"Blood and Guns" (closed)

“You are here.”

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Vance wrapped his arms around Lillian at her words, hearing the relief in them. He met her embrace with an equal amount of … was intimacy the right word?

She pulled Vance into her room, showing the same discretion he had in getting to it. She asked if he was hurt badly, then tasked him with cleaning himself up. But before he could even roll up the sleeves of the jailed man’s shirt Lillian’s arms were again wrapped about his torso.

“I was scared. I have never- And you were beaten up- And the guns were so loud- "

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“I am well,” Vance reassured her, despite the appearance of his face. He pulled from their embrace but maintained his hands’ presence on her upper arms. “I am well… and you are well. And safe. You are safe with me.”

Vance nearly used Dream again to comfort her, but he was feeling lustful toward her and -- if she had any such feelings for him, borne from her concern for his safety or simply from desire for him -- he feared she might be tempted to act upon those feelings now.

And although he wanted so badly for the two of them to enjoy together the euphoria that could result from his manhood bing balls deep in her womanhood, Vance was determined to have that happen without any beyond-human assistance from him.

He let his hands fall away and took a step back. He said in a low voice filled with reluctance, “I should leave … go home to the cottage.”

He pulled away, looking down at her. Lillian lifted her eyes. She was safe with him, always safe with him.

Vance stepped away, claiming he should leave to go home. Lillian shook her head. “Please, not yet. Please don’t go. I don’t want you to leave.”

Her hands gripped his shirt. She was scared of him leaving, somehow losing him in the night.

“Wash up here. Stay with me for a bit. Please.”

“Please, not yet. Please don’t go. I don’t want you to leave.”

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Vance felt Lillian's hands grasping his shirt -- well, not his shirt -- and realized that she was truly afraid of being alone tonight. Or ... was she afraid of being without him tonight? Could anyone have been with Lillian at this moment, comforting her, reassuring her that the danger was no more? Or ... did it need to be Vance himself?



In Willow Springs, about an hour ago:

"Come on out, Gregor," Vance called toward The Red Russian's open doorway. "I don't want to kill you. I want to talk to you."

The man at the center of much of the town's criminal activity stood in the darkened foyer of the building far enough back from its open entrance to believe that the gunslinger out front couldn't see him well enough to shoot at him from there. Gregor was wrong: Vance could, of course, see him as well as if he'd been standing just before him with a torch over top of his head.

But Vance was being truthful when he told the man he didn't want to kill him. At least, not at this moment. The time might come eventually, maybe even later this evening. But, for the moment...

Gregor was certain that Pavel had reached his shooting position by now, so he ventured closer to the door, hesitated, then walked out onto the boardwalk of the Hotel. He looked to his left, then right: at a comfortable distance, townsfolk were watching from open doorways and windows, from behind wagons and crates and other cover.

The gun battle which had ended a few minutes earlier had sent them scrambling for safety, but now -- with one single man left in the street and a dozen bodies conspicuously littering the neighborhood -- they were eager to be able to tell their children and their children's children I was there the day that Gregor the Great was gunned down by...

By who?

No one in town really knew who Vance Hamilton was. Oh sure, a few of them had seen him with the Stewarts at various times. Some of them had been him in the Golden Eagle's restaurant or in one of the town's saloons. Some of them had even seen him fight tonight. But few of those watching now had seen enough of him to know that he was all of those men: the ranch hand, the diner, the drinker, and the fighter. Many of them had been part of the chanting earlier in the evening, but even most of them didn't realize that that man was the one standing in the street now, confronting Willow Springs' godfather of crime.



Now, in Lillian's bedroom:

“Wash up here. Stay with me for a bit. Please.”

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As Vance studied Lillian, he concluded that it did indeed have to be him. He'd saved her from Buck, the wanna-be rapist. He'd saved her from Pavel, who had had plans of putting her and Jenny to work in The Red Russian's brothel after killing the Stewart men to ensure that the two women had no likely heroes coming to rescue them in the future.

And while she didn't know it yet, Vance had saved her from Gregor and his Iron Club Gang, too. But that was a tale she wouldn't hear from him tonight. She'd been through enough already without hearing about how the showdown in the streets of Willow Spring had been resolved.

"I will stay," he told her quietly, taking her arms and leading her to sit on the edge of her bed. He backed away immediately, not wanting her to think for a moment that he was intending to join her on it ... or in it. This time, he did use Dream, his mind speaking to hers in a fraction of the time it would have taken his mouth to speak to her ears...

You are safe, Lillian ... you are safe here in your family home ... surrounded by those who care for you ... sit in calmness ... sit in security ... relax...

He didn't use me or I, as he wanted her to feel as though she would be safe even with his absence. He shared a smile with her, then turned to the dresser upon which she'd poured water from the pitcher to the bowl. He didn't look back to her as he began, but looking up from the cleaning things, he could see her clearly in the mirror over the back of the bureau.

The room was fairly dark, with just a candle off to one side and a turned down oil lamp to the other. Vance didn't know how well Lillian could see him ... as removed his gun belt and set it aside ... unbuttoned the borrowed shirt ... and shed it.

It was Lillian's first viewing from up close of the pre-existing scars on Vance's back, as well as the viewing of the multitude of bruises now decorating those scars. He glanced into the mirror again for her reaction, unsure of three things: could she see the scars in the low light; was she shocked by the new bruising or relieved to find that -- because of his rapid recovering ability -- they weren't as bad as she may have expected; and, finally, was she shocked or even offended by the fact that he'd shed his shirt in her bedroom with a man family member present to offer chaperoning?

Vance wetted the rag thoroughly and began rubbing it over his skin. His hands moved slowly, sometimes flinching as touching the rag to still sensitive wounds. Looking down to the water, he saw if turn light pink, then darker as more and more of his blood joined the clear liquid. Soon, the bottom of the pitcher could no longer be seen through the thickening solution.

He told her he would stay. Lillian exhaled and felt some relief to her worry. He moved her to the bed, sitting her on the edge. He immediately stepped back. Her eyes were on him. Did he think she unpleasant or was he simply being a gentleman?

A feeling of calm came over her though her eyes watched Vance. With her body feeling calmer and in not such a state of fear her mind registered a lot more details. He undressed, removing his shirt. In the dim light she would see the scars on his back. Added to the ones on his chest and she knew his body told a story that she was curious to learn. Some were long. Some in groups. Added to the scars were the bruises from tonight. Many parts of his were covered with splashes of dried blood.

Lillian’s eyes moved over every inch of him as he washed up. Soon the blood was gone. Though swollen in places and bruised he did not look as damaged as she feared. Lillian wondered if there was much internal damage.

“Are you sore? Should we wrap your ribs or hands?” Her eyes moved to his ribs where she could see the bruising from blows he had taken.

In truth she had expected him to have more cuts, more areas bleeding. Washing up should have opened some wounds anew.

"Some bruising but perhaps not too many injuries?" Her head tilted, questioning in her eyes.

“Are you sore? Should we wrap your ribs or hands?”

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Vance looked to Lillian's reflection in the mirror again. He was conflicted.

Having her wrap him would lend to his humanity, playing to a vulnerability that she and the others would have expected from him as a mere human, letting her see the wounds he'd incurred during the evening.

Yet having her close enough to do such work on him might mean that she would see just how not injured he really was, and that might lead her to wonder things about him that he simply couldn't explain ... his inhumanity, it might be called ... his vampirism.

There was another conflict playing out in the vampire, though this one was in his body and not his mind.

Vance had taken a great deal of damage during the fight from fists and feet both. His face had been struck with great force more than two dozen times, and his body had taken twice that many strikes as well.

But his new wounds weren't limited to the fight alone.

Vance had taken another bullet during the shootout afterward. It had penetrated his inner right thigh, halfway between his knee and his manhood.

Normally, Vance's body would have healed all of these wounds quickly. But this was where the conflict arose: the damage from the fight had been so severe that his body's rapid repair could prevent the internal damage -- the bullets, the broken ribs, the bruised kidney, the multiple concussions -- from killing him.

But to fully recover, Vance needed to feed. And while he'd had the opportunity to do so before he left town and returned to the ranch, he hadn't. This had, of course, been intentional: he wanted to seem mortal to the Stewarts when he returned. He needed to appear somewhat normal and human.

So, his wounds weren't healing as they normally would. Most of the fight's wounds had sealed -- they weren't bleeding anymore -- but at the same time most of the bruising was still visible, though obviously not as horrific as it should have been. And the bullet wounds in his leg -- entrance wound in front, exit wound in back -- had again begun bleeding all over the jailbird's pants during Vance's ride out from the city on Midnight, who was currently out in his corral at the cottage.

