"Blood and Guns" (closed)

The mortician stood tall, straight, and motionless as if a statue, staring down the tracks toward the train that was slowing for an hour long stop at Willow Springs in the Arizona Territory. The sun at the man's back had nearly reached the western horizon, projecting his shadow down the full length of the station's platform, only making the more than six foot tall man seem even taller yet.

He remained still as the train's locomotive and its three passenger cars passed by him. They presented nothing of interest to him. It was only when the first of two baggage and freight cars neared that the man turned to face the train. Several minutes passed before a railway worker opened the car's doors, revealing -- amongst other things -- a young man standing near the end of an elegant coffin.

"Load it," the mortician called out to a pair of teamsters standing near a buckboard at the end of the platform. The mortician watched the men as they positioned their wagon close to the car's opening, then worked to move the coffin outward. At the first sign of carelessness, the tall man in black warned, "Scratch it, and you will see not a coin!"

The young man descended from the car, presented an envelope to the mortician, and unnecessarily told the already fully aware mortician, "I am Bobby, sir. I was told to stay with the coffin until you excused me."

"Help them," was all the mortician said, gesturing the teen toward the coffin. It was a four man job, so the two men were having difficulty. Again the mortician hollered, "Careful!"

Ten minutes later, the coffin sat atop a sturdy table in the back room of the funeral parlor. The mortician sent the teamsters off with coins jiggling in their vest pockets and -- indicating that he wanted to open the casket -- told Bobby, "Loosen that latch there."

The teen's eyes opened wide. With obvious nervousness he asked, "We're ... we're gonna open it?"

"Of course," the mortician said, snapping loose the levers at his end of the long box. "The family will want to see their dearly departed. You've never seen a deceased relative or friend in an open casket funeral?"

"I ain't never seen a ... deceased...?" Bobby began, unsure of the word. He continued in the way he knew best, "I ain't never seen a dead body, casket or no."

With the last latch loose and Bobby backing nervously, the mortician struggled to open the heavy, one piece lid. He stared down at the body for a moment, looking from head to toe and back with an expression of satisfaction. He turned to look to the teen, studying him for a moment.

"Come here, young man," he demanded. "Death is nothing to be feared."

Bobby stepped back a bit instead, and it was only after the mortician demanded that he come forward and look upon the body that he tentatively did so. He took in the view a little at a time. The body inside was a male, perhaps in his mid-30's; the was a mass of wavy, dark black hair speckled throughout -- particularly at the temples -- with light, almost imperceptible graying; his skin was a bit darker than Bobby had expected, having heard that dead people loose their coloring; he was tall, over 6 feet, and sleek in build; and he wore clothes of a gunslinger -- including a handgun belted about his waist! -- which Bobby had seen in the Penny Magazines about the Old West yet -- being from New Orleans himself -- hadn't seen in person until this moment.

"Who killed him?" Bobby asked, glancing at the gun again.

"No one killed him," the mortician responded, moving the boy back and replacing him at the casket's edge. He reached his hands into the casket for a moment, doing something Bobby couldn't see, then looked to the curious young man and said, "Come look."

Bobby hesitated again, then stepped closer. He could see the mortician's arm out over the dead man's face, blood dripping from a cut in his wrist onto the deceased's lips. His eyes opened in shock as he asked, "What are you doing?"

The mortician grabbed the smaller, lighter young man by the upper arm and pulled him up against the casket's edge. He demanded, "Look!"

Bobby struggled, but the mortician had the advantage of weight and strength. He looked down into the casket at the blood dripping on and about the corpse's lips ... then went suddenly still as the dead man's lips moved ... and the tip of his tongue emerged to touch, then lap at the drops of deep red upon them.

"Holy mother Mary of Christ," the shocked boy murmured, his words mixed though he didn't himself notice. As he watched the corpse continue to lick at the drops, he tried but failed to move back, saying, "This is the devil's work, sir."

Suddenly, the corpse's eyes flashed open. Again Bobby tried to pull away but failed, the mortician now behind him and holding him firmly against the casket's edge with both hands. The dead man's wide eyes tipped to look directly at the young man; the dead man's head tilted toward him. Bobby opened his mouth and began to scream out in terror, but the mortician's hand was suddenly over his mouth, both silencing him and pulling his head back and to the side ... making available and vulnerable the length of his neck.

Bobby's eyes were tearing up, but still -- out of his peripheral vision -- he was able to see the not-so-dead dead man rise up quickly from the casket. The next -- and last -- thing he sensed was a sudden and deep pain in his neck...



As directed, the teamsters returned to the mortuary the next morning to retrieve the casket. They loaded it onto their wagon yet again and delivered it to the cemetery, where a hole had already been dug in anticipation of another death in Willow Springs. They put the casket in place and lowered it, never knowing that the body it in now wasn't the one that had been inside it the day before.



That evening, an hour after the sun had set, Willow Springs got its first look at its newest resident. Vance Hamilton strode down the raised wooden boardwalk fronting the south side of Main Street, seeing everyone and everything without seeming to be looking at anyone or anything in particular. At 6'3" with the additional height of his brand new cowboy boots, he was a dominating sight as he passed by a variety of Willow Spring's long term and more recent residents. He was lean and slim and, as Bobby had noticed, and ruggedly handsome, which gained him some looks from the passing women. With the Colt Model 1873 .44 caliber Peacemaker strapped to his waist, he also gained some looks from the men of Willow Springs, many but not all of whom were packing some form of firearm themselves.

Vance hoped he would never have to pull his weapon on another person. He didn't enjoy killing, whether with a firearm or his fangs. He certainly hadn't enjoyed killing young Bobby. But, it had been necessary.

