GHOSTS AND GUARDIANS

Content:
Gen
Ezra, Mary
Old West Universe
No Sexual Situations
Violence

He was just a hired hand
Workin' on the dreams he planned to try
The days go by

Ev'ry night when the sun goes down
Just another lonely boy in town

She wasn't just another woman
And I couldn't keep from comin' on
It'd been so long

TEQUILA SUNRISE ~ The Eagles

~~~

She wasn't a working girl ... that was clear.  Nor an adventuress, he was convinced, despite the fact that she seemed to be travelling alone.  Her dress was inexpensive and far from stylish -- in fact, it seemed rather out of date -- but it was quietly elegant, and her carriage and the set of her head hinted at a natural grace which his experienced eye told him had been polished by a ladies' school.

Whoever she was, Ezra Standish was glad of the distraction offered by this new arrival to Four Corners.  Indian summer had wrapped an unaccustomed mantle of melancholy over him.  Ezra was not normally a reflective soul, having decided long ago that it was unwise to look back at the past, or forward to the future, any more than was necessary.  But the end of the year was approaching -- a year that had changed his life -- and more and more of late, the gambler was dismayed to find himself reflecting on those changes. 

He looked across the street to where Chris Larabee, Buck Wilmington and Vin Tanner were deep in conversation.  Trouble, he guessed, judging from their postures and the look on Larabee's face.  They'll tell me about it, when they're ready.  But they won't come looking for my advice, only for my gun.

Ezra sat up straighter in the boardwalk chair where he had been quietly sipping his morning coffee, turning his attention from contemplating his uneasy status in the group of men with whom he rode and back to the intriguing newcomer.  He hadn't seen her step from the stage ... it had pulled away and revealed her standing there in the dust of Main Street, a carpetbag in one hand and a small leather case in the other.  Weariness showed in the fine lines of her body as she climbed the steps to the hotel and, when she looked up, Ezra could see a tension in the pale skin that did not seem natural to the gentle graciousness of her face.

Ezra Standish knew a lady in distress when he saw one.  His inborn gallantry, usually kept under tight rein, drew him to her side as irresistibly as did the poker tables at which he had for so long made his living.  He set his coffee cup on his chair and cast a sidelong glance across the street, intending to warn Buck off with an "I saw her first" look, but the three men were apparently too focused on their discussion to notice the woman.  Ezra dismissed this oddity as good fortune and returned his attention to the beautiful traveler.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," he drawled pleasantly.  "Welcome to our little town.  May I assist you with your bags?"

Wide brown eyes looked up at him, and Ezra felt a momentary chill in the hot Indian summer air.  Something about those eyes was ... strange.  But then she spoke, and the rich southern lilt of her voice warmed him and chased the gooseflesh away.

"Why, thank you, sir."

"You sound as if you may know New Orleans, ma'am," he said, affecting a low bow before reaching out to take the bags from her gloved hands.  "I would be pleased to be of service to a lady from that fair city.  My name is Ezra Standish."

"I do know New Orleans, sir," the woman replied, smiling for the first time, "although my family is from St. Francisville.  My name is Gabrielle Arceneaux."

Her bags were surprisingly light, but Ezra paid that no mind.  "May I show you to our hotel?" he offered.  "The Virginia Inn, where I make my own residence, is the best Four Corners has to offer.  This way, Mademoiselle Arceneaux."  Placing the small case under his arm, he reached out and swung the door open for her.  His new acquaintance stepped gracefully over the threshold, revealing for a moment one elegant ankle as well-turned as that of any fine Chippendale.  Ezra felt an unaccustomed flush of heat race through him.  Composing himself, he followed the woman into the lobby, placed her bags on the floor in front of the desk, and rang the bell.

"We don't receive many travelers here in Four Corners, mademoiselle.  The desk clerk may take a moment to assist you."

"Oh, Mr. Standish, that's quite all right.  I'm sure I've taken up quite too much of your time already.  You needn't stay."  She looked over his shoulder at the door, and Ezra saw a hint of fear in her eyes

"Mademoiselle, I--"

"I'll be fine on my own, sir," she insisted.

"Very well," said Ezra uncertainly.  He rang the bell again. "Perhaps you might allow me to escort you to dinner this evening?"

Her strange, yellow-brown eyes lit up as if at a joke that Ezra had unknowingly made.  She dropped into a half-curtsey.

"I would be delighted.  Say, eight this evening?"

"I shall be here at the desk awaiting you, mademoiselle."

"I look forward to seeing you again, sir."

At that moment Henley, the desk clerk, emerged from his office.  "Well, hello, Mr. Standish!  Sorry to keep you waiting ... what can I do you for?"

"Nothing for me, my good man.  Just take good care of my friend here."

Ezra smiled again at the woman, then turned away and headed for the door. He did not see the quizzical look that Henley directed at his back, before the desk clerk shrugged and returned to the dark haven of his office.