"It might be a good idea," he told Lillian about her offer to bandage him up. It wasn't his health and well being that had Vance interested in Lillian's help, of course: it was his lust for her and his desire to have her close to him ... to have her hands upon him, even if it was just to bandage his wounds. He added as he turned to face her a bit more, "Might help me heal."

Vance stood there before the bureau and mirror letting Lillian work on him as she saw fit. He was mostly quiet, only responded to her questions about bandage tightness and occasionally feigning a grimace when she moved on to a new wound.

Lillian would look to Vance's face often. And, more often than not but not always, he would divert his eyes before her gaze fell on his face and only then look back to her, as if to imply that he hadn't been paying her much attention at all.

Just a nurse, he told himself. Make her believe she's just treating you ... that it's nothing more. She's just your nurse.

But he failed to hide his infatuation with her. At least, he came to believe that. But he couldn't be certain. As with his ability to fully and quickly heal, some of his other beyond human abilities were not working. At one point, when she was very close to him, he drew a deep breath in an attempt to sense her current feelings by reading the pheromones and other chemicals that her body put off in times of stress or excitement.

But, there was nothing. Vance knew she was putting out these scents, of course: it was a natural process during times of stress or excitement, and this moment was probably both for her. But Vance wasn't picking it up. For such purposes, he was at this moment ... just a man.

As she worked him over, Lillian noted....

"Some bruising but perhaps not too many injuries?"

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"I'm just one tough son of a--" Vance began to joke quietly, catching himself before he let the profane word slip out. Instead, he lied, "They didn't hit me as hard as it may have seemed."

He could see in Lillian's eyes that she didn't buy that, but then, what else could he tell her: I have super-human regenerative powers and drink blood to maintain my immortality.

Immortality, Vance thought as he watched Lillian tend to his wounds. He wasn't immortal, per se. But, he was pretty close to it. Although most people would assume him to be in his mid-30s, Vance's true age was a few months short of 547 years.

His age wasn't the only truth about him that wasn't actually true. There were a great many things Lillian thought she knew about him that were far from being true; just as there were a great many things about him that she hadn't even come to know ... and, when she finally did learn them, many of them would likely not be truths as well.

Hell, even Vance's name wasn't a truth...



Paris, France: 1349

Nicholas sat alone in his family's unlit home, listening to the haphazard dinging of the bells that dangled from the approaching cart of the dead. Every morning for the past six days, he and his still living family members had waited for the cart to near the door of their home. When the oxen-pulled wagon was near, they would don masks to protect themselves from the Black Death -- the Church said the plague floated through the air, seeking and infecting non-believers -- and take to the cart the family member or members who had died during the previous 24 hours.

This morning, though, the task fell entirely upon the family's last surviving member: Nicholas. He was just a boy compared to his now dead older brothers, but he was tall and strong and capable of doing what needed to be done on his own. His father, brothers, and sisters had fallen one after another to the disease, and all the while his mother had told Nicholas again and again that it was his strength of body, mind, and soul that would get him through the Death.

Now, as he lifted his dead mother's body into his arms and looked down into her lifeless face, he wished he could tell her that it had been something more than her faith in him and God that had let him survive while all the others had perished. But, how could he have told his deeply devout mother that it had been the devil who had helped him survive the plague that had killed the rest of his family?

Casting the woman who had birthed him onto the building pile of corpses filling the large wagon, Nicholas took one last look at his home, then ran for the countryside. He ran and ran until his body would carry him no farther, then -- as a seasonally warm rain began to wet the land -- fell to his haunches at the base of a massive oak tree and cried for what seemed like an eternity.

Nicholas wasn't crying just for the loss of his beloved mother or for the nine family members who had died before her. He was crying for having betrayed them throughout the Black Death's conquest over the family, the town, the nation, and all of Western Europe. He could have saved each and every one of those with whom he shared blood.

If only he had joined blood with her...

The Blood Girl...

The Devil's child.

Nicholas looked up at his surroundings and recalled how he had met Gabrielle on such a night: it had been warm, despite being already long past dusk, and the rain had just begun to fall from a sky that had been dark with clouds from one end of the world to the other. As he looked now to where he was now, Nicholas suddenly realized that this was in fact where he had originally met Gabrielle, right here atop a hillock on the Girard estate, the property on which he had earned his living protecting his Master's sheep from wolves and men alike.

He had been leaning back into the tree's massive trunk, watching the flock in the field below him, when she'd seemingly appeared from nowhere. He'd watched her with wide eyes as she curled slowly around the tree's massive trunk to smile at him with an expression that was familiar to him.

It was an expression of lust. Oh, it wasn't as if he, the virgin, had ever been the object of a woman's expressions of lust. But he'd spied upon his older brothers and sisters during their coming of age periods -- before their horrific deaths -- and he'd come to know that expression and the sexual activities that often soon followed.

Without a word passing between them, the pair soon found themselves engaged in intercourse. The unknown young woman had simply lifted her dress to remove her undergarments, aided the obviously shocked and also eager Nicholas out of his lower garments, then mounted him for what would be a very short yet unbelievably satisfying welcome to adulthood.

He would regain consciousness some time later -- not having at all realized he'd ever passed out -- to find himself laying alone, staring up at the tree, his pants and undergarments still gathered around his thighs. Had it been a dream? Had the girl really been there? Had he been masturbating yet again and only imagined the goddess who had caused him such pleasure?

Nicholas couldn't know...

Until the next evening, when just after dusk she'd arrived again. She'd mounted him again, and -- lasting a bit longer than the mere seconds of the previous night -- made love to him again. As he'd laid there on his back, drawing and exhaling deep breaths resultant of the euphoria surging through him, the girl had leaned in close to Nicholas's ear and whispered her first words to him: "Je m'appelle Gabrielle. Adieu jusqu'à demain soir mon amour."

Gabrielle had come to Nicholas six nights in a row, wasting no time in removing her undergarments, straddling Nicholas, putting his already solid and anxious cock inside her, and driving him as quickly as possible to orgasm. Each night, though, their engagement had lasted longer than it had the previous night; and each night Gabrielle had seemed to get a little more from the encounter than she had the previous night as well.

The seventh night, Nicholas was to have moved the flock to another pasture but hadn't. He'd been desperate to see Gabrielle again. It would turn out to be the biggest mistake in his life. For the seventh time, the young beauty had come to Nicholas and made love to him as before. But this time, after he'd groaned out his ecstasy and felt the rush of euphoria through his body, she'd persisted in her gyrations atop him. A moment later, she, too, had exploded in orgasm. Her cries of ecstasy had wafted over the fields, startling the sheep and even causing the dogs to sit up and whine with confusion.

Nicholas had seen his sisters and his brother's lovers in climax on occasion, and while the ecstatic sounds and body language of the women had been very unique in their own way, he understood Gabrielle's current state of satisfaction for what it was. He'd looked up at her as he continued to thrust upward and thought to himself that life would never be better than this.

He'd been right.

As the ecstasy waned and she began descending from her peak, Gabrielle had let her body fall down upon Nicholas's ... and without hesitation had sunk her fangs deep into his neck. As she'd sucked his vital fluid, Gabrielle used her Dream ability to relax Nicholas, to reassure him that he was in no danger, to convince him that what she was doing -- that the pain in his neck -- was normal and natural and simply a part of being her lover. She'd added an element of sexual excitement to her silent monologue, and after she'd finished taking her fill from him, he'd been stiff as a rod again and Gabrielle drove him quickly to his first repeat orgasm.

That night, Nicholas had fallen asleep under the tree and did not awake until his Master was beating his naked lower half with a cane. He was run off the land after receiving a number of red welts. He'd returned home without a word of the evening or the dismissal. He'd worried all day about two things: what he was to say to his parents about the loss of his income; and what the hell Gabrielle had done to him that had made him feel at first so euphoric and happy, then second, so drained and bewildered.

An hour before dusk, pretending to be heading for his job, Nicholas had been prepared to turn to thievery or poaching to cover his lost income. He hadn't walked more than fifty paces before he'd found himself face to face with Gabrielle. She'd taken him to a barn and up into its loft where she stripped them both bare and mounted him as usual. She'd driven Nicholas to orgasm, then continued riding him until she'd climaxed, too. And she'd again sunk her fangs into his neck.

Although Nicholas was unsure of what Gabrielle was doing to him, he'd allowed it wholeheartedly. He'd been mad for the euphoria their love making caused him, and if this ... this odd behavior was to be part of it, Nicholas was going to let it happen. Again as her mouth was at his neck, Gabrielle had somehow spoken kindness and reassurance and love to Nicholas's mind.

