic enough to know that he had been lucky in avoiding something like this up until now. There had been times when it had come close. A couple of times all that had saved him from rape was a well placed knee. But all those times he had been able to fight back. Now he was helpless to do more than lie here and let the horror of the experience wash over him. And it had to happen now, now that he had finally found someone that he thought he could love. Someone who could love him, just as he was.

That was what hurt the most. He'd found his mate, like the spirit animals had said, and now he was going to lose the chance to be with him because of one man's perverted lechery.

"Jim!" He moaned. "God, Jim... Need you."

Kincaid loomed over him, face flushed, mouth loose and wet. "I can give you what you need, pretty man." He flipped Blair onto his belly, jerking his trousers down. Blair moved bonelessly, beyond resistance. "I can make you forget that ox."

There was the sound of hoof beats outside, and Kincaid hesitated, swearing quietly. Then he rubbed Blair's back. "Just another customer, nothing to worry about. One of the girl's will answer the door." He put his hands on the pale globes of Blair's ass, squeezing voluptuously. "Mm. You're so relaxed I won't even need to grease you up, I think. That's good. I like 'em tight."

Perhaps one of the girls would have answered the door, but it never came to that. There was a thunderous crash as Jim kicked the front door in. Kincaid froze for an instant, then leaped to throw the bolt on his door. "Shit!" There was no confusion or wondering about who it might be, they both knew. Kincaid half buttoned his pants as the footsteps pounded up the stairs, seeming to move with incredible speed. There were screams from other parts of the house as the women awoke and reacted to the threatening noises.

***

Jim took the stairs two and three at a time. He was reaching out with his senses now, using them as never before. By the time he reached the top of the stairs he knew that Blair wasn't in Patty's room, where he had left him, but he was close-by.

The scent was strongest off to the left, toward the end of the hall. He felt a low, rumbling growl build in his chest as he realized that the stink of Kincaid was coming from that direction, too, and it was thick with lust.

As he raced down the hall other realizations hit him. The smell of anger and fear filled the air. He could hear Blair's beloved heartbeat, but something was wrong. It was still strong, but it was sluggish. In this state of fear it should be racing, thundering. Then he smelled the alcohol and medicine stench of laudanum. Patty's bottle had been empty, but this aroma was strong, and fresh. It mingled with the tang of strong coffee.

Jim didn't have time to think about this because he had reached the last door and all the sounds and scents were coming from there. There was a second heartbeat in the room, and it was rapid, pounding. He could hear breathing; both slow and labored, and near gasping in agitation. He hit the door with his shoulder, snapping the bolt that had kept it closed easily, and lunged into the room.

The scene in the room was burned into his mind in a split second. Blair, face down on the bed, naked, his beautiful body limp. His back barely rose and fell with each shallow breath, and the space between breaths was growing longer. Kincaid, shirtless and with his pants half undone, was at the dresser, his hand in an open drawer. As he saw Jim he drew a gun from the drawer, cocking the hammer.

He would have killed the constable then. Even Jim's speed would not have been enough. But he hesitated for an instant when the big man was suddenly flanked by two menacing figures that seemed to materialize out of thin air. A great gray wolf crouched to his left, powerful haunches bunched as if to spring. A huge black cat, like a shadow mountain lion, snarled at him, showing razor sharps fangs the length of his thumb.

That instant of reprieve was all Jim needed to launch himself at the other man. In a blink the animals were gone, and Kincaid started to raise the gun. Jim barreled into him before he could get it halfway up, and the shot he fired went into the floor.

There were more screams and the sound of running feet as they crashed into the wall. Jim had hold of his arm; twisting brutally to make him let go of the gun. Kincaid hung on like grim death, knowing that he didn't have a chance against Jim in a fair fight. The gun went off again, the bullet smashing into the wall not far over the near unconscious Blair's head. Jim pounded Kincaid's hand against the wall, hearing small bones snap as the man howled. The gun dropped, and Jim kicked it spinning.

Kincaid's only hope now was to get away, get to his horse, and escape. He'd have to send a telegraph to have his funds transferred somewhere else, but right now he had to concentrate on escaping with his life. He was a violent man himself and could recognize it in others. He knew that Jim Ellison meant to kill him.