~~~

Sunlight had abandoned Ezra's windowsill by the time he was dressed for dinner.  He had tied, and retied, his cravat by the light of his oil lamp, and carefully affixed his onyx stickpin to hold it in place.  While he was not inordinately vain about his appearance, Ezra regarded it as an obligation to society to be clean and well dressed on all occasions.  Besides, it had been some time since he had enjoyed the company of a lady at dinner, or anywhere else, for that matter.

Especially not that of a lady this intriguing.

He checked his pocketwatch.  It was seven fifty ... time to head downstairs.  But as he replaced the timepiece in his pocket and adjusted the hang of the fob, there was a knock at the door.

*Dammit.  If Buck wants me to spell him on patrol this evening, he shall have to learn disappointment.*  Irritated, Ezra walked to the door and opened it, prepared to defend his evening off, only to find Gabrielle Arceneaux standing there.  She was still dressed in the gray travelling suit she had been wearing when he first saw her, and the distress he had seen in her face earlier that day was, if anything, even more pronounced.  Taken aback for a moment, Ezra found himself uncharacteristically speechless.

"Mr. Standish, may I come in?"

Ezra was again taken by surprise, but stepped back and invited her into the room.  He took care to swing the door wide open, but his guest hurriedly closed it behind her.

She's frightened half to death, Ezra thought.  What on earth ...

She stood with her back to him, surveying the small, tidy room.  Ezra reached out to lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but the woman started violently at his touch.  One outflung arm swept the pitcher and basin from the dresser.  Water flew everywhere, soaking both Ezra and his guest to the skin.

"Oh no!"  She looked up with wide eyes.  "Oh, I'm so sorry!"

Ezra pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and touched it to her face, belatedly realizing that the embroidered linen was as wet as the cheek he'd meant to dry with it.  Green eyes and brown met, and they broke together into spontaneous laughter.  But Gabrielle's was too quick, too shrill, and turned suddenly and unexpectedly to tears.

Ezra hesitated only a moment before stepping forward and gathering her into his arms.  It had been a long time since he'd held a woman, and this one was lovely, her slender curves enticingly apparent beneath the soaked cotton of her dress.  Ezra's body betrayed his gesture of comfort with a gallant response of another kind.  Conflicting emotions moved within him ... his natural protectiveness of women, the one character trait which he had never allowed his lifestyle to betray, warred with the desire he felt as she pressed against him.  Ezra tried to ignore his own feelings and held her, stroking her hair and making wordless soothing noises until her weeping subsided.

Gabrielle leaned back in his arms, looking up at him with gratitude and ... something else.  Not surprise, Ezra thought, but satisfaction, as if he had been tested and not been found wanting.  He was still trying to read her expression when she placed a hand behind his head, brought his mouth to hers, and kissed him.

It was not a kiss of thanks, no small press of lips to cheek in gratitude, as he might have expected.  It was a kiss that spoke of desire, of need for comfort, and ... of comfort offered.  A profound hunger suddenly overwhelmed him, and he responded helplessly to her kiss, as if she was offering him solace instead of the reverse.  The kiss deepened, and without conscious thought Ezra pulled her to him, one hand at her waist and the other in her hair, surrendering for a heady moment to sweet intimacy before withdrawing from the embrace.  She made a soft sound of protest and tried to pull him close again, but he held her at arm's length.