But this time when he awoke near dawn, once again naked and alone, Nicholas had had memories of speaking to Gabrielle about his loss of income, which while not a significant portion of his family's income was still a loss to them all. As he donned his clothes, he found coins in his shoe. It was more than his Master had paid him each night that no sheep was lost to wolf or man ... far more.

The two had continued to meet each and every night for more than the next moon. The simple act of Gabrielle straddling Nicholas expanded to include a multitude of positions and an ever increasing number of orgasms between them. And yet two things remained as they were: at the end of every love making session, the young woman's fangs found themselves sunk into Nicholas's neck, inner arms, or upper thighs; and when he awoke the next dawn, Nicholas always found coins in his shoe to replace his long lost income.

He never asked her why she did this to him: as she sucked enough blood to sustain her but not enough to harm Nicholas, Gabrielle's Dream kept the young man happy and inquiry-free.

Then the plague reached Paris.

All about him, Nicholas's loved ones and friends had been falling victim to the evil air wafting down the city streets. And yet, Gabrielle insisted that Nicholas continue to meet her every night in their secret place. After his father and last living brother had died, Nicholas told Gabrielle she would have to give him time to be with his family; that she would have to put her lust aside for a while.

"You will die, Nicky," she had told him in no uncertain terms. "I ... am why you are still alive. I ... am the reason the Death has not taken you. And without me ... you will not last a moon."

He hadn't understood what she meant and pried for answers. She'd moved to him, put her hands to his temples, met his mind with hers ... and told him everything about who and what she was ... why she'd needed his blood ... and how -- while she'd been taking what she needed from him -- she had also been transferring to him the protection he needed -- just a bit of her vampire blood -- to stay strong in the face of the plague.

Nicholas had reeled back from her, shocked and horrified. His brain -- which had been prevented from fully understanding what Gabrielle had been doing to him thus far -- was suddenly filled with the realization of what Gabrielle was. It was as if the truth had always been there, in his brain, but behind a locked door that Gabrielle had only now opened for him.

"I can save you from death, Nicky," Gabrielle had told him. She'd explained to him that -- with his consent -- she could turn him into what she herself was. "You can live forever, Nicky. You and I ... we can live together forever. The Coterie will be your new family. My master ... my Sire ... will accept you as a Son ... and you and I will be together ... will be lovers ... for all eternity."

Nicholas had been confused and shaken and disoriented. He was trying to understand what Gabrielle was saying, of what was going on. None of it made sense: none of it was right. He'd asked about the Coterie and her Master and what she meant about living for all eternity. And all the while he'd seen his mother telling him that all of this was the devil's work, that it was against God's will.

Gabrielle had tried all she could to convince Nicholas that her way was the only way, to convince Nicholas to consent to being turned. He had to give her permission: he had to want this. To turn him without his wanting it was not permitted, and Gabrielle knew that to do so would mean that she would hunted down by the other members of the Coterie.

But Nicholas had fled instead.

And now, here he was, six nights later, the last living member of his family, sitting under their tree as Gabrielle stood over him, once again offering out her hand to him.

"Come with me, Nicky," she said in a soft voice. "Come be with me now. Come be with me forever. Come join me ... come join my master."

Nicholas only shook his head, still crying. Gabrielle repeated the steps of that first night, and despite his sorrow and regret for having ever met her, soon enough Nicholas was enjoying the incredible pleasure of having his cock deep within Gabrielle's warmth and wetness. They came again, this time together ... and as had happened at the end of each of their previous love making sessions, Gabrielle suck her fangs into him.

Only ... this time, the vampire did not take only enough to delay her aging a day and give her the strength to withstand the damage life could hand a normal human being. Her mouth remained engaged with Nicholas's neck for the majority of the darkness, until all of the blood in his body and her body both had been thoroughly interchanged and mixed until it wasn't his and hers ... it was theirs.

And when she finally lifted away from him -- mouth from neck, pussy from cock -- and stood before him, Gabrielle was no longer the only vampire sitting at the base of the old oak on the hill.

She worked, winding bandage around his ribs. her fingers caressed skin as she felt about for his ribs. Things seemed tender judging by Vance's reactions but Lillian couldn't help but notice there was less sources of bleeding than she expected.

His joke about being tough and having not been hit as hard as it appeared caused her one eyebrow to lift.

Lillian finished, tucking the end of the bandage in. She stepped back to survey her work.

"I would be more inclined to believe that if I had not been there, had not seen it all with my own eyes. Between the fight and then the hallway...."

The memory of the gun going off and the man's blood on her face made her shiver. She hoped she never had to repeat the experience again in her life.

"You must be like the Indian shaman, the healers. I have heard they have powers to heal wounds instantly." Lillian looked him over. Chest, once bare now wrapped like a mummy from Egypt.

She picked up the cloth and reaching, wiped a spot of blood from his neck that Vance had missed. Her eyes were on his face, her body close. Her other hand steadied herself on his waist.

"I feel like I should give you something...a token like a medieval woman would give her knight, to carry with him and remind him of her affection. You seem to be my protector, my knight." Her voice was low and soft as she spoke to him. The shoulder of her night gown slipped a little revealing her neck, shoulder and part of her upper arm to him.

“A kiss would be the best option,” Vance said without hesitation to Lillian’s offer of a token of her affection. He smiled at her reaction, then explained, “If you were to give me a physical object … a handkerchief … a scarf … a pendant … I fear your family might question its appropriateness. Remember, you’re in mourning. But a kiss … I could wear that on my lips without the attention of the others.”

Vance’s lips spread a bit in a devilish smile: his suggestion that a kiss from the widow would be more acceptable than a tangible, physical object was laughable … but it been fun to suggest it.

Lillian looked at him but her expression did not change. There was nothing to show if she found his suggestion scandalous or not. She blinked once.

“You forget that in three days time, when we host the party here I will no longer be in mourning.”

She moved away, placing the cloth in the bowl and opened a drawer in the dressing table. Lillian pulled out a white handkerchief with delicate embroidery of flowers on one corner. She closed the drawer and returned to stand before him. One hand pressed it into his hand as the other steadied herself against him. She rose up on tiptoe and placed a kiss on his cheek, right at the corner of his mouth. Not quite his lips but in the distance of his cheek. A promise of potential.

She lowered to her flat feet and looked up at him. "Carry both."

Lillian's steadiness of expression at his suggestion impressed Vance. Of course, her initial rejection of the suggestion disappointed him as well. Her announcement that the party would, in fact, signal the end of her mourning period, however, caused Vance to experience a bit of hope.

Of course, he had no idea that another man was about to come into Lillian' life, again. If he had known this, Vance might have been concerned -- jealous even -- that Lillian's return to more colorful clothing and more promising socialization wasn't aimed at he himself.

She moved away from him, returned with a delicately embroidery handkerchief, and pressed it into his hand. Then rising to her toes, she gently pressed her lips to his cheek. Vance didn't fail to notice how close to kiss had been to his own lips. He was immediately tempted to pull Lillian to him and kiss her back, this time making sure his lips met hers. But, it wasn't the time. And it certainly wasn't the place.

She told him...

"Carry both."

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"I will, always," Vance said immediately. He looked downward at his bandage wrapped body, patting his hands to his torso where pockets would have been if he'd been properly dressed. He smiled, saying, "I'll figure it out. For now ... well ... I shouldn't be found here by your family ... even if you are very innocently and benevolently acting as my own personal Lady with a lamp."

Vance's comment was about Florence Nightingale, a description of her made famous by The Times of London because of her service to British troops during the horrors of the Crimean War. It didn't occur to Vance that perhaps Lillian hadn't seen the article or heard of the nurse who would one day shortly and for all time to come be one of the most famous women in the modern history of mankind.

None of this had occurred to Vance because he hadn't originally discovered Florence via the report in The Times or the dozens and hundreds of reports that would follow in other publications. Vance's first knowledge of Florence Nightingale had come in late November, 1854, when he'd looked up from his bed in a field hospital on the Crimean Peninsula to see her smiling down to him, reassuring him, "You have God ... a good doctor ... and me on your side."

Donning the shirt he'd borrowed from the jail bird -- despite the blood stain on it -- Vance thanked Lillian for all she'd done and turned for the door. He paused as he held the handle, though, hesitating before looking back to her.

"I am not telling you anything you don't already know when I say there are many people happy to see you ending your mourning period," he said in almost a whisper. He smiled to her, then finished, "I am amongst them. Good evening to you, Lillian. And know that I am always here for you ... for what ever you shall need."