They staggered and wrestled back and forth across the room. Kincaid was no physical match for Jim, but desperation lends its own sort of strength, and he was holding his own. The hall was filled with half-clad women, shrieking and talking excitedly. Lila pushed herself to the front of the crowd. She took quick stock of the situation. Ellison could take care of himself, but Sandburg was in trouble. She went to the bed, rolling the young man over with not a little difficulty. He was solidly built, and he was a dead weight right now, unable to do anything on his own.

She sat beside him, shaking his shoulders. "Doc! Jesus, Doc, what did he do?"

Kincaid managed to throw Jim against the wall, then dove for where the gun lay, just in front of the open window. He was starting to rise again; face twisted in a grimace of fury and hatred, Jim couldn't have reached him with a punch. He was already moving toward Kincaid. He leapt. Just as the gun came up Jim's feet struck Kincaid full in the chest.

The procurer sailed backward, a look of surprise on his face. His head struck the window where it was lifted in the frame, hard enough to splinter wood and shatter glass. He plunged backward through the opening with a shout that was cut off by a heavy thud as he hit the ground.

Jim's battle rage faded immediately as he heard Lila cry out. "Ellison!"

Jim ran to the bed. Lila had pulled a sheet up to Blair's waist, covering his nakedness. Blair's eyes were closed his lashes dark against cheeks that were far too pale. The heartbeat had slowed so much, and for a moment Jim thought he had stopped breathing completely, till he saw the minute rise of his chest. As Jim bent over him the smell of opium and coffee assaulted him again, wafting up from Blair's lips. He spotted the bottle on the night stand and snatched it up. "He drugged him. Dear Lord, how much did he use?"

"Blair!" Jim shook the young man by the shoulders. His head rolled limply, his eyelids never twitched.

The girls were crying. One of them, Rose, wailed, "He killed 'im! That bastard killed the doc!"

"He isn't dead yet!" Jim snapped. He thought fiercely, then said, "Bring me his bag." When no one moved he screamed, "Now! Hurry!" There was a rush to obey him. Jim shook Blair again. "Sandburg, listen to me! You aren't gone yet, you can hear me. Don't you dare leave me now that I've finally found you!"

Rose pushed her way back into the room, putting Blair's medical bag down next to Jim. Jim ripped it open and rummaged through the contents. He found the bottle of smelling salts and uncorked it, fighting his own senses down so that he wouldn't pass out from the intensity of the scent. Then he gripped Blair's hair and put the bottle right under his nose, letting the pungent fumes flow directly up into his nostrils.

There was the tiniest strengthening of his heartbeat. Even with his stethoscope, Blair wouldn't have been able to detect it, but the Sentinel's hearing could not be mistaken, not in something this important. But it wasn't enough.

Then Jim remembered. He dug again through the bag. "Amphetamine sulfate. Where is it? Where..." He found the small bottle. With shaking hands he uncorked it. Licking his finger, he dipped it into the bottle and withdrew it with white power caked on the fingertip. Using his other hand he hooked a finger in Blair's mouth, pulling it open, and rubbed the powder on his gums, working it into the moist membranes. "Work, damn it! Come on! Blair, you said this would work."

He repeated the process, forcing himself to only use a little of the powder. Blair had said it could be dangerous: too much of this could be as bad as too much of the opiate. He was about to try again when the heartbeat sped up a little. "Yes, that's it! You can do it, Blair. Come back." The girls gathered around, silent now. They knew that they were watching a struggle for life.

Gradually the heartbeat became stronger, steadier. Soon it was at its normal pace. The breathing deepened, too, resuming a normal rhythm. Color crept back into Blair's face. His eyelids drifted up, and the pupils, though still smaller than they should have been, were not the pinpoints of someone heavily under the influence of laudanum. "Jim?" His voice was a whisper.

Jim stroked his hair back from his face tenderly. "I'm here, Chief."

"Kincaid. I should have known better."

"Don't flog yourself over that, Blair. We didn't know he had any more of the drug. Are you going to be all right?"

"Help me sit up." Jim supported him, propping him back against the head of the bed. Blair placed his fingers against his own wrist, frowning in concentration. "I... I think I'm okay. But I was sure I was a goner. He must have given me more than quadruple the usual dosage. I don't understand how I'm alive."