"My dear, it is not my custom to take advantage of a woman," he said with quiet firmness.  "Especially not a woman so vulnerable as you seem to be right now.  I can see that there is something troubling you.  You may depend upon my assistance, my protection, and my honor, in this matter."

Her strange eyes filled again with tears, and yet there was a compassion in them that Ezra did not understand.  Wearily, she sat upon the bed.  Taking Ezra's hands in hers, she pulled him down next to her and fixed those compelling eyes on him.

"Your protection," she whispered, smiling faintly.  "You can't protect me ... no one can do that.  But you can grant me some peace.  Just for tonight ...  Will you do that for me, Ezra?  Please?"  She leaned toward him, and he felt the sweetness of her breath against his cheek.  Her lips touched his neck in a kiss both gentle and inviting.

"Gabrielle ..." he whispered, but her hands were on his necktie, working the knot free.

"Hush," she whispered back.

After that, there was no resistance.  They undressed each other slowly, peeling back their damp clothing with deliberate care and a gentleness that only enhanced the desire growing between them.  Gabrielle ran a pale hand over the lean musculature of the gambler's bared chest, her fingertips exploring old scars with sadness in her eyes.  Ezra's breath hissed between his teeth at her touch, and he returned it in kind, slowly pulling her camisole from her shoulders and sweeping his palms lightly over the gentle swell of her breasts.  She lay back on the bed and he lay with her, and the darkness closed in around them.

When their lovemaking ended she slept curled close against him, her back pressed into his chest and her arms entangled in his, as if Ezra's body was a refuge long sought and she feared, even in her sleep, that she might be torn from that safe haven at any moment  Ezra felt his heart twist within him.  This woman was afraid of something, terrified to the core ... and yet she trusted him, a man she didn't know at all.   It was a unique realization for Ezra, one that moved him deeply.  And there was something more; strangely, Ezra felt within himself that same peace Gabrielle had asked him to grant her, as if her touch offered consolation for some great grief of his own, so long borne that he had almost forgotten it was there.  He buried his face in her hair and allowed that peace to infuse him as he fell into sleep.

~~~

The rap on the door was urgent, impatient.  Ezra had never lost the instincts of a man who'd lived his life a doorknock away from trouble, and woke instantly.  Gabrielle did too, the fear in her eyes showing clear in the dark.

"It's all right," he murmured reassuringly, squeezing her shoulder as he left the bed.  He reached for the gunbelt that hung from the wooden butler by the dresser and slipped the Remington smoothly from its holster.  Naked but for the gun in his hand, Ezra pressed his back to the wall and turned his face to the door.

"Who's there?"

"It's me, Ezra!"  The excited whisper belonged to JD Dunne.  "There's trouble ... Chris sent me to get you.  Wants us all in the saloon, right away!  Come'on!"  The tread of his boots faded down the hallway.

"Trouble?" whispered Gabrielle.

"Don't worry, my dear," Ezra said calmly, returning to the bed to sit next to her.  He stroked her hair and gently pushed her down into the pillows, pulling the bedclothes over her bare shoulders against the chill night air.  "It will surely amount to nothing.  Perhaps my associate Mr. Wilmington has unknowingly been keeping company with a lady who is already attached to someone else.  Or possibly one of Mr. Tanner's unsavory acquaintances has decided to pay him a visit.  Mr. Dunne is an excitable young man ... it could be nothing more than a skunk that has wandered into the men's boarding house."  His eyes twinkling at the slight smile his jest coaxed from her, Ezra leaned forward and gently kissed the corner of Gabrielle's upturned mouth before rising from the bed and dressing quickly.

She drew in a sharp breath, loud enough for him to hear, when he reached for his guns, and watched with concern as he strapped on first the sleeve rig, then the shoulder holster, and finally settled the leather gunbelt around his hips.

"Be careful," she murmured.

Ezra smiled broadly as he shrugged into his red jacket.

"Fear not, dear lady.  I shall return forthwith, and we will spend the morning together.  And I promise you, if this 'trouble' turns out to be a vagrant mammal, I shall stay well away from its perfume during the process of apprehension."  He took her hand in his and kissed it, then pressed the key to the room into her palm, folding her fingers over the cold brass.

"Ezra ... I ... "

Fear sparkled in her eyes.  Ezra spoke reassuringly.  "I promise you, everything will be fine.  You'll be safe here.  Lock the door behind me ... I will return as soon as possible."

"Safe," she murmured, almost to herself.  "I haven't felt this safe in a long, long time.  Thank you."

"There's that lovely smile," he said, touching her cheek. "Save that smile for me ... I will be back to claim it, I assure you."  He rose and slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