They exchanged their farewells, and Vance slipped down the stairs and out of the house as silently as he'd entered. He made his way back to the cottage, changed into some more appropriate clothes, and made his way on a not-so-happy Midnight out to the Mexican camp. Again, he slipped up on one of their night watches, fed on the man, and left the man laying there with happy thoughts to cover his meal.

He would take two uneventful tours about the property before -- just before dawn -- making his way back to his bed where he would hang his sleeping flag and get some badly needed rest.




Tucson
Earlier in the evening:

"Peter...? Peter, where are you, dear?"

Leaning to look through the French style doors leading from their hotel room to the balcony it shared with the rest of the hotel's second floor, Peter Johnson called to his wife with humor in his voice, "Here ... dear."

Cecily had shed her dinner clothes and changed into a thick, warm sleeping gown. She neared her husband but stopped short of joining him outside where the smoke of his cigar was hanging in the windless evening air.

"Where is your son?" she asked, a critical tone in her voice.

"What's he done wrong now?" he asked back, chuckling.

"Who says he's done--"

"He's my son when he's done something of which you do not approve," he cut in, finishing, "But he's your son when all is well in his world and, therefore, yours."

She laughed dismissively at him, then headed off toward the bed as she told him he was imagining things.

"I saw a game in the back room as we were coming upstairs," he informed her. A little squeak of shock sounded from her, causing Peter to laugh. Thinking of the hotel, its staff, and its clientele, he reassured her, "I'm sure it's a well mannered crowd. Guns checked at the door and all that. He'll be fine."

Larry had, in fact, discovered the poker game taking place in the backroom. And as his father had expected, it was a relatively respectable game. Over the past hour, as his parents had been progressing through their end-of-day routine, Larry had learned he was trading poker chips to and fro with a doctor, a lawyer, two wealthy land barons, and former gold miner who had sold a valuable silver claim and -- in his own words -- was doing his damndest to blow each and every dollar he'd made before his wicked witch of a wife located him again and wanted her share.

"What is it you do, Larry?" one of the men eventually asked him.

Tossing his chips out before him and calling the current bet, he only answered, "Well, I'll find that out in a couple of days I hope."

The men could see that their poker opponent wasn't interested in imparting that information at the moment, so they went back to the game without further inquiry. That didn't mean that Larry wasn't thinking about the topic.

What is that you do, Larry? he asked himself. He decided not to follow in his father's business back in Boston and had given The Law a shot. That hadn't gone well, though. When his father began speaking of a potential investment opportunity in the Arizona Territory, Larry only rolled his eyes.

"Dust, Indians, and outlaws?" he'd grimaced. "I'd rather manage your offices here in Boston."

But then his mother reminded him that Lillian McGregor -- who Larry had, of course, known as Lilly Stewart -- was out west somewhere. Somewhere, indeed: his mother had known all along that Lillian was in Willow Springs, and his father had intentionally withheld the fact that the mine was in fact in Willow Springs as well.

The truth of the deception -- no, omission was more accurate -- came out, and when he pressed his parents about it, another truth has surfaced. They were concerned that Larry interest in joining them in the venture to Arizona wouldn't be about being part of his father's business but would, instead, be all about getting his hands on Lillian Stewart ... or, more specifically, Lillian Stewart's money.

The Johnsons had nothing against money, of course. They were well off themselves and wouldn't have minded seeing their son well off with his own money. But ... would it really be his money?

As Larry tossed his last chips into the pot, laid down his cards a moment later, then saw the owner of the better hand scoop the entire pot his way, Larry was thinking the same thing. Would it be his money? Yes, of course it would be. Just as soon as he convinced Lillian Stewart McGregor to marry him.

She smiled as Vance patted himself down. He was right, if his family were to find him here it would not be a good thing.

Lillian was pleased that he was happy she was coming out of mourning. It meant that perhaps he did feel something for her as she did for him. The potential of it all hung in the air between them.

After he left she dimmed her oil lamp and laid down to rest. Her dreams were all washed in red. The events of the night and what she had done would stick with her for the rest of her life.
***
Benjamin eyed his eldest as the men set out early for chores around the ranch. He didn’t ask questions but whatever Johnathan had gotten into it made Benjamin even more positive that Lillian was who he wanted to leave the ranch to, not the boys.

The women, once dressed met the men for breakfast. The typical conversation was exchanged though Mabel did mention the Johnson’s were in town tomorrow and she had invited them for lunch..

Lillian spent time on paperwork and her plant book. She had dried the flowers that she had picked and was working on some of the mixtures the book mentioned.

Jenny sent the package down to the Cottage House. Maxwell included a note that stated the suit was for the party and that the pair would be coming to visit Vance tomorrow night.

Mabel sent a note down to Vance inviting him to dinner tomorrow night, before his job started for the evening to meet their friends the Johnson’s.

Today it seemed would be a day of quiet before guests and then the party.

When evening began to fall Lillian headed out to check on Vance.

Vance had slept well, without is sleeping self awaking him for any reason. He'd fed upon one of the Mexican refugees living hidden in a rocky portion of the property's perimeter, so he'd been fully on the mend when he laid his head down just as the sun began to rise into the sky over the foothills to the east.

He was sure that the Stewarts who had or were about to rise would look upon the sunrise at a most beautiful sight. But Vance's eyes never looked to it, out beyond his eastern window. Once upon a time, as he'd watched over his master's sheep through the night and to the morning, Vance had viewed the sun rising and felt awe at its beauty and magnificence. Now, though, centuries later, that awe was replaced with regret, resentment, and a bit of painful prickling upon his skin.

Vance knew his schedule seemed very odd to some of the Stewarts and their ranch hands, and he'd feared that some of them wouldn't understand and oblige Vance by leaving him be from sunrise to sunset. It didn't help that Vance couldn't explain why he lived this way, but then how could he?

But Benjamin had stressed to one and all that for their dark hours protector to be at their fullest, they needed to stay far away from the cottage. And so far they'd abided by their patriarch's demands. And so, his eyes remained closed as his sleeping self looked out for him. And when the sun was just touching the tops of the land to the west, he awoke rested and fully healed, except for the new permanent scars, anyway...

And, as had happened every evening since arriving in Willow Springs, Vance's first thought was of Lillian Stewart McGregor. McGregor... In one of their walks, Lillian had mentioned a conversation she and her family had had about her keeping her married name. Vance hadn't pressed: it would have been inappropriate to talk to of her about such things while she was still in mourning. But he couldn't help but wonder. While it might seem a slight to her dead husband's memory to drop his name from hers, it seemed to Vance as though it would also be one more step away from mourning ... and possibly one step closer to his bed.

Yes, Vance most definitely had hopes of Lillian one day laying naked with him in his bed. He didn't need a Preacher's pronouncement or a gold band from him slipped upon Lillian's finger to imagine himself deep inside her, driving them both toward ecstasy.

But ... did she? Had she stood with Bruce before a Minister before he first parted the dark haired beauty's thighs? As he stood in the middle of his room using the metal tub and bathing supplies Mabel had provided to wash himself clean of the sweat, grime, and blood residue from the fight, Vance considered Lillian and what he knew and imagined about her, trying to come to some sort of answer to that question.

As he finished bathing and turned to dressing, he realized that the way it had gone with Bruce didn't really matter to his own prospects concerning bedding Lillian. She was a very different woman now than she had been then. And he was a very different man than Bruce had or than any man she would ever meet again would be. There was no comparison between then and now, so Vance told himself just to let the past go and live in the moment.

And as if Fate had been listening in on Vance's thoughts, the moment he'd been hoping for arrived. He lifted his head, cocking it, to listen to the footfalls nearing the cottage. And he smiled. Fully dressed, he slung his Colt about his waist and walked to the door, opening it to find Lillian nearing the cottage.

"Good morning to you, Missus McGregor," he greeted with a sly smirk, both at his playful use of her married name and his flip flopping of what day and night meant to the two of them. Knowing that he couldn't invite her into his house -- and knowing that if he did she'd notice the discarded bandages atop the kitchen table and begin wondering about her handiwork -- he closed the door behind him and asked, "Would you like to take a walk with me? I need to go down to the house to speak to Benjamin for a moment."

They headed back the way she'd come ... in a sense. Vance intentionally steered her to the left rather than a right at a junction in the foot path between the two living areas, which would take them the long way around the grove that hid the cottage from the ranch house. It would take them twice as far, and at the unhurried pace they adopted, it would take them four times as long.

Neither of them were in no hurry to see the others, of course.

Lillian asked Vance about his injuries and how he felt, of course. He'd expected it to be almost the first words out of her mouth, and it had been. He'd told her that he was still stiff and sore but that he'd been right as rain in a couple of days. And Vance asked Lillian about her own self, showing her the true concern he felt about how the incidents of the previous night might affect her.