Jim showed him the amphetamine sulfate. "I remembered what you told me this afternoon, about stimulants. I knew it could have killed you, but I think you were dying anyway, and I had to try."

Blair smiled weakly. "You did fine. How'd you like to be my apprentice?"

Jim smiled grimly. "Too busy being a lawman. And about that... I hate to leave you alone now, but I have to get after Kincaid before his trail gets too cold for even me to follow."

"There ain't any hurry on that," Lila drawled. She was standing at the still open window. Glass littered the floor around her slippered feet, and there was a ragged gap in the base of the raised window. She peered out. "He hasn't gone anywhere, 'cept maybe to Hell."

Jim went and peered out the window. Garret Kincaid, gun still in hand, was sprawled on his back in the moonlight. His dark eyes were open, and an almost surprised expression was frozen on his face. With his vision, Jim could tell that there was no movement in his chest. He listened carefully, trying to screen out the sounds of the others around him. There was no heartbeat. Kincaid was dead: had been for several minutes, probably from the moment he struck the ground. A fall from a second story didn't necessarily have to be fatal, but it had been in this case.

Jim dismissed him from his thoughts and turned back to his lover. As he sat on the bed Lila said, "Wal, I guess his sins finally caught up with him. 'Bout time. Don't worry, Constable. You have plenty of witnesses. The man was hurting the Doc, an' you was defending him, then defending yourself. The bastard had a gun and you didn't. It won't even get to court, and if it does, they'll have a roomful of tarts giving 'em hell over it."

A thin, wavering voice called from down the hall. "What's goin' on? Doc? Where's the doc?"

Blair tried to get up, and Jim pushed him back. "Where are my trousers?" he demanded.

"Easy, Chief. You need to take a little while."

"My patient needs me. I love you, Jim, but get off of me or I'll hit you."

Several of the girls gasped, but Jim just picked Blair's trousers up off the floor and handed them to him. As the young physician struggled into them, unmindful of the frank stares of the gathered women, Lila sidled up to Jim. "You're gonna have your hands full with that one, Constable."

Jim watched Blair, his gait showing only a hint of unsteadiness, head for the door. "I know. I'm looking forward to it."

Epilogue

"As I was wandrin' down the street, down the street, down the street, a pretty girl I chanced to meet. Under the silvery mo-oon..."

OOOOooooww

Blair stopped combing his hair and glared at Darwin. "It wasn't that bad!" The dog hooked a paw over his eyes. "It was not! Damn, it's a good thing I don't need to put on shows to attract customers any more with a harsh critic like you hanging about."

Blair wrestled his hair into a tail and tied it carefully with a white ribbon. "Buffalo gals, won't you come out tonight, come out tonight, come out tonight. Buffalo gals, won't you come out tonight, and dance by the light of the mo-ooon..."

OOOOoooooww!

This time the howl was doubled, and it was joined by a caterwaul. Blair turned to see the wolf and the panther sitting on the bed, both looking at him with pained expressions.

"Oh, I don't believe it! All of you?"

Jim walked into the bedroom. "What's wrong?"

Blair pointed. "My gallery does not approve of my singing."

Unsurprised, Jim looked at the spirit guides. "Don't listen to them. I've come to the conclusion that they enjoy teasing us."

"When did you decide this?"

"About two days ago when they had the tug of war with my new shirt."

Blair tried not to smile. "Well, I told you that was an ugly shirt. Jim, tell me, my singing isn't that bad, is it?"

Jim smiled at him. "No, it's wonderful." The wolf sneezed. Jim ignored it. "Very... spirited." The panther snarled. Jim gave them a sharp look. "I mean it." The wolf turned and lifted his tail in a demonstration of what he thought of that statement. Jim sighed. "All right. Um... you're a little off-key, sometimes." Blair threw the comb on the dresser, and Jim sighed, glaring at the animals. "I wasn't lying to him, you infernal beasts! I was just... just... Oh, hell, you're supposed to keep us together, aren't you?" They gave him smirking smiles and disappeared.

Blair was glaring into the mirror, jerking at the stock that was knotted at his throat. Jim looked at the tangled mess and groaned. "Blair, what are you trying to do? Didn't I tell you that I'd take care of that?"