~~~

"About time, Ezra," said Buck.  "What the hell took you so long?"  The edge in his normally jovial voice telegraphed to the gambler that this trouble was more than just a wayward skunk.

"What is this all about, gentlemen?" he asked, ignoring the edgy jibe.

"Judge Travis."  Chris Larabee's words, as always, were short and clipped with tension.  "Fella he jailed three years ago is out.  Says Travis and his family are gonna pay for the time he did.  Seems the Judge is takin' this fellow Gentry seriously -- got a wire from Eagle Bend this morning, and another one half an hour ago.  There's word Gentry's been putting a gang together ... Judge wants us to try and flush 'em out before trouble starts."

Ezra considered this.  "Mrs. Travis is part of the Judge's family," he reminded the group.  Chris nodded.

"Thought of that.  I don't think they'll come this way, but I want you and JD stayin' here just in case."

"Wait a minute!" JD started, but Chris silenced him with a look that chilled Ezra to the bone.  He knew what it meant to Chris to have to ride out of town knowing Mary Travis was in jeopardy.  He knew also that Larabee would need the tracking skills of Vin and the others to find and deal with Gentry's gang.  That left the gambler and the boy.  Ezra nodded his silent assurance that the woman in his charge would be protected.  With his life, if need be. 

Vin Tanner and the others did not miss the exchange, but no comments were made.  "JD, I want you at the telegraph office, in case the Judge sends another wire," ordered Chris.  "Ezra ..."

"I will be at the Clarion offices until you gentlemen return."  He thought briefly of Gabrielle, waiting for him in his room.  Ah well ... he'd have a note sent up to inform her of his circumstances.  They'd parted with the word "trouble" hanging in the air between them, and Ezra felt certain that Gabrielle was a woman who understood how trouble could change a man's plans.

And maybe a woman's, too.