He asked about Johnathan, Maxwell, and Jenny, of course. But Vance couldn't help but appear far more concerned about Lillian herself, and he was certain it came out in his questions and comments as they walked through the deepening darkness.

They had just come within sight of the ranch house again when Vance reached into his shirt -- he'd slipped into the bunk house during the wee hours and borrowed one from a similarly sized ranch -- and pulled out Lillian's handkerchief.

"Close to my heart," he said about its place between the cloth and his skin. "Thank you for this. For the ... what did you call it, a token...? For the token ... and for the thought."

He looked off ahead of them toward the house, scanning for anyone looking their direction but seeing no one of consequence before -- still, eyes ahead -- saying with a smirk and a suggestive tone, "I'm still waiting for the kiss ... but ... I'm a patient man."

A smile appeared the moment she saw his figure in the doorway. His presence put her in a good mood. In fact from the moment of his appearance at dinner at the hotel Vance had changed her life dramatically. She had a harder time finding sadness or dullness in the everyday.

They walked, engrossed in conversation about the previous night and how everyone faired. Her concern was solely on him. Lillian had seen her cousins and knew them all to be at least physically, fine. He was the one who had taken the beating.

His concern, though he inquired into the others Vance seemed to be most concerned with her. His compassion was something she liked about him.

Lillian mentioned her dreams tinged with red and how she wasn’t sure she would ever forget the moment but part of her could not feel bad as he intended to hurt her. She hadn’t done it in cold blood, in truth it was an accident more than anything. She told him that the west was making her a different woman than who she had been in Boston.

She was pleased and did not hide it when Vance showed her the handkerchief. Her eyes shifted to look at him sideways. A smile played on her lips. “Another? Was not the one I gave you last night enough?”

Lillian blushed as she remembered the kiss, so tantalizingly close to his lips. Oh how she wanted to wrap her arms about his neck. To kiss him and have him return the kiss. It would have taken so little for him to move her to the bed, lift the barely there nightgown….

Her blush deepened as if betraying her thoughts.

She paused in her walk. Eyes glanced around to ensure no one was watching. Lillian took both of his hands. “I still wear black and it would be disrespectful to his memory to give you that token right now.” Lillian lifted her eyes to look at his. “In two days I will be out of mourning. I pray your patience holds fast for those two days.”

She sought his face for answers, affirmation that he did feel something, that he would be patient. She unconsciously licked her lips, teeth pulling at the lower as if signalling what she longed for him to do.

“A token, of thanks and affection.” Lillian hoped he understood. She was a practical woman and she knew there was a chance he only wished to bed her. She did not want to think to long on that issue. That was a conversation for another day.

“In two days I will be out of mourning. I pray your patience holds fast for those two days.”

Click to expand...

Vance smiled wider at her words. In his mind, that was as good as a promise to him that he would be feeling her lips upon his. Two days...

Had Lillian also realized that -- in essence -- she'd just promised him such an embrace? For a moment later she added, or perhaps clarified...

“A token, of thanks and affection.”

Click to expand...

"I am a patient man," he repeated from earlier. He lifted the handkerchief to his face, drawing in a soft breath. The smell of her filled his nose. Not of her perfume or her soap or any other item that had been on or near her at the time that she'd been embroidering the handkerchief, though those also filled the air he inhaled. No, her scent, Lillian's essence ... it filled his nose, his lungs, his heart and soul ... and it only made him yearn for her even more.

But, in contrast to what she was feeling, Vance's designs on Lillian went farther than the bedroom. He'd believed from the moment he'd seen her -- and had only come to confirm this over time -- that there was something almost fateful about the two of them being together, not as lovers but as something more.

But what?

Vance slipped the handkerchief back inside his shirt, ensuring the buttons were still fastened, and turned her toward the house, again speaking of his need to speak to her uncle. Arriving at the house still without any apparent attention from anyone who might raise an eyebrow, they made their farewells and vowed to speak in the morning.

"Breakfast perhaps," he suggested, knowing that he'd need to feed again tonight to help him maintain comfort in the morning light. "Mabel has been asking me to come try her blueberry pancakes."

They made their plans, and Vance made his way into Benjamin's den. He updated the patriarch of the Stewart family on what he'd seen during his few days as night watch, adding with some hesitation, "I have met some people ... good people ... about whom I feel I should inform you."

Vance told Benjamin about the Mexican's living in the more rugged land on the edge of the property, leaving out the fact that he'd actually discovered them on his first night roaming the estate. He vouched for them as hard workers and eager workers, telling Benjamin what he'd learned about their former employment.

"And you are hoping I have work for them as well," Benjamin inquired knowingly.

They went on speaking for some time, and after Vance assured the man that he himself would take full responsibility for them, Benjamin offered to give them a chance. "Bring them to the ranch tomorrow. I'll speak to them."

Vance was pleased and made sure Benjamin understood how important this was. He felt for the Mexicans, particular the man who was missing family members. Besides, the addition of more bodies to the locale would mean easier feeding when it was necessary.

(OOC: I was going to write more but I suddenly got called back to work.)

Vance’s response pleased her. She watched as he held the handkerchief to his nose. Something about the action caused her heart to skip a beat. Lillian did not often fall victim to romantic notions but for a moment it reminded her of a story of a knight and his lady love, how he smelt her handkerchief and thought of her before a battle.

She shook herself from her daydream. Vance slipped the material away and they walked onward to the house.

“I have heard that you were invited to luncheon tomorrow, to meet the Johnson’s. Aunt Mabel said she sent a note down to you.” Lillian made a slight face at the thought of Laurence Johnson. As soon as the black was away she knew letters would come. She had told her parents of her intentions. Her mother had written about all the men who were eligible in Boston. Many would know Lillian and the estate Bruce had left to her. The whole premise soured her on leaving her mourning but she was thankful that she was here, they there and Vance seemed interested. She decided not to think too hard on what that meant or where it would lead to. For now, she just enjoyed the fact that he liked her company and she his.

Laurence was a different issue. He was here or at least would be tomorrow.

Lillian closed the door to her room and began undressing. Tilly appeared to help her with the corset. The woman was quick and gone without a word.

Lillian stared in the mirror as she brushed her hair. One more day. Her eyes drifted to the black dress that Tilly had neatly folded. Her eyes then drifted to the closet door. Behind it lay the dress she had purchased for the party. It was far more daring than anything she had ever worn. She hoped Vance would like it.

She read until her eyelids grew heavy and then let sleep take her. Again her dreams were tinged red.
***
Morning came.

Soon she was sitting in the parlour in a neatly tailored black dress. It would be the last full black she wore for a time.

Benjamin came in and found her. “Lillian, may I have a word with you?”

“Of course.”

He gestured for her to follow. It had been nagging at Benjamin and now, with the Johnson’s arriving for lunch and Lillian leaving her mourning behind tomorrow he felt the need to settle things.

He sat behind his desk and Lillian closed the door to his office. She took a seat across from him. Hands folded in her lap, she waited.

“Lillian, you know I care for you as I would my own daughter if we had had one. You know I have worked hard to get the ranch where it is, building it up. I have seen your cousins…” Benjamin shook his head. “They are good men but neither with a head for business.”

Lillian understood his point but she had yet to figure out what this really had to do with her. His tone didn’t suggest he was upset with her or anxious.

“What is it uncle?” She was worried. It was if the thought was stuck and he did not know how to explain himself.

“I have had documents drafted, for the ranch, for my holdings and estate.”

Lillian paled. “Are you ill?”

“Heavens no but I would like to eventually take your aunt on a trip and someday I will not be capable of taking care of this place. I need a partner now to work with so that someone helps to steer the ranch on the right path. To that end I have named you my second, the successor here for the ranch.”

She was taken aback for a moment. She shook her head. “I do not understand.”

“I think you do my dear.” Benjamin smiled softly. “Your cousins are not businessmen. Do not worry, I have ensure they get an allowance and of course, they are free to build up their own places but decisions here and in the future for the ranch will be decided by you and I. If something happens to me or I am away, you are in charge.”

She started to protest and he held up a hand. “No, I have thought this through a great deal. I have seen how you manage your estate in Boston. I know I am making the right choice. It is already done.” Benjamin pulled out the papers. “My solicitor filed a copy with the government already. The bank knows. I have a copy for you and for your solicitor. It is done and I will broach no argument. I am not senile, not out of my wits. In fact, other than marrying Mabel I have never been quite so certain of anything in my life. I know this is what is best for what I have built here.”