Vance wasn't like so many of the wanna-be gunslingers populating such Western towns like Willow Springs: he wasn't looking to make a reputation by facing off and gunning down other wanna-be gunslingers. Vance only carried the Colt because the West was a far more dangerous world than was New Orleans or the East, from which he'd come before that. What Vance was looking for wasn't a gunfight: it was a steak, cooked rare and accompanied by a glass of brandy and the company of a woman well skilled in the arts of love making.

He stopped at the meeting of Main Street and State Road, looked about for proper accommodations, and made his way through the still active streets to the Golden Eagle Hotel. He asked for a room, paid up front for a week, then made his way to the dining room to look for that steak...

“You cannot be serious Johnathan.” Anna was hissed under her breath at her husband. She had only been staying with them a month but Lillian had already learned to tune out her cousin and his wife’s bickering.

“Well, why shouldn’t I? You will just want to go home to rest and I am not tired.” Her cousin, Johnathan shrugged. “While I cannot wait for my son to be born, I do not wish to sit at home every night with you as you moan and groan about your ever growing stomach.

Lillian turned her chin a little, offering some sort of privacy as the two argued. It seemed Johnathan wanted to play cards after supper but a heavily pregnant Anna wanted him to stay in. They had not even ordered their meal yet and already this discussion had begun.

Johnathan’s poker habit seemed a constant source of strife and from what the maid said, it had gotten worse when Anna became pregnant.

Her eyes moved about the table. Her uncle and aunt sat, menus in hand and faces covered as if they could pretend the couple and their discussion did not exist. Her other cousin, Maxwell and his wife Jenny sat across from her. Jenny gave her a strained smile.

“I believe I will have the steak.” Her uncle Benjamin declared as he put his menu down. “And some sherry for us all to start. Yes, yes I think that is a good idea.”

Eventually, the table ordered, the sherry was poured and the men discussed the cattle. Lillian smoothed the black material of her skirt before looking off towards a far window. The setting sun had cast the sky into shades of rich blues and purples with splashing of orange.

Inside was warm, lit by oil lamps that cast shadows on the patterned walls. The Stewart family had a long table given the size of their party but also the table at the far side of the room. They were one of the more well off families in the area with a large cattle ranch that was prospering well.

Lillian picked up her sherry and took a sip. She missed the smell of the sea in Boston but there was something about this place that she found endearing. Maybe it was the normalcy of her family, away from the societal obligations of a city like Boston. Maybe it was the land. Or maybe it was that nothing here reminded her of her dead husband.

“Very good sherry. I should find out what it is and get some for the house.” Benjamin’s declaration pulled her from her thoughts.

“That would be lovely dear.” Her aunt interjected.

“Jenny, you should paint the sunset at some point. I have never seen such lovely hues in the sky.” Lillian’s eyes were on the window again.

“Oh yes, well it is lovely but you get used to it. I prefer to paint the flowers.”

Lillian nodded, “But of course, and your paintings are lovely.”

With that the conversation moved into its normal ebb and flow. The only difference between tonight and any other is they had chosen to go to the Golden Eagle Hotel and not at home.

The meals arrived and everyone was engrossed in their plates with the stranger walked in. Maxwell and Johnathan noticed right away. Eyes took in the man, landing on his weapon before looking to each other. Neither recognized him.

Jenny noticed but for a different reason. Colour rose in her cheeks as she muttered “oh my” just under her breath.

Lillian looked up and noticed the stranger as well.

“It is rude to stare and you were brought up better. As if you have never seen a new person before.” Mabel scolded the younger generation. “This town have plenty new who come in all the time. Put your peepers away, all of you and have some manners.”

The men chuckled at the scolding. Jenny’s blush deepened. Lillian pulled her eyes away and back to her meal.

The hotel's desk clerk handed Vance off to the restaurant's hostess, who politely gestured him to follow her to a table. But Vance remained where he was at the restaurant's entrance, his gaze set on the young beauty sitting with others who, after just a moment of study, Vance knew were close family.

She was flanked by two men who appeared a bit older than she, and while one of them could have been her husband, a moment of studying them told Vance they were more likely to be brothers, cousins, or the in-law versions of such. That meant she wasn't married. Oh sure, her husband could have simply been absent this evening. But Vance doubted it. The woman was surrounded by family, and Vance simply didn't see a spouse missing out on this special event.

Besides, Willow Springs was no longer the kind of place where a responsible husband allowed such a beautiful bride to be out after dark without his protection, even if she had other family members surrounding her. Once upon a time, the south central Arizona town might have been that kind of place, a community where an unaccompanied woman might have been safe walking the streets separating the homes of neighbors she'd known for years. But no longer.

Willow Springs had been a quiet little town with a population in 1875 of just 66 men, women, and children. The economy had been built around cattle ranching in its early days. Herds were driven hundreds of miles north to the nearest depots of the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad, from which the cattle were hauled east and west to big city markets. There was a copper mine just two miles north of town as well, but without a railroad passing very nearby, the costs of transporting the ore by mule train were simply prohibitive.

But all this would change with the arrival of the Southern Pacific Railroad, which would pass by Willow Springs just a quarter mile to the north. Those in the know -- people with connections inside the SPR -- had been quietly buying up all of the land flanking the future track bed, and even before construction was begun the land was being sold for 10, 20, even 50 times its previous price. The Richardson Copper mine was bought by an east coast consortium as well, with a railroad spur branching off directly to it to carry its product to smelters in Texas and Louisiana.

By the beginning of 1880, the population of 66 had swollen to over 1,000. Hotels, saloons, brothels, opium dens, and a multitude of dry good, clothing, and supply stores sprung up. Tent cities -- one near the edge of town and one near the copper mine -- expanded to provide housing for an influx of mostly men looking for work.