"All right, then, boys," barked Chris Larabee.  "We ride."

~~~

"Mr. Standish, you do not need to let me win every hand," chided Mary Travis, spreading her cards on the table and adding a considerable number of matchsticks to the pile in front of her. 

"Mrs. Travis, " her opponent replied, "I assure you that you are a worthy enough adversary without my having to grant you any advantage."  It was true, and it rankled Ezra that this woman was steadily beating him.  He wrote it off to distraction.  Rising from his chair, he walked to the window and peered out into the dark street from behind the drawn windowshade, then pulled his pocketwatch out and flipped back the cover.

"It's almost three a.m.," Mary said quietly.  "There's a clock on the wall, you know."

"So there is," he nodded, returning the timepiece to his pocket.  He thought of Gabrielle with regret.  Ezra had hated to compromise her in the eyes of the desk clerk, but there was nothing to be done for it; he'd sent her a note, and arranged to have meals sent up to her. 

"Mr. Standish, another hand?  Or shall I fix you something to eat?"

Ezra turned from the window and looked at Mary.  She was, as always, lovely enough to make his heart twist in that odd bittersweet way he'd come to expect, but never quite reconciled himself to.  Now the worry in her eyes and the circles beneath them made the wrench harsher still.  When he'd wakened her early that morning with the frightening news in Judge Travis' telegram, he'd had gone to great lengths to reassure her that everything would work out just fine, and she had pretended to be persuaded.  But her eyes had betrayed her doubt to him, and the long hours since passed had worn on them both.  Behind her cool demeanor, Ezra knew that she was terrified for her in-laws, for her son, and for the men who'd ridden out to defend them.  And for one of those men in particular.

"Perhaps, dear lady, you should get some sleep."  He'd suggested this already, half a dozen times.  Mary Travis shook her head.

"I'm not tired," she lied.  "I--"

She stopped midsentence at the sound of hoofbeats.  Several horses -- coming in fast.  Mary turned eyes suddenly wide as a cat's on Ezra.  He made a quick gesture; she understood and turned down the wick on the kerosene lamp.  The horses slowed and came to a halt in front of the Clarion office.  The two people inside could hear them stamping and blowing, and listened carefully to the saddles creaking as the men dismounted.  The gambler counted silently ... there were at least eight of them.

Ezra moved swiftly.  He grabbed a handful of matches from the table and slipped them into his vest pocket, then lifted Mary's shawl from the back of her chair.  She reached for it, but he shook his head, tucking it instead inside his gunbelt, and ushered her hurriedly through her living quarters to the back of the building.  At the door she hesitated, fixing frightened eyes on him.

"Ezra, there are so many of them!  How ... if Chris and the others ...?"

Her voice failed her, but Ezra understood.  Gentry's gang would never have made it to Four Corners unless they'd somehow managed to elude Chris and the others, in spite of Vin's extraordinary tracking skills.  Or the five men had found them, and something worse had happened.

"Mary--" 

The sound of wood splintering interrupted him -- the front door was being kicked in. 

"Mary, do you trust me?"  Ezra's voice was low, calm but urgent.

"Of course, but--"

There was a crash at the front of the building, and the crystalline shatter of breaking glass.

"Then do exactly as I say."  He pulled the pistol from his shoulder holster and handed it to her.  "Do you know how to use this?"

She nodded.

"Good.  Run next door and hide in the barn.  You'll hear me call to you, but don't stop.  Don't answer me.  Run as fast as you can, and when you get to the barn, stay there ... don't come out until you hear me, Chris, or someone you trust.  Understood?"

She nodded again.  "But--"

Another crash.  The front door rattled in its frame as a bootheel forced the lock from the hasp.

"Go!" Ezra grated harshly.  "Don't stop, no matter what you hear or see.  Quickly now."

He swung the door open and pushed her through it, then turned toward the front of the building, Remington in hand.  "Run for the shed!" he called, loudly enough for the intruders to hear.  His gun barked once, twice, three times, and then Ezra himself bolted for the back yard.

Dropping Mary's shawl and his own black Stetson in the dust in front of the shed, Ezra ducked into the small wooden structure and closed and barred the door behind him.  It was pitch black inside, and an acrid scent hung in the air ... kerosene, printers ink and press cleaner, he knew.  In the blackness, he ran his hands over the barrels until he found his way to the back wall; planting his boot against the weathered wooden planks, close to the ground where he hoped that dry rot had weakened them, the gambler kicked hard.

"They're in there," he heard a gruff voice shout.  "You and your friend best come on out, Mrs. Travis!  We're not gonna hurt you!"

"Truer words were never spoken," muttered Ezra under his breath.  He kicked again, and the boards gave way.  A tiny patch of gray light appeared in the darkness.  Ezra hoped he could fit through the narrow opening.

"Come on, lady!" another voice called.  "We don't want no trouble ... come on out now!  We don't want none of your neighbors getting caught up in this."

Dammit ... he hoped Mary would keep her promise and stay put.  Ezra pulled a barrel over and cursed silently as the fluid spilled across his sleeve and splashed onto his boots.

"Last chance, Mrs. Travis!  We'll fill that shed full of holes, if we have to ... you and your friend come on out, slow and easy."

Ezra felt in the dark for the doorhinge; finding it, he pulled a match from his vest and dragged the tip against the rusting iron.  When it struck, he took a deep breath and dropped it.

The ferocity of the flames took him by surprise; he yelped in pain as a lick of fire shot straight up from the floor and grabbed his sleeve, searing the cloth to his flesh and burning low and hot along his arm like a lamp-wick.  Ezra reeled against the back wall, feeling for the hole with the heel of his smoldering boot.  Thick, acrid smoke choked his nose and filled his mouth with a bitter taste.  He panted in pain and exertion, pumping more of the filthy stuff deep into his lungs.

This plan might not work, Ezra thought with sudden surprise, as his legs folded beneath him.  He could feel the splintered edges of his escape route digging into the back of his jacket, but he couldn't quite concentrate on making his way out.  Mary, he thought, I'm sorry ... it seems ... I'm no ... Chris ... Larabee ....

"Ezra!"  He heard a voice hiss in his ear.  "Hurry!"  A small hand gripped the back of his jacket and tugged, then yanked, at him.  He twisted in the dark and fell, grinding his injured arm into the dirt, but he had no breath left to cry out at the pain.  Then another hand grasped his wrist and he was being pulled out of the shed and into the night air, away from the flames licking at his feet.

"Mary?" he gasped, blinded by smoke.  He gulped at the untainted air and choked on it.  "Told you ... to stay ..."

Slender arms slid beneath his own, and with surprising strength his rescuer forced Ezra to stand unsteadily on his charred boots.  His eyes swam with smoke-induced tears.  "Mary," he gasped, "run ..."   He tried to push her away, but she held on, guiding him as he staggered away from the burning building.  He heard gunfire, and then a tremendous explosion as the flames ignited the volatile materials inside.  His feet left the ground, and something hard slammed into his head.

Ezra knew nothing after that.