"You weren't here." His voice was sullen.

"I had to check on the decorations. The church looks beautiful. The kids found a ton of wild flowers this morning. Stand still." Jim moved up behind Blair, reaching around him to unlace the stock. He began to wind it into a neat bow.

Blair stayed still. Some of the irritation faded from his expression as Jim's forearms rested on his shoulders. "How's Rafe?"

Jim chuckled. "Nervous. I think he's going to wear a groove in the rug before the ceremony starts. Megan, on the other hand, is serenity itself."

"I still can't believe she asked me to give her away, but I'm glad she did. It makes me feel even more than I'm accepted here."

Jim finished the bow and rested his hands on Blair's shoulders, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "You are," he said softly. "This is your home now."

Blair knew that Jim didn't mean here in Cascade, he meant here, with him. He nodded, reaching up to touch Jim's hand. "Everything is working out so well. Those quarters behind Megan's store are going to be perfect for my office, now that she and Rafe will be moving into their own home."

Things had been straightened up quickly. A marshal came over from Lansdale the day after the incident. He questioned Jim, Blair, and the girls. Kincaid's death was ruled self-defense, and he now was buried in an unmarked grave at the back of the small local cemetery.

Since he had no relatives it was decided that Lila, having lived with him for more than two years, could be considered his common-law wife. She had sold the house for a song to Rafe, and then she had removed Kincaid's savings from the bank and distributed it evenly among the other girls, saying that it was theirs, anyway, since he'd sweated it out of them.

All of them had gone their separate ways already. Louise was going back to Sacramento with enough money to comfortably care for her little girl for a long time. Rose had decided to go back East. Several of the girls were pooling their money and going to Colorado to open a house. They figured that there was a good living to be made off the miners. Lila, herself, had a fancy to try her hand at the stage, and was bound for New York.

An older Cascade couple who had never had children had taken in Patty, nearly recovered, at least physically. Blair intended to work with her to try to keep the craving for the laudanum at bay. He told Jim that with a more stable life, and the support of people who cared for her, she stood a good chance. Today she would be sitting in the church when Megan and Rafe got married.

Blair smiled at Jim. "I was wondering if I should hang my diploma in my study, or out in the waiting room where people can see it, in case they're worried that I'm not an accredited doctor, like certain Sentinels I could name."

"I never really doubted you, Chief. You know that." Simon had brought a telegram back from Lansdale that contained a glowing testimonial from the dean of the Boston Medical College. In short it said that the entire population of Cascade should get down on its collective knees and beg Doctor Blair Sandburg to take up residence and open a practice. Blair had said that wasn't necessary. "I've always been aware of your talents." Blair wiggled his eyebrows, and Jim laughed. "Not that."

"No?" His voice was mockingly disappointed.

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do."

He turned in Jim's embrace, reaching up to kiss him. "I love you even if you don't like my singing."

"That's a relief, because your singing..."

"Don't push it." He laid his head against Jim's chest. "I want to ask you to do something. I'll understand if you don't want to, but I need to ask."

Jim's hands smoothed over Blair's back. "What is it?"

"You're Rafe's best man, so after I escort Megan, we'll both step to the side for their vows." His arms tightened around Jim, and he said softly. "I can see already that things are going to be all right here. That the people care enough about you to let us live our lives in peace. Oh, I know there will be trouble now and then. It's just human nature for some people to dislike or fear what they don't understand. But we can live our lives together here. I want..." He trailed off.

"What, Blair?" Jim's voice was gentle. "What do you want?"

"We can't be married legally, but I was thinking. When the preacher performs the ceremony, we'll be standing together. Could we... could we say the words to each other? We could whisper very softly, and no one would know, they'd all be concentrating on Rafe and Megan."

Jim tipped Blair's face up and kissed him tenderly. "Someone will hear, Blair. God will hear." He kissed his lover again, pouring out all the love and gratitude he felt for this man who had changed his life so profoundly. Finally he pulled back, just a little, and whispered against his lips, "Yes, Blair. I'll marry you."

The End

Author's Acknowledgements: Thanks Mary for beta-ing, Suse for the fantastic cover, and Patt, Corinne and Audrey for the illustrations. You're all better than I deserve, but NOTHING is too good for Jim and Blair!