And while a booming economy was seen as good for Willow Springs, good money always brought with it a bad element. Gamblers, gun slingers, thieves, con men, and more joined the population, and while Law Enforcement expanded to include a Territory Marshall, a City Sheriff, and at times as many as two dozen Deputies, the guns in the hands of the good were never enough to deal with the guns in the hands of the bad.

And what was Vance? The good or the bad? Well, he was neither, actually. Sure, he conspicuously carried at his waist a Colt .45 Peacemaker, the weapon that would one day be called "the gun that won the west"; and sure, he knew how to use it as good or better than most that carried it or similar weapons; and sure, once again, he'd used it a number of times, taking several lives, often with the result of having to leave his current location or face criminal charges, even hanging.

But Vance didn't like to think of himself as a gunslinger. He was just a man who happened to carry a quick draw weapon. Nothing more to it.

All Vance wanted from this world was a comfortable bed in which to sleep or occasionally fuck, a soft neck from which to draw the pint or so of blood he needed every couple of days to prolong his semi-immortal state, a bottle of better than average whiskey or brandy to quiet his mind come sunrise...

And a beautiful, intelligent woman with whom he could spend a few hours talking history or culture or current events...

Like the beauty who looked his way for just a moment before pulling her eyes away as proper etiquette demanded. Even after she was no longer watching him, Vance continued to watch her a moment. The hostess, realizing that her guest wasn't following, returned to stand before Vance, asking, "I'm sorry, sir, was there--"

"That one," Vance interrupted, pointing to a table in the opposite direction from where the woman had been taking him. He headed for the small table, telling her, "I like that one."

He sat and shed his hat, then looked out before him. And as he'd hoped, the young beauty was directly out before him. He didn't know if she would look his way, but if she did she would find that his attention was on her most of the remaining time that she and hers were dining. He ordered a steak -- telling the hostess "So rare that when I stick a fork in it, it kicks" -- then studied the family, and in particular the woman who was causing excitement in a specific location below the level of his gun belt.

At one point, Vance noticed that the bottle from which the family was pouring was empty. He waved the hostess over, set a gold coin on the real cloth table covering, and asked that she get the family another bottle. When the hostess delivered the replacement, Vance's attention was on the woman, though he would also be sure to acknowledge and nod or smile to any other family member who glanced his way with appreciation.

The family went back to their meal. The others had turned their conversation to ranch and the baby. Lillian paused to take a sip of sherry and to look out the window again. Her gaze never made it to the window. The man, the new arrival was sitting in her line of vision. He had removed his hat now and was studying her.

Unconsciously her head tilted as if observing him as well. Soft, brown eyes moved over his features a moment before she blinked and looked away demurely.

She ate a little more of her meal as the others talked. At one point she looked up, watching the stranger through her lashes. To all who looked it seemed that Lillian was engrossed in looking at her meal but her attention was elsewhere.

This man was interesting. She watched him put a coin on the table.

Curious.

“Don’t you think so Lily?” Jenny’s voice startled her.

“I am sorry? I was lost in thought for a moment.” Lillian pulled her eyes to the woman.

“I said I think we should have a little party before the baby is born. A last gathering before we all tiptoe about trying not to wake a sleeping infant. Don’t you think so too? Wouldn’t it be fun?” Jenny was excited and wanted the woman on her side.

“Oh! I just had a wonderful idea! It would be the perfect time for you to change from your mourning clothes. Think of it a party and no more black. Perhaps you might even meet someone.” Jenny was practically bouncing in her seat.

Lillian paled and opened her mouth to respond but the waitress interrupted her.

“Here you are sir.” She put a new bottle of sherry by Benjamin.

“I didn’t order this.” Her uncle frowned.

“No sir, a gift. From the gentleman at the table over there.” The waitress gestured to where the stranger sat.

Lillian looked up to see his eyes on her once more though he nodded in the table’s direction. That had been what the coin was for. Now she wondered why and who he was. Curiosity pulled at her. She adjusted the lace that played at her throat. The action allowing her to keep her eyes up and watch the man without staring.

Benjamin gave a nod back. “Well, that was nice of him. Just leave it then.”

Johnathan, silverware in hand, looked over at the stranger. “Curious that. Why would he send that over?”

Benjamin took a bite of steak. “Perhaps he knows who we are. Maybe he is just a well mannered gentleman.”

Mabel dotted at her mouth. “Perhaps we should invite him to join us.”

“He doesn’t have his food yet and we are half done. We wouldn’t want to put the man on the spot while he eats.” Maxwell glanced back towards the man.

“I think we should invite him over.” The flush had returned to Jenny’s cheeks. “It is the only polite thing to do. We can take our time so he isn’t eating alone.” As if to emphasize her point she put her silverware down.

Benjamin was engrossed in his steak once more. “I will go and thank him, introduce myself. That is-”

“Invite him over.” The words came out without thinking. Lillian looked at her uncle. Benjamin was staring at her as if she had grown a second head.

“It would be more polite to invite him over and introduce him to the whole family uncle. He may have business here that might be good for you and the ranch.” Lillian felt her throat go dry. Her eyes shifted back to the stranger.

“Very well. It seems I am outnumbered by the women in this household. Anna, do you care to weigh in as well for good measure.” Benjamin stood up and placed his napkin on the table.

Anna leaned back in her chair a little, hand resting on her round stomach. “Never hurts to meet the new folks who come to town.”

Benjamin grunted and walked over to the man’s table.

“Evening sir. Thank you for the sherry. My family and I would like to know if you would care to join us at our table. It would only be polite since you so graciously purchased the bottle for us. I am Benjamin Stewart.”

He put his hand out to shake the man’s.

Having drained the young man from the train less than 24 hours earlier, Vance's senses were at their peak, and despite the distance between his table and that of the family that held his interest -- or the woman who held his interest -- he was able to hear every word they spoke, as if he was sitting in their laps.