~~~

"Mr. Standish?"

In his agony, Mary's voice was a balm that soothed Ezra's spirit, if nothing else.  He forced his sore eyes open and tried to focus on her face, lit by a shaft of morning sunlight spilling through a crack in the barn wall.

"Dear ... lady ..." he managed to croak.  "Are you ..."

"I'm fine.  It's all right ... they've gone.  They think we died in the fire.  That was very clever, Mr. Standish," she said, smiling a little.

"Thank  you," he grated hoarsely.  "However ... you broke ... your promise ..." 

A sudden fit of ragged coughing tore through him; Ezra fumbled in his vest for the flask he kept there, but his shaking hands could not hold it.  Mary took the slim silver bottle from his blistered fingers, unscrewed the top and lifted it to his lips.  "Here ..."  Ezra sipped the whiskey and gagged as it burned its way down his smoke-scarred throat. 

"What promise?  What do you mean?" she asked.

Another spasm of coughing racked his body, and Mary steadied him as it tapered off and he gasped for breath.  "I told you to stay in the barn," he whispered harshly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mary replied.  "I did stay here, until I heard the explosion.  I looked out, saw you lying on the ground, and pulled you inside."  Mary held the flask to his lips again. "Careful ... not too much," she cautioned as he choked on the liquor.  "I heard people fighting the fire.  Do you think it's safe to--"

She was interrupted by the sound of pounding hooves.  Mary looked at the door in undisguised terror.  "They're back," she whispered.  Ezra struggled to sit up.

"Where's the gun I gave you?"

Mary pulled the pistol from her apron pocket.  The gambler nodded and offered her what he hoped was a reassuring wink.  She helped him to stand; Ezra pushed her behind him and leaned against the doorframe, fingers curled around the butt of his big Remington, teetering painfully on his scorched feet.  He still couldn't see well, but perhaps he could make the few shots he had left count.

The riders pulled up outside, their horses blowing hard.  Mary and Ezra heard a voice cry out.

"Chris!  CHRIS!!"

A voice they both knew ... JD Dunne.

Ezra holstered his gun and flung the door open.  Mary was at his side in an instant, her arm beneath one shoulder, supporting him.  Together they stumbled from the barn into the light of morning, the gambler leaning heavily on the woman.  The sight that greeted them was a tableau of horror.