Lillian was speechless. She took the papers from him. It named her as partner, successor and owner in his death of the ranch and all it entailed. It wasn’t all that dissimilar from the document that was handed to her after Bruce’s death. It had been unconventional for him to leave it to his wife but Bruce was a forward thinker in many ways. He also trusted her judgement. Her uncle was doing the same.

“What did Johnathan and Maxwell say?” She looked up from the papers.

“I have not told them. I wanted to tell you first.” Benjamin leaned back in his seat.

“They will not be happy. Maxwell was sure you would bypass Johnathan for him.”

“I would have if you had not come here and I had not seen how intelligent you are. I am grateful you came here to mourn, to give me the chance to know what brains lay within such beauty.” He smiled proudly at her.

Previously:

Gregor eased slowly out onto the boardwalk before The Red Russian. He was pretty certain that the gunman standing in the middle of the street could pull his weapon and shoot him down before he himself could even begin to reach for his own sidearm. But then, Pavel was certainly in his sniper's position by now, and any moment he'd be pulling the trigger on the Henry rifle and ending the life of this stranger who had so thoroughly fucked up his life in just one evening.

Another full step forward and he would no longer be in the shadows of the roofing over his head. Gregor instead took tiny steps, the exaggerated sway of his upper body left, then right making it appear as if he was coming out to meet the fist and gun fighter without actually moving much closer.

Shoot him down, Gregor thought, waiting for Pavel to take the shot. SHOOT HIM DOWN!

Suddenly, shot after shot after shot rang out ... but they were from the man in the street toward the second floor sniper's nest rather than the other way around...

Vance studied the destination of the hail of bullets, seeing the building and the damage done as clearly as if the sun was high and he was floating on a cloud just before the second floor. Despite the distance having been over 100 feet, all of the rounds struck the hotel's exterior wall within three inches of one another. The first bullets had only weakened the pine siding, but the last round had burst through the wood and sunk into the chest of the man who had been just about to pull the trigger on the Henry.

"Pavel is dead, Gregor," Vance called to the man on the porch after he heard the other Russian's body slump to the floor. He watched Gregor lean a bit in a desperate but futile attempt to find proof of what Vance was saying or -- preferably -- find out that Pavel was still about to gun the encroacher down. Vance ignored his desperation, continuing, "I have one more round for you ... or ... you can invite me in for a drink ... and we can settle this without any more of your people ... without you dying."

Gregor's fear of having his reputation harmed by Vance must have given way to his fear of Vance's gun. He invited the gunman inside, backed up a bit, turned, then hurried inside. Vance followed, hesitating at the door to find Gregor standing in the middle of the room, his stance unthreatening, his expression full of concern for his life. Entering, Vance gestured the other man to a table, then sat across from him.

"We made a deal tonight ... you, me, and my friends ... and you betrayed us," Vance began. He laid his one-shot-left Colt in the middle of the table, an equal distance from each of them. "I'm going to make you another deal. You will abide by the earlier agreement ... forgive Johnathan Stewart's debt ... stay away from the Stewarts, their ranch, and any dealings in which they have an involvement. You still keep the money you won tonight betting on me."

When Vance hesitated, Gregor asked only, "And...?"

"Your brothel out at the mine," Vance continued. "You close it down and let all the girls go free."

Gregor cocked his head with a curious expression. "You care because...?"

"You give each of them $50," Vance continued, not wishing to involve by name the Mexican women who'd been taken by force from the group now living out in the sticks on the Stewart ranch. "They will need money to start a new life."

Gregor studied Vance for a moment, glanced down at the gun before him, then looked back up to the man who -- like no man had since he was a conscripted recruit in the Russian Army so many decades before -- was causing him to tremble in fear. "You wish I grab for gun, yes?"

When Vance didn't respond, Gregor added, "You fast, yes? Faster than me. You get and shoot. But ... shoot ... kill me ... not get what you want."

Vance hesitated, then slowly reached out for the gun ... and pushed it across the table until its butt was almost touching the edge of the table closest the Russian. Vance's hand returned to his side of the table ... then he leaned back in his chair, making it impossible -- well, making it impossible for the average man -- to reach the gun before the Russian could.

Gregor studied the weapon for a moment, then studied Vance. He finally said with a firm tone, "Done."

A moment passed with them simply staring at one another before Gregor clarified, "I close mine brothel ... free girls ... give money. I do other things I say. I live. You live. All live. Yes?"

Vance nodded, then stood and retrieved his Colt. Gregor smiled and quickly said, "You give gun because no bullet. You shoot Pavel with six. None left for me kill you, yes?"

Vance answered the question by using the shell ejector to push out one of the shells. He set it on end before Gregor: it was not spent. Vance said softly, "Keep that ... and remember ... I gave it to you the friendly way ... but ... I always have another waiting to give you the unfriendly way if ever you cross me or my friends again."

Gregor's face had turned white at the sight of the bullet. He'd had the opportunity to kill the man across from him -- or so he thought -- and he'd passed. And although he could still bushwhack Vance anytime from now to the end of time, Gregor was already concluding that it was probably better just to let this one go.

As Vance headed for the door and ejected the remaining spent shells, Gregor called out to him with a friendly though forced tone, "Been good doing business with you."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

(OOC: I am writing another post right now. We are having power (and thus internet) problems here, and I want to post this one while I have a chance.)

Now, at the Stewart Ranch:

"Excuse me, sir," the housekeeper said with a soft voice from just inside the open door of his den. When he looked up, she informed him, "The Johnsons' coach is just pulling up."

"Thank you, Tilly," Benjamin responded. He looked across his desk toward his niece -- his new partner, executor, successor, and savior in a way -- and asked, "Lilly, shall we go out and meet our old friends?"

Mabel suddenly surged into the room, heading directly for her niece as she said excitedly, "Oh, they're here, they're here ... and they have Laurence with them, sweetheart."

She reached Lillian just as the younger woman was standing, and she wasted no time in looking the girl over and fussing about her clothes. It was no secret that she saw Laurence as a potential new husband for Lillian. Potential, not definite, for Lillian would have so many options -- so many men from which to chose -- once word had worked its way through their social circles that the girl was no longer wearing black.

"Go upstairs immediately," Mabel demanded already urging Lillian toward the door. "I will sent Tilly up to help you with your hair."

She looked to Benjamin, who was wearing a smirk and shaking his head lightly. His knowledge of what his niece might want in a man was far different than his wife's. And while Mabel not understand or even believe such things, Benjamin had a feeling Lillian's thoughts about her next mate went more along the lines of tall, dark, handsome ... and armed with a Colt.

Out front of the ranch house, one of the Stewart brothers and a ranch hand set about helping the Johnsons down from the rented coach. The driver made no attempt to assist, eager to have them all out and gone so he could get back to town and rest after a busy night of drinking and cards.

"The luggage," he said to the hand, which surprised the Stewart also helping. When Benjamin's son asked why there as luggage, the coachman said, "I only know that I'm supposed to check here tomorrow to see if they're ready to leave. Did you not know they were planning on staying the night."

The Stewart shrugged, turning to watch the excitement of Mabel exiting to meet with the couple from back east. The sound of a horse approaching caught his attention, and he turned to see Vance arriving at a gentle canter atop Midnight. The man who had saved him and his family members slowed at the corral and gave over his ride to a boy there, then continued toward the others. He was dressed as he had been the first night the Stewarts had seen him, though the shirt he wore -- similar but not exact -- was obviously a replacement after the two bloodied and shot up one he'd already discarded.

Mabel greeted him with a wave, and as he neared introduced him first to Peter, then Cecily. She told Vance about the couple's interest in the mine, which made him wonder how they would feel about the business's informal ties to Willow Springs' premiere crime boss.

When Vance was introduced to Laurence, he recognized instantly the competitive feeling about the man. Larry didn't know this man with the sharp Western wear and the impressive gun on his hip, but he instinctively thought of Vance as competition for Lillian's affections, Lillian's hand, and Lillian's money.

"Good to meet you, Mister Hamilton," Larry said, taking the hand offered by the man. "Call me Larry."

Trying to establish his superiority, Larry squeezed Vance's hand a bit tighter than was appropriate or even polite. The vampire had expected such a show and simply duplicated the action ... causing Larry to wince.

"Good to meet you as well ... Larry," Vance said, a wide polite smile on his face. The two released hands as Larry's expression shifted toward the less friendly direction. The youngest Johnson turned to Benjamin -- done with this lesser man -- and began chatting about the ranch. Vance turned to Peter instead and said, "I spent some time in Boston. Great town."