“Oh! I just had a wonderful idea! It would be the perfect time for you to change from your mourning clothes. Think of it a party and no more black. Perhaps you might even meet someone.”

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Mourning clothes, Vance thought, eying the dark haired woman again. He didn't often feel like an idiot: he was careful in the things he did, the words he said, and the thoughts he bounced about inside his skull. But at this moment, he certainly felt stupid for not having put that together the lack of a husband-type companion and the black fashion.

He diverted his eyes for a long moment, speaking to the hostess, then to the waitress as each passed, checking on him.

“Curious that. Why would he send that over?”

“Perhaps he knows who we are. Maybe he is just a well mannered gentleman.”

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As the man spoke, Vance wished that had been the reason for the offering. In reality, he'd simply been looking for something that might bring him closer to the widow for whom he's been contemplating inappropriate thoughts. He listened without looking to the ongoing conversation about whether or not he should be asked to join the table.

“Invite him over.”

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The new voice joining the conversation caused Vance to once again set his gaze upon the distant beauty. His lips spread in just a bit of a pleased smirk at the surprise the others were showing their widowed relative. They were surprised, Vance was surprised, and -- honestly -- she wore an expression that made Vance think that maybe she might also be surprised that she said it.

A moment later, the eldest of the men was standing at Vance's table, offering his hand. Vance didn't hesitate to reach out and take it, responding, "It would be my pleasure, so long as you're certain I would not be intruding."

The man who'd introduced himself as Benjamin Stewart reassured the stranger that he was welcome, causing the vampire to stand and say, "Vance. Vance Hamilton."

Vance retrieved his own glass of liquor and followed his host across the restaurant. Introductions were made, and Vance was sure to nod and smile and greet each family member as was appropriate. When Benjamin got to his widowed niece, Vance's smile widened a bit more as he said, "A pleasure."

It didn't go unnoticed to Vance that eyes fell upon the Colt strapped across his waist. He gestured to the hostess, and as she crossed to him, Vance unbuckled the gun belt, wrapped it around the weapon held within, and asked the woman, "Would it possible to have this delivered to the hotel's front desk?"

"Of course, sir," the woman said. She took the handgun without hesitation, giving Vance the distinct impression that if necessary, the woman in her 40s could probably use it or a similar weapon with great skill and knowledge. He felt a bit naked without the .45, but it wasn't as if he was in a rowdy saloon or out on the hard streets of the boom town. Sitting down, he thanked one and all for the invitation, then asked his host, "So, are you long time residents of Willow Springs? I've been told it has had an explosion in population since the railroad and mine."

He listened to Benjamin's answer, adding comments and follow up questions when they were appropriate. And he told the family that he himself had only just arrived in town the day before and -- though in no hurry -- was looking for work. And while his gaze shifted about the table as this person or that asked questions or made comments, Vance's gaze always seemed to return to the beautiful widow sitting directly across the table from him. He tried not to look to conspicuous in his attentions. But it was likely that those attentions weren't going to go unnoticed.

"Do you play cards?" asked one of the younger men, Johnathan Vance recalled his name being. He had a very hopeful tone as he clarified unnecessarily, "Poker."

The vampire did, and he enjoyed it, too, maybe because he was both good at reading the other players and -- when possible -- good at using his charismatic ability to cause them to say or do things at the table that would give them and the strength of their hands away, particularly when they were intoxicated or simply dumb as a post. And while Vance would have loved for the man to escort him to a friendly game somewhere in town, he got a sense from the man's wife -- and from some of his other family members -- that this was a sore subject with them.

"I'm sorry, but no ... I never learned to play the game," Vance lied, glancing to Anna, who seemed to be happy with the response. Vance looked to Lillian again with a slight smile, then back to Benjamin as he changed the subject with, "So, ranching. I hear the railroad has made it a more lucrative industry now."

Vance pretended to have an interest in what Benjamin had to say. But truly, his only interest was in figuring out a way to get to know the beauty across from him better.

They all waited as the man came and joined them.

Lillian watched him as he took a seat across from her. His name was Vance and he had only just arrived in the town.

Jenny was pleased as punch when he sat down. She grinned to him when they were introduced. Lillian couldn’t help but mark that it was almost as if she were a schoolgirl and he, her crush. She forgot about Maxwell it seemed though her cousin was more engrossed in his food at that moment.

As she watched Vance hand over his weapon one slender, dark eyebrow rose. He was certainly aware of what others noticed.
They talked. Vance’s meal arrived and slowly everyone ate as they conversed. The men did most of the talking while Jenny fawned over the man. Lillian listened intently to any answers the man gave. Something about him was alluring, interesting but she couldn’t put a finger on what it was exactly. Perhaps it was just his person, his general presence.

Anna sighed when her husband brought up poker but she said nothing. Maxwell and Jenny were keen to hear Vance’s response. Johnathan put a lot of stock into a man he might win money from at cards.

His answer made Johnathan pout as Vance seemed disinterested entirely. Anna perked up and the others tried to ignore the topic.

Lillian had her fill of her meal. She wiped at the corners of her mouth and took a sip of her sherry. Her uncle prattled on about cattle and the ranch, the town and how they had done well.

“We do have to deal with cattle thieves and I think we may have to look at hiring a few more ranch hands to help protect them. Daytime isn’t the issue mind but nighttime the men simply want to drink and it is hard to find someone willing to do that job.”

Her glass was empty. Her hands folded in her lap as the hotel staff began to clear the tables. Sherry was poured for everyone with empty glasses. Desserts were ordered by her aunt for the whole table, including Vance.

Maxwell leaned back in his chair a little to look at Vance. “What brought you to Willow Springs?”

Jenny clapped her hands together. “Oh yes and what sort of work are you looking for. Perhaps you could work at the ranch!” She batted her lashes at Vance. Anna sighed at Jenny’s behaviour.

Lillian tilted her head a little and licked her lips. “Please forgive Jenny, Mr Hamilton. She is the social butterfly of the family and is very keen to get to know everyone. Perhaps you can start with where you arrived from? I am very interested, as someone who only arrived here a month ago, to know where people have come in from.”

She raised her glass to her lips and took a sip. She could feel her cheeks warm from the alcohol.

Vance had come into the restaurant for a good steak and a nice liqueur. Instead, he'd found a woman who made him glad he still had the urges of a human male and -- after Benjamin began speaking of the ranch's need for night time security -- a possible job.

"I think we could definitely talk more about this, Mister Stewart," Vance said with a smile and a nod. "Night work sets just fine with me, and you'll never find me drinking on the job, no sir."

"Fine, fine," Benjamin agreed, nodding. "You'll come out to the ranch tomorrow, then ... and we can talk terms. And it's Benjamin."

"No, sir," Vance said quickly and firmly. He glance to Lillian for a flash as if wanting to ensure she was listening to his respectful contradiction, looking back to Benjamin to clarify, "Prefer to call you Mister Stewart if I'm working for ya ... if that's okay with you."

Again Benjamin nodded, lifting his sherry glass in salute before draining it.

“What brought you to Willow Springs?”

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"The Southern Pacific," Vance answered Maxwell's question. Jenny giggled at the little joke, causing Vance to chuckle with her before answering more seriously, "The news of Willow Spring's boom has reached all the way to the East Coast."

Jenny's continued participation in the conversation intrigued Vance. As the beauty who'd drawn his attention to the family in the beginning explained her relative as the social butterfly of the family, Vance began to wonder if maybe he hadn't initially taken an interest in the wrong female. Oh, sure, Vance was aware that her husband was sitting just to her side. But he'd enjoyed the company of his share of taken women over his centuries of life, if you could call what he was being alive. Vance glanced to Jenny's husband and, once again, found his full attention on the food before him. His smile widened a bit as he wondered whether Maxwell would even notice, let alone object, to Vance bending his flirtatious wife over the table for a bit of carnal joy.

"I came here from ... well, a great many places," Vance responded when asked about from where he'd arrived the previous day. "I was most recently in New Orleans. Before that, Chicago ... before that New York ... Atlanta, Toronto, Memphis, Chicago yet again ... spent some time in Mexico city ... Havana ... that's in Cuba ... then back to the States ... Philadelphia, Toronto, Boston--"

The mention of some of the cities -- foreign and domestic -- got different responses from different Stewarts, but it was the mention of Boston that got an immediate response, of course. Vance listened to the Stewarts talk about Boston for a bit, but then Maxwell -- who'd finished stuffing his face full of his dessert -- returned to the conversation with a scrutinizing tone, "That's a lot of cities in a short amount of time, Mister Hamilton. Either you're a couple'a hun'erd years old, giving you enough time to see all those places ... or ... have you been trying to stay ahead of something chasing after you maybe?"

Vance studied the man for a moment, wanting so badly to tell him that his first guess wasn't too far from the truth. But a soft chastising from a pair of family members who thought Maxwell was being rude instead caused Vance to respond to the group as a whole, "No, no ... that's a fair enough question."

He looked to Maxwell, lying, "Boredom, actually."

Vance continued with his fiction, spinning a tale about his having come from money that he'd spent at a too rapid pace to see the world. His father, he claimed, had owned a fleet of fishing boats in Newfoundland, and after the Old Man's death and the sale of the business, a then-16 year old Vance set off to see the world.

"And now..." he reached into the little breast pocket of his vest to pull out a trio of gold and silver coins, flashing them as he continued with a wide smile, "I can hold what's left of my family's fortune in the palm of one hand."

"You have a job with us if you wish it, sir," Benjamin said quickly.

Vance nodded his approval to the family's patriarch, glanced at Jenny as she showed her obvious excitement, then looked to Lillian with a longer more meaningful glance. He only said softly about the promise of the job, "Good."

"I think they're wanting us out of here," Benjamin said, not recognizing the stranger's look of interest in his niece. The others began to rise behind their patriarch, as did Vance. The two men shook hands again, and Benjamin asked, "How's 'bout ten work for you? We'll be done with most of our morning chores by then, and we can sit down for an early lunch."

Vance's expression got a bit more serious at the suggestion. He himself had been about to suggest they meet again here for dinner, wanting to limit or entirely avoid his time out during daylight. It wasn't as if Vance couldn't be out and about during daylight hours. It was only that the abilities and protections he enjoyed as a vampire were null and void between sunrise and sunset.

But, he'd killed just 20 or so hours earlier, draining the boy from the east of every drop of blood Vance could suck from his rapidly dying body. So, while he would be more vulnerable than he preferred, at least he would recuperate quickly, almost as if he hadn't been out in the light of day to begin with.

"That would be fine, Mister Stewart," Vance said, again shaking the man's hand. He shook hands with the other men as, one at a time, they made their way out of the restaurant. Jenny almost looked disappointed at the realization that she and Vance were going separate ways, but it was Lillian for whom Vance showed the last of his attention. He offered his hand out to her, saying with a bit too much obviousness, "It's been a joy ... and I hope I will see you tomorrow perhaps?"

Lillian found him extremely fascinating. He was well traveled, at least in the sense that he had been lots of places and some were quite distant. She wondered what he had done in each place.

It seemed he may come to work for the ranch and Lillian realized perhaps, she may get the chance to ask him more.

As they were leaving, each of the men escorting their wives to the door, Lillian was stopped as he offered his hand. She took Vance's hand.

"I will be there, at the ranch. I imagine I will see you when you come by, after your talk with my uncle." Something about the way he was looking at her, that he had stopped her a little longer than the rest made Lillian's pulse race.

"I hope to see you as well Mr. Hamilton." Her voice was soft and she looked away demurely before pulling on her black gloves. She should have had them on before taking his hand but it couldn't be helped now. Lillian could feel the warmth where their hands had touched.

She followed her family out but cast a slight look back over her shoulder at Vance before moving out the door.

The family piled into the carriage and headed home.

It didn't take long for Johnathan to vanish back out into the night, a card game calling him away.

Lillian sat in the parlour with Anna, who had her feet up. Two cups of tea were brought in for them. Her aunt and uncle had retired for the night. There was no sign of Maxwell and Jenny.

She lifted the tea to her lips and blew on the hot liquid.

"He likes it you know. When Jenny flirts like that. He is probably fucking her brains out right now as they talk about that man taking her while he watches."

Lillian almost dropped her tea. Anna's tone and language shocked her. There was such lewd suggestions and such bitterness behind it.

Anna chuckled a little, she saw the shock on Lillian's face. "It's true, just not something polite people talk about. Just you watch she will throw that party and be all over every man she can. Maxwell will play the uninterested husband but as soon as they are alone..."

Her mouth was open and it made Anna chuckle harder, her round belly shaking. "Your husband never had something like that? Johnathan likes cards and gambling more than me or whores. I guess that is a blessing..." She took a drink of her tea.

Lillian shook her head. "No, we- I mean he -" She was flustered and her face turned red.

Anna smirked. "You just weren't married long enough to learn what he liked. That first year all men tend to be more gentlemanly but soon they want more."

Lillian looked down at her tea. "I suppose that could be true. I would not know."

Anna sighed tiredly. She lifted herself out of the chair slowly.

"Mr Hamilton seemed quite taken by you. He couldn't take his eyes off you." She gave Lillian's shoulder a squeeze. "Night."

With that Anna left Lillian alone with her tea. Lillian's mind now went places that caused her whole body to flush. Her mind flashed with images of Vance's eyes. She could still feel where his hand had taken hers. Images shifted to that hand on her arm, her back, her neck as it pulled her in-

Lillian put her tea down and began to unbutton the bodice of her dress. She was impossibly warm. She stood fanning her exposed neck.

Her dreams that night proved interesting.
-----
Johnathan arrived at the saloon. He surveyed the room as he removed his hat. His eyes fell on Vance, amusement playing on his features.

"I see I got you interested in learning poker..." It was a jest. Many men hid their interest in cards as women could be such judgemental creatures.

"First drink on me then?"

Vance hadn't been entirely certain that Lillian would take his hand. He hadn't offered it to the other women, not even the ever flirtatious Jenny, who for all he knew might have taken it and not given it up. But when he felt her skin against his, Vance's smile only widened a bit more.

"I will be there, at the ranch. I imagine I will see you when you come by, after your talk with my uncle."

Click to expand...

Yes, my talk with your uncle, Vance reminded himself. Despite the benefit of Bobby's sacrifice, Vance thought he'd like to get a bit of a boost before sunrise, perhaps taking one of the many friendly girls working one of the many saloons upstairs for a bite

"I hope to see you as well Mr. Hamilton."

Click to expand...

Vance studied Lillian as she bore her long black gloves, then turned to join her family at the wagon. He let his gaze take a quick trip up and down her figure as she descended the steps and, aided by Benjamin, into the carriage. Despite not being its primary purpose, the mourning dress defined the hour glass shape of Lillian's torso, leading to Vance imagining both what that shape looked like out of the dress and as well as what the lower half of it would look like out of the hoops and layers of cloth currently hiding it.

Vance waited as the carriage had disappeared into a crowd of pedestrians, riders, and other vehicles. It was a couple of hours after sunset on a late January evening, yet despite the time of day and the deepening chill in the air, the streets of Willow Springs were still teeming with activity. Boom town, Vance thought, reminding him about his reason for having come here. The number of donors and expendables from which he could choose was endless and -- so long as the need for beef and copper persisted -- that number would only grow.

Eventually, Vance turned to reclaim his weapon at the hotel's front desk, then headed back out again and down the boardwalk toward the nearest saloon. It was, of course, a short walk: the number of saloons in Willow Spring had exploded from 1 in 1875 to 15 now in 1880, and the services they offered -- gambling, companionship, opium, and more -- had exploded in all sorts and forms of variety, quantity, and quality. Vance hesitated at the door, surveying the crowd within for a moment before entering. It was your typical saloon: bar, tables, stairs to the second floor rooms; with the typical patrons including cowboys, miners, teamsters, ranchers, and even respectables; and also with the typical staff, from two bartenders, a piano player and his accompanying fiddle player, a dozen or more girls -- with more upstairs working, of course -- and one very flamboyant woman of a more advanced age who obviously was the Madam and, Vance would soon learn, was also the owner of this particular establishment.

Vance entered, catching the Madam's eye and earning himself a scrutinizing stare and then a wide smile. She gestured him toward the bar, then returned her attention to the man whose arm was around her waist. Vance entered the bar slowly, making his way to the bar to drop another one of his coins. (He had more money on him than he'd shown Benjamin and the others, but he'd kept that a secret in the hopes of keeping the Stewart family patriarch talking about the job offer.)

After downing one drink stiff, then nursing a second for quite a while, Vance finally meandered through the energetic crowd to the poker table. It was located on a mezzanine level in the back of the saloon, and Vance had been studying it from afar almost from the moment he'd entered. Until -- and if -- Vance saw coins or dollar bills put into his palm by Benjamin, poker -- and theft -- were Vance's only way of paying his way in a town where the cost of living had been steadily rising with the influx of men and business.