A small crowd, soot on their faces and clothing and empty buckets in their hands, stood silently in front of the blackened, smoking ruin that had been The Clarion's storage shed.  Three men on horseback, stunned anguish on their faces, looked down at Chris Larabee, whose hollow eyes were fixed on something JD held in his shaking hands.  The man in black reached out for the shred of tattered cloth that had once been Mary Travis' shawl.  Head lowered, he twisted the fabric in his fingers.

"I'm sorry, Chris," said the young man, tears streaking his blackened face. "I'm sorry ..."

Chris swayed slightly on his feet and Vin Tanner, standing at his friend's side, reached out to steady him.

"Ezra?" asked Josiah in a ragged whisper.  JD shook his head and looked at the ground.  Josiah put a hand to his eyes.

"No ..."  Mary's voice was barely more than a murmur, but Vin heard her.  The tracker's hand went to his gun and just as quickly left it when he saw the pair of weary survivors.  He hurried to help, slipping one arm around Ezra and lifting the weight of the failing man from Mary's shoulder.  She graced him with a grateful look before hurrying to stand in front of the shattered figure of Chris Larabee ... reaching out, she placed a trembling hand on his whitened knuckles.

"Chris?"

He did not seem to hear her.

"Chris, it's all right.  We're all right."

He lifted his head.  Slowly as ice melting, blue eyes focused on her face; her hands pried open his rigid fingers and he dropped the shawl in the dust.

"Mary."  His voice sounded like broken glass.