(OOC: I didn't say which brother. Pick and have fun. )

Lillian smiled but it was tight. The Johnson’s. She knew she should have written back to Laurence to state that she was interested in his friendship but Lillian was aware they would have already left on the journey here and the letter would have missed him.

This time promised to be awkward and strained.

Her aunt came in, fussing and fretting like a hen in the chicken coop. Lillian let her smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in her skirt.

“Of course Aunt.” Lillian cast a look to her uncle before heading out of the room and upstairs. She tucked the papers away and did not let Tilly fix her hair. She would not to unnecessary primping.

Maxwell was struggling with the luggage, a frown on his face. The fact that they were staying the night put an added crimp in the plans he and Jenny had that night. He was well aware of his family’s sleeping habits but three more people added complications. He was not happy.

One of the hands came to help bring the cases in. Jenny stepped out on the porch. “Oh, they are staying here? How wonderful.” The smile was fact as was the excited tone. She and her husband exchanged a look.

Lillian stepped out in time to see Vance and Laurence move apart to talk to other people. She stood in the shade as the black absorbed the sun and the heat was sometimes unbearable.

No longer an issue after tomorrow… The thought ran through her head as she looked Laurence over. He was almost the same as when they had last seen each other, at her wedding. He seemed to be showing some age, grey flecks at his temples. He was only three years older than her. Lillian guessed that there had been some stress in his life. He was not unattractive it was simply that she did not find his appearance made her heart beat faster. Add to that he was often not on the same page as her when it came to opinions or politics and it stood to reason they had little in common and little to endear him to her.

No. He was not someone she hoped would court her though she knew he would try.

Her eyes moved to Vance. A smile pulled at her lips.

Mabel was buzzing around, now urging them all inside for tea or coffee as the final parts of lunch were put together. She reminded them that it wouldn’t be like what they ate at home, out east but they would show them the finest cook and meal in the west.

Lillian let the others pass her by, giving her greetings to the elder Johnson’s as they passed. She was waiting for Vance but it also meant waiting for Laurence. She put on her best polite smile as she stood in the shade.

“They are staying? Did you know?” Jenny was whispering to Maxwell as the pair moved into the parlour following the Johnson’s, Mabel and Benjamin.

“If I had would I have sent the note? It will be tricky to sneak out as I fear mother is putting someone in the room beside ours.”

Jenny pouted. She wanted her fun with Vance and Maxwell before the party. She wanted a night with them and then to primp over them both before the party. It wasn’t fair that her fun was being ruined.

“Would it be a scandal?” Jenny didn’t know the Johnson’s overly well.

Maxwell gave a hard laugh. “Oh yes...Cecily is a queen of gossip.”

As if to punctuate his words Cecily was loudly filling Mabel in on all the latest news from Boston. “Winston Balder was sleeping with Matilda Piper. Can you imagine? Poor Gertrude was beside herself. Of course, everyone knew she had cast him out of her room years ago and was almost a nun but heaven’s, the trouble this has caused. Then there was Penelope’s party. I wrote to you about it. Four guests ill from the food. I am thankful I never touch things brought in from overseas.” She shuddered and made a face that let all know her distaste for such things.

“They are staying? Did you know?”

Click to expand...

Vance caught Jenny's quiet inquiry of Maxwell even from the distance between them. His lips spread in a bit of a smirk. Although he'd tossed their note in the cottage's wood stove to ensure that no one happened across it, he hadn't forgotten their request to come visit him tonight at his little home.

There was so much going on around Vance that he didn't really know if he was up for another night of heightening Jenny's desires for her husband. Oh, sure, he'd very much enjoyed having his cock in her pussy and mouth that first night. But with still not fully trusting Gregor and his Iron Club, with yearning for the soon-to-be-available Lillian, with the move of the Mexicans onto the ranch proper, with this new guy Larry who Vance could see was eying Lillian hungrily, and with the uncomfortable feeling of being out in the light of day...

Being balls deep in Jenny just wasn't the foremost thought in Vance's mind.

As the group began moving generally toward the home's front door, Jenny asked her husband whether there would scandal if she and he were caught sneaking out of the house for whatever purposes; and Maxwell gave a hard laugh.

“Oh yes...Cecily is a queen of gossip.”

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Cecily ... Cecily Johnson. Vance smiled, then chuckled to himself. He thought he'd heard the name before. He'd known the woman during his time in Boston, though he'd known her by a different surname -- a pseudonym, obviously -- and he'd known her for reasons of which her husband probably wasn't aware. Vance glanced toward Larry as he ascended the steps to offer his hand and greeting to Lillian and wondered whether he knew of his mother's indiscretions ... or, maybe ... had even partook of them or something similar.

"It's so very good to see you again, Lillian," Larry greeted, using her full given name despite once having been close enough to call her Lilly. He took her right hand in his right, then place his left hand upon hers in a way that could have easily been read as being far too intimate than allowed by her black clothes. He actually wanted Lillian to take the gesture as a reminder that they had once nearly become lovers. Yet at the same time he took the out offered him by the situation by quickly saying with a tone of sincerity, "I was saddened to hear of Bruce's death, and doubly saddened that I was in London and not in Boston during your time of need."

He glanced past her to his parents and the Stewarts, then looked back to Lillian, continuing, "But I hear that despite the rigors of this life out here in the wilds, you are doing very well."

He let his gaze drop for a moment to Lillian's bosom, and while it was the flesh behind it which held his interest -- oh, and her money, of course -- he raised his eyes to speak of the clothing instead, finishing, "Mother said that you were still in mourning ... but that you might be..."

Larry didn't really know now to finish that statement or question or whatever it had been meant to be. What was he going to say: You might be taking off this retched black so that I can try to get you out whatever other color you wrap your delicious body within?

Behind him, Vance had come a bit closer to the steps but did not ascend them. His eyes were diverted to the boy tending Midnight at the corral, but his ears were listening to every word being exchanged, both here on the porch. (He was trying to listen to the conversation in the hallway beyond Lillian and Larry, but the light of day was rapidly defeating his beyond human abilities.

Vance would wait for the pair on the porch to end their conversation, then either join them or simply follow behind them into the house to begin the very awkward lunch.

Lillian smiled politely at Laurence as he took her hand. He held it, between his own. It was far too intimate and far too long for her liking.

"Thank you for your condolences. I was surrounded by many family and friends. I am glad you did not alter your life for my grief. Your friendship means a lot to me."

She tried to emphasize her meaning without being rude. Lillian tried to remove her hand subtly but it was clear that Laurence had no desire to let her go.

"I am greatly enjoying my time here with my aunt and uncle." Her smile grew strained as he mentioned her mourning. "Yes, I will be coming from my mourning at the party. Bruce would want me to enjoy my life."

Now, Lillian did pull her hand away using it to brush her hair from her face. Her eyes moved to Vance.

"Vance, Mr Hamilton so glad you are going us for lunch. Vance has done a great deal for us here. He is keeping an eye out for poachers, a trouble successful ranches often have. I am told we have not lost a single head of cattle since his arrival."

She turned, adjusting her body to face Vance. "Shall we go inside?"
***
Inside Mabel was beginning to move people to the dining room. Maxwell and Jenny sat, an empty seat beside them which Jenny expected Vance to take. Johnathan and Anna sat beside each other, the seat next to them empty for Lillian. Mabel and Benjamin took up their places at the ends of the table. One chair was put near Mabel for Cecily and one near Benjamin for Peter. There was another empty chair for Laurence but it had been placed next to the one left for Vance.

”Your friendship means a lot to me."

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The tone of Lillian’s voice and -- more noticeably -- the quickness at which she attempted to extricate her hand from his was not lost on Laurence. He was no dummy. But then again, he was no quitter. It was already obvious to him after such a very short moment of interaction that she wasn’t burning a torch in her loins for Laurence.

But … he was determined that before the day had ended, the others would be seeing smoke come from her ears over her feelings for him.

Lillian did finally pull her hand away from Larry’s, quickly feigning with fingers passing through her beautiful hair that she’d only had another use for it than embracing him. Her greeting to the other man -- this ranch hand, this gunslinger, this Mister Hamilton -- was something Laurence could have done without.

”Shall we go inside?"

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Despite Lillian’s attentions still being on the other man, Larry didn’t hesitate to lift a crooked elbow to Lillian in offereance. He suspected she didn’t want to take it, but would she be so bold as to reject it before the others?

He -- and they -- could only wait to see.

Another ploy of his was about to play out, too, once they’d all entered the dining room. Seeing two open seats together and a third all by itself, Laurence politely directed Lillian toward the pair, asking with his politest of voices, “May I have the honor of sitting beside you, Lillian. I have tales to be told of Boston since your departure.”

Out of politeness Lillian took his arm. She wished there were not so many rules and manners. It wasn't that she wanted to be rude and ignore him but she did not wish to have him escort her in.

Worse, he asked about the two empty seats and expected her to sit next to him. She looked around the room a moment. No help would come there. Her aunt was beaming ear to ear and she leaned in toward Cecily, whispering.

A woman had so little say and she was expected to put up with so much. If only she had the power and ability to take care of herself. To stand up and say no when she really didn't want something.

Lillian let Laurence pull out her chair. "I look forward to hearing about Boston."

She really didn't. She didn't want to here more than she knew and her parents kept her abreast of anything truly important. Unlike many she had no use for gossip.

Lillian placed her napkin on her lap. Her eyes went across to her normal seat. If he was like this now what would he be like tomorrow innher dress? Lillian was regretting her choice.

Anna looked to Laurence as the pair sat and Vance followed in. "Have you seen any good theatre shows lately?"

Lillian wished she could have hugged her sister in law. She appreciated her attempts to deflect and control the conversation.

Lillian's eyes were on Vance. She wished they were out walking. She hoped she could get away tonight before darkness settled in.

Jenny was pouting. She didn't want them next to her. She wanted Vance, to be flanked by men who adored her. "I cannot wait for tomorrow. Are you looking forward to the party Vance?"

She didn't care if it was rude of her to ask a question over Anna's. She was mad they were staying and annoyed she wouldn't get to flirt as easily with the man.

Vance wished it was after dark so that he could hear all the whispers being traded about the table. It wasn't that he was the type to generally care about such gossip. It was only that Vance suspected a great deal of it to be about Lillian. And that kind of knowledge was of interest to him.

“May I have the honor of sitting beside you, Lillian.”

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Vance couldn't help but smile a bit at Laurence's question. The man was trying so hard to stick close to Lillian. Too hard ... but, then, Vance didn't blame Laurence. After all, it was Lillian, after all.

Vance hesitated just inside the dining hall door, waiting to see what the final seating arrangement was. The far side of the table, from his left to right, was Maxwell, Jenny, Lillian, Laurence and Peter Johnson; the near side was Cecily Johnson, Johnathan Anna, and an empty chair for Vance. Benjamin and Mabel were in their expected seats at the left and right ends, respectively.

As he sat and the meal began, Vance took the next moments to look between his midday meal mates, studying them. Jenny, of course, had a conspicuous expression of disappointment on her face for not having had Vance at her side. Maxwell's expression was similar though not nearly as obvious. Benjamin engaged Cecily in conversation and Mabel the same with Peter; and, of course, some of the others engaged in the talk as well. They all seemed to enjoy the conversation.

But the discussions between Laurence and Lillian -- involving others, at times -- seemed very strained more often than not. It was so obvious to Vance that Lillian would have preferred to be anywhere else at this moment. Vance wanted to help her, but how?

Jenny cut into the ongoing conversations...

"I cannot wait for tomorrow. Are you looking forward to the party Vance?"

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Suddenly, the rest of the conversations ended and all eyes turned to Vance. He wasn't certain whether the sudden interest was about him in particular or about the party, which was the starting point of Lillian's post-mourning life and, therefore, a very significant event. He looked to Lillian as he lifted his wine glass to his lips, the looked back to Jenny.

"Yes, Jenny, I am," Vance told her with a pleased smile. He looked to Laurence, the to the man's parents as he continued, "I am new to the area just as the Johnsons are, of course. It will be nice to meet some more interesting people of Willow Springs."

He held out his glass as if to toast them all, continuing, "Some more interesting people ... to complement those I have already met ... the Stewarts..."

He turned his glass to Mabel, then Benjamin, then continued, "The Johnsons..."

Vance repeated the gesture to Cecily, Peter, and Laurence who forced a smile of appreciation to the man. Vance could have ended there. After all he'd covered both surnames present. But he didn't. He looked directly across to Lillian, lifted his glass again, and said with a pleased smile, "And, of course, the most interesting of us all ... Lillian."

He didn't use her maiden name or married name, sticking with her given name as he moved his glass to his lips and sipped ... his eyes firmly on hers.

And beside her, Larry joined the toast without enthusiasm, his own eyes staring at the man who he realized was going to be serious competition to him.

She didn't care if it was rude of her to ask a question over Anna's. She was mad they were staying and annoyed she wouldn't get to flirt as easily with the man.[/QUOTE]

Lillian did her best to be polite, well mannered but beneath the unreadable expression she simmered with frustration. She knew Laurence was interested but he also could not seem to understand she had not been interested years ago and she still wasn’t. Perhaps is she was older and felt she had no prospects but it was not the case.

The conversation at the table halted at Jenny’s question. She in turned smiled brightly as Vance addressed her. She longed for the attention and enjoyed everyone at the table knowing he was focused on her, her question and her party.

Smiles and the gesture was returned to Vance as he complimented the table. Inwardly, Lillian was complimenting Vance tact and manners. One would have never assumed a man such as he would be so well mannered but the more they talked the more she knew him to be of good upbringing. Lillian’s face warmed as Vance addressed her directly.

Jenny’s face soured as Vance seemed to focus on Lillian. Under the table Maxwell squeezed her hand. He knew she didn’t like Vance’s attention being elsewhere. To her, to them, they had an agreement. He was their friend and as such was allowed to join in their private games. It hadn’t occurred to her that he would be so fixated on Lillian. Maxwell wondered if Vance was doing it to irk Laurence, he had sensed the tension there, or if Vance had turned his attention to his cousin.

Lillian delicately raised her glass to Vance. “I fear you give me too much credit but I thank you for the compliment. Tomorrow should be enjoyable.”

Her eyes were on his, never leaving his face as she took a drink of her glass.

“It should be a grand time. The cook is working on some special appetizers and the ladies shopped for new dresses.” Mabel looked up, smiling at Lillian.

“Oh yes. I cannot wait for everyone to see my dress. I picked it from a designer in Europe. Some of the latest fashion.” Jenny gushed. “And Maxwell and Vance have new suits. Everyone will look so wonderful!”

Anna sighed and rubbed her large baby bump. “Yes, almost everyone.”

“You will look pretty! We will do something special with your hair.” Jenny cooed.

“What dress did you get Lillian?” Mabel addressed her niece once more.

Lillian brushed her napkin over her lips. “A french design. Something a bit more daring than I have worn but it has been some time since I have stepped out as an unmarried woman. It felt right to have something to give me confidence for the moment.”

What she wanted to say was she hoped Vance would like the dress and find it appealing on her. She didn't but did keep her eyes on him.

“I fear you give me too much credit but I thank you for the compliment.”

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Vance only lifted his glass a bit higher at Lillian's response, as if to say I couldn't ever give you too much credit. He lifted his glass to his lips again and let his gaze shift for a moment toward Laurence. The man's face looked like it was going to crack in two from the forced smile spreading his lips.

At Jenny's reminder of the suit she'd bought him, Vance smiled broadly and thanked her. Suddenly, he knew how Laurence must be filling. He'd hung the suit from a hook on the wall of the cottage and stood back to look it over for a good long time, trying to picture himself in the color. He couldn't. But ... he'd wear it, and with great appreciation. And all the time, he'd be thinking of his black-on-black awaiting him at home.

He listened to Lillian's description of her own dress, but he was -- of course -- more interested in her reason for wearing it. Tomorrow, she would once again be a woman unattached and available. Of course, that didn't mean that Vance would be parting her thighs by days end, refreshing her memory on what it meant to have a man in her life. But ... soon, maybe?

There was a ruckus in the hallway beyond the dining room. Vance, uncertain of what was happening and -- obviously -- part of the ranch's security pushed his chair out behind him to stand and move closer to the open doors. One of the ranch hands appeared and looked directly to Vance with obvious panic in his face. He backed into the hallway again, gesturing Vance to come with him.

"Men," he said, struggling for breath, overwhelmed by excitement and exhaustion from having run in from the fence line. "Men, near the south creek. Men with guns."

"How many?" Vance asked before turning to close the dining hall doors. The others didn't need to hear this. The boy told him six or more. "Get your horse, get to my cottage, and get the Henry. I'll be right behind you."

After the boy ran off, Vance opened the door to find Benjamin already standing near it, with Maxwell and Johnathan on their feet. Even Peter Johnson was on his feet which left Laurence as the only still seated man.

"What's happening?" the Stewart patriarch asked with concern. Vance told him, leading Benjamin to look to his sons and nod to them. They came to follow behind him as their father told Vance, "We'll go with you."

"I don't ... you have guests," Vance told him. "I don't think it's anything to worry about, not worth ruining your lunch."