"Take a seat, Mister?" the man sitting on the far side of the table asked as Vance reached the top step of the mezzanine. "Twenty dollar buy in, four bit minimum, no upper limit."

Vance noticed that the speaking man -- he'd come to learn his name was Stephen -- had no chips before him. Vance hadn't seen a house dealer at a poker table since New Orleans. Out here in the West, players typically rotated the dealing. It meant less cost for the house, but it also meant more accusations of cheating from players who thought they were seeing cards shuffled with inconsistency or coming off the bottom of the deck. Sometimes, paying for a permanent dealer was less expensive than mopping up the blood and replacing the shattered glass that sometimes resulted from post-cheating gun fights.

"That's a high end game," Vance responded even as he was pulling out a chair and some folded bills. He tossed the money onto the table, sat, and asked if there were any house rules about which he needed to be aware. Told no, Vance arranged the distributed chips before him, looked around to the other men, and said with a pleasant tone, "Good luck to all of you."

----------------

The game had been going less than an hour when Vance heard a caught sight of a familiar face out of the corner of his eye. He contained his smirk and pretended not to notice the approaching man until after he spoke.

"I see I got you interested in learning poker..."

Click to expand...

Vance smiled generously, responding as he gestured to his the pile of chips that had shrunk by half, "These men are doing a fine job already of learning me poker."

There was laughter about the table, as well as some comments about bonehead bets Vance had made.

"First drink on me then?"

Click to expand...

Vance lifted his empty whiskey glass, chuckled, and corrected, "How'bout the second. Join us."

A seat had opened just minutes earlier, and Johnathan took it now. Vance watched his body language as he pulled out his buy in: there was a lot you could learn about a man simply by how easily or difficultly he separated himself from his gambling money ... as well as how much he tossed onto the table to begin his night of gambling. During dinner, it had been made clear that the Stewarts were doing pretty well in their ranching. But, did that mean Johnathan had multiple pockets full of gold coins, ready to be either wasted or invested -- depending upon the man's skill level -- on a game in which his wife, and possibly his entire family, wished he wasn't engaged?

Vance tossed another couple of bills onto the table to replenish his chip pile, waited for his next cards, and returned to play. He chatted with Johnathan between and even during hands, and while it may have all seemed like polite banter, Vance was also reading the man, as he had the others. There were six men at the table with the addition of the Stewart, the maximum number of players for a game of Draw with a three card max exchange; and Vance had either figured out each of the first fours' tells or had found himself able to use his charisma ability to urge them in betting directions they shouldn't take. He'd been losing mostly and winning only rarely, waiting for that one hand that would set him up with the cost of a week at the hotel room and three squares.

When that hand came, Vance found himself a bit disappointed to find that Johnathan still in it. The man to Vance's left was too drunk to know that he'd been flashing his worthless bluff to the vampire; the man to his left sincerely thought he had a winner, but Vance knew better from the man's tell; two more men were bluffing, not entirely well at that; and then there was Johnathan. Vance had tried to inconspicuously shake him off with a slight back and forth of his head, but the Stewart had either not seen the gesture or had ignored it, confident in his hand.

"Full house," the ranching man said, laying his cards down after the two men before him had done the same. He slapped his hands together in glee, laughed, and clarified, "Eights over aces, boys. Read'em and weep!"

But Johnathan's joy ended quickly as Vance slowly laid down his own bigger full house, saying softly, "Jacks over threes."

The man to Vance's left mucked his cards, as did the next and the next. One by one, the others began rising to depart: each had bet nearly his entire stack in the hand, and it was obvious that this card game was over.

"Sorry, Johnathan," Vance said politely, gesturing for the dealer to cash him out. He gave the rancher a moment to contemplate his loss, then quickly changed the subject with, "So, if it isn't out of line, could I ask you about your cousin ... Lillian. Has she been in mourning long?"

What Vance meant, of course, was Do you think she'll be in mourning much longer, but I'd really like an opportunity for some alone time with her. It was so highly inappropriate for Vance -- or any man for that matter -- to be having the thoughts he was having about Lillian while she was still in mourning. But he'd seen something in her and felt something about her that made him ... eager. Vance wasn't the type of man to let a lack of either vows and a thin gold band get in the way of separating a respectable woman from her clothing. He wasn't sure why he was this way: he glanced about himself to see at least a dozen women willing to go upstairs this instance to satisfy his manly needs for one of the coins the dealer was now pushing his way.

So ... why Lillian? Why any woman who, societal norms said, shouldn't be parting her thighs for a man who wasn't her husband. Vance remembered something a friend had told him once a century earlier: If it was easy, any man could do it. Are you just any man?

Drinks were filled and Johnathan settled in. He needed to play conservatively tonight. He already owed Noah Grady a lot of money and his boys, the Iron Club gang had already given him more than one warning that payment was overdue.

The game ebbed and flowed. Just a he felt his luck turned Vance took his hand and others began leaving the table. It wasn’t his night. He sighed and pushed his cards to the dealer.

“Nature of the game.” He gave a shrug at Vance’s apology. “Shall we go have a drink at the bar now? I should be getting home. Early morning.”

As he stood, waiting for the man to collect his winnings he eyed Vance. An eyebrow raised as the man inquired into his cousin.

They moved to a small table with comfortable high back chairs. They seemed more like something one would find in a parlour than a saloon but this part was set up for men to relax in hopes they would end up with a whore in their lap. Johnathan ordered drinks for them both. He sat, leaning comfortably in his chair. A woman began approaching but Johnathan waved her away. His money was best spent on cards, not women.

“Lilly?” Johnathan never could understand what men saw in his cousin. She was doe eyed, fair faced but too educated in his opinion. He liked women who focused on the home, like his mother. His aunt and uncle had always encouraged their children, Lillian included to read, discuss and debate. It was something Johnathan found tiresome in the opposite gender. Bruce had liked Lillian for her face and her brains. It appeared Vance at least had an interest in her physical features. He figured the man would grow weary of his cousin but in the end it was none of his business. At least for now.

“Let’s see. They married a year and a half ago….when was that….” He took a drink. “Oh yes, they married late spring at aunt Helen’s insistence. The accident happened in….” Johnathan ticked off months on his fingers. “She has been in mourning for about three months now. Two at home before they sent her out here to get away from Boston. They thought the air out here would put the colour back in her cheeks or some such nonsense. Women…”

Another sip of his drink went down. “Bruce, her husband was trampled you know. He was taming a horse and it turned on him. She has money, let me tell you. Married well that one and yet she does nothing with it.”

Johnathan sighed. He knew his cousin had wealth that she simply just sat on. Bruce had come for a wealthy family and when he died he left the estate to Lillian. When she headed out west she left it in the trust of caretakers and advisors. She received weekly reports though. Again, something Johnathan found unattractive in a woman. Other than household basics women had no place in money or business.

“If Jenny manages to pull off this party I think she will be out of her mourning clothes in a week. If not, who knows if she ever will.” He smirked. “You have an eye for my little cousin then? You would be far different from her husband, I assure you of that. I will see to it that Jenny invites you to the party though I doubt she will need any convincing.”

When his drink was done Johnathan bid his farewells and headed home. The ranch was quiet as he turned in.
*******
Mornings came early on a ranch. There were cattle to feed, milk, check in on. There were other parts of the ranch that needed tending. They took care of themselves with chickens, fields and a kitchen garden. Between the three Stewart men, their few ranch hands and the house staff the whole place ran efficiently.

Their only issue was at night. Every morning the Stewart men checked the livestock in hopes that none had been poached. This morning found their numbers accurate. Benjamin was pleased though that Vance was coming to speak with him this morning. He hoped the man was as true as what he said. They needed a man or men to keep watch over night.

In the house the women were up and dressed. The men had headed out before the sun was fully up but now they all sat around the table enjoying breakfast. There was a little talk but overall quiet.

Mabel was working on a short list of things they were need from the general store. Jenny was sitting next to her discussing her plans for the party.

Lillian had risen early. Her sleep was plagued with dreams that had bordered on the scandalous. She blamed Anna’s bluntness before she had gone to bed. This morning she felt better, pushing aside those less than ladylike thoughts with the book that rested on the table beside her.

She had bathed and smelled of lightly scented soap. It was lily of the valley, a scent she had always favoured. Her hair was swept up and pinned loosely. A few stray strands fell about her ears. Her dress, still black was a less formal cut and material. Lighter and with a sheer fabric over her bodice that allowed the garment to breathe in the Arizona heat. It was not a style that suited her youth or figure but it was appropriate and Lillian wanted to ensure her aunt had no objection.

“I must go work on some paperwork before I meet with Mr. Hamilton. Good day ladies.” Benjamin rose and headed for his office.

Anna yawned and stood. “I think I will nap.”

“Already?” Johnathan frowned. “Should we send for the doctor?”

The rest of the table looked up and towards the woman.

Anna sighed. “No need. I am just warm and pregnant.” She moved off towards her room.

Her meal finished Lillian rose, taking her book. “I think I will go read.”

Johnathan looked over at her. “So, cousin will you be changing from those clothes for the party? A little colour perhaps?” He was curious, bolstered by Vance’s question the previous evening. He wouldn’t let that little secret be known yet.

Jenny practically bounced in her chair. “You should order a new dress! In lavender. It is the colour that is in style at the moment. I was going to order a dress for the party too. Perhaps we could go into town later together.”

Lillian scanned the table. It wasn’t the cost that had her worried but the timing. Was it enough? Shouldn’t she mourn for him for a year? “Perhaps.” Her tone was tentative. “We can talk after the men’s meeting and luncheon when our guest will be gone.”

Johnathan snickered under his breath. Jenny’s cheeks turned red. “Oh yes! Mr. Hamilton is coming. That should be fun to learn more about him.”

With that Lillian gave a slight nod of her head before moving to the parlour. She sat on the chaise with her feet up and began reading her book. Greek mythology. She enjoyed the stories of gods and mortals, monsters and quests.

“Lilly?”

Click to expand...

Vance was mildly surprised in Johnathan's tone of surprise about the inquiry into his cousin. Mourning clothes aside, she was a beautiful single woman, and Vance was sure he was neither the first nor the last man in Willow Springs to take an interest in the young Bostonian. Vance listened to Johnathan's recap of his cousin, her marriage, her husband's death, and her financial situation. The last one alone would be enough to form a line of suitors should that news get out and the black dresses vanish.

“If Jenny manages to pull off this party I think she will be out of her mourning clothes in a week.

Click to expand...

There had been some discussion of the party during the dinner earlier, accompanied by repeated inquiries from Jenny as to whether or not Vance would be interested and available to attend. Each of the Stewart's seemed to have a different idea of what was the purpose of the party. The one that interested Vance, of course, was whether or not it would be Lillian's coming out event.

There was no certainty, of course, that anything more than friendship would ever come to occur between Vance and Lillian. After all, she was a woman of means with a position of standing, and he was a wanderer who'd only recently arrived ... with a Peacemaker strapped to his waist.

************************

The next day, as Lillian was opening her book and reading about monsters, one of Willow Springs's newest residents was attempting to make up for being one. Actually, it wasn't Vance doing the deed but was instead Mister Bowers, who had arrived in the town just six months earlier to fill the recently vacated role of mortician. The tall, thin, scary in his own way man made his way to the telegraph office and handed the operator there a hand written note and a silver dollar.

"To Mister and Missus Robert Cooper of South