Ezra leaned heavily on Vin.  "All's well that ends well," he whispered, before the ground rose up to claim him.

~~~

Late afternoon sunlight streamed in through the open window of Ezra's hotel room, brightening the colors of the wildflowers Mary Travis was arranging in the vase on his dresser.  Ezra stared at them, his mind drifting in a haze of laudanum and pain.  He'd asked after Gabrielle Arceneaux, but Nathan had dismissed his murmured questions as fevered imaginings

"There.  What do you think?"

Ezra tried to focus and do justice to the gift.  "Lovely, Mrs. Travis," he managed.  "Although they do pall next to your beauty."

Mary smiled sweetly at him, but Chris Larabee snorted.  "I should call you out for that, Standish."  His face was as taciturn as ever, but respect and gratitude shone undisguised in the gunslinger's eyes.

"You ain't gonna be in no shape for a duel any time soon, Ezra," Nathan said.  "You got no boots ... I had to cut 'em off your feet.  Couldn't find that fancy hat of yours, neither.  'Course, I suppose you could borrow JD's."  The healer grinned.

"Mr. Jackson," Ezra said wearily, "I assure you that the entombed dead shall--"

"--rise from their sanctified graves before that happens. We know," nodded Josiah, grinning.  "We're just glad you ain't one of them sanctified dead."

"Ain't nobody'd sanctify Ezra," murmured Vin.  The corner of his mouth curled up slightly.

"I heard that, Mr. Tanner.  My ears are not injured, but my feelings are."

"You all quit harassing him," chided Mary, smiling warmly at the invalid.  "He saved my life, at great risk to his own."

Ezra winced as Nathan smoothed salve on his burns.  "My dear lady, I believe we are even on that count," he said quietly.  "If you hadn't pulled me from that burning structure, I would be dead.  Sanctified or not."

Mary frowned.  "Mr. Standish, I told you, I didn't--"

A knock on the door interrupted her.  Josiah opened it to reveal Henley, the desk clerk of the hotel.  "Begging your pardon, gentlemen," he said nervously.  "Mrs. Travis."  He wore no hat, but he touched his finger to his balding head all the same.

"This man ain't well, Mr. Henley," warned Nathan.  "I think your business can wait for another day."

"It'll only take a moment.  I just wanted to apologize, Mr. Standish.  I did try to deliver that note, more'n once.  Brought that food you ordered up here, too.  No one ever answered your door.  I just wanted you to know."

Ezra frowned.  "When did the young lady take her leave, Mr. Henley?" he asked.

"Young lady?  I don't know nothin' about no lady, Mr. Standish," said Henley.

"The young lady who checked in yesterday ... no, day before yesterday," Ezra counted back the time.  "She came in on the stage.  Miss Arceneaux."

Mary's face paled, but no one noticed.

"Gabrielle Arceneaux?  That the woman you were ramblin' on about?" Nathan asked.

"Mr. Standish, I ain't had no new guests for over a week," said Henley, clearing his throat.  Clearly nervous now, he backed hastily out of the room.

Chris' eyes narrowed.  "What's goin' on here, Ezra?" he asked.

"I'm not sure, Mr. Larabee," answered Ezra slowly.

There was a clatter in the hallway, and Buck and JD appeared at the door.  "Look, Ezra," the young man announced, "we found your hat!"  He waved it triumphantly at the gambler.

"Yeah," chimed in Buck.  "They must have pitched it on the way outta town. Guess they got better taste than you do."

Ezra was suddenly too tired to conjure a witty retort. "Where ... ?" he asked simply.

"That's what's really weird," said Buck.  "It was in the graveyard, settin' on a tombstone."

"What was the name on the stone, Buck?" Mary asked.

"Somethin' French," volunteered JD.

"Yeah ... Arkansas, or somethin' like that," said Buck.

"Arceneaux."  Mary whispered the name, and sank into in the rocker.  "Mr. Standish ... the young lady you're speaking of ... what did she look like? Black hair, brown eyes, dressed in a gray travelling suit?"

"Yes ..."

"How do you know that?" asked Chris.

Mary took a deep breath, and then began the tale.

"About four years ago, a young woman came to Four Corners, stayed overnight here in the hotel and left again the next morning.  None of us knew it at the time, but she was running from her husband.  He caught up with the stage a few miles out of town, held it up and shot her dead.  They brought the body back here and buried her in the graveyard.

"But people keep seeing her.  She usually appears to children; Billy, for one."  Mary's eyes grew distant.  "He had nightmares for a long time after his father was killed.  Then he began telling me about the nice lady in gray who told him stories about New Orleans.  Soon after that, he began to sleep through the night "  She smiled.  "It frightened me at first, but then I realized that she hadn't harmed him. She never harms anyone.  She seems to appear to people who are sad, or lost, or in some kind of trouble."

Nathan laughed, although there was an edge to his voice.  "Ezra ain't none of those things, 'ceptin' maybe the bein' in trouble part, and he's most always in some kind of trouble.  Why'd she visit him now?"

"I can't imagine, Mr. Jackson," drawled Ezra wearily. 

The caustic cynicism in his voice hung heavy in the room.  Mary looked reproachfully at Nathan, then went to the bedside and lay her smooth white hand gently over Ezra's blistered one.  "Perhaps Gabrielle Arceneaux knows more about Mr. Standish than the rest of us do."

Josiah picked up the gambler's hat and turned it in his hands.  " 'For He will give His angels charge over you, to guard you in all your ways' ... Psalm 91."

Ezra was tired, and he hurt.  He turned his face away.  "I don't believe in ghosts," he whispered.  "Or in guardian angels."

"I do," Mary said softly.  "One kept me safe last night.  His name was Ezra."

The patient didn't hear her ... he had slipped into sleep.

"All right, folks," said Nathan.  "He needs his rest.  All of y'all get on out of here ... you can come back tomorrow."

Chris Larabee nodded and went to stand behind Mary, who allowed him to take her arm and lead her from the room.  The rest of the men followed quietly, except for Josiah.

"You want me to spell you for a bit, Nathan?" he asked.

"Thanks, Josiah."  The healer stood and stretched.  "Ghosts and guardian angels."  He shook his head.  "Miz Travis sure does get some funny ideas sometimes."

Josiah settled his big frame into the chair by Ezra's bedside and looked down at his sleeping friend.  A small smile creased his weathered face.

"So does the Lord, Brother Nathan.  So does the good Lord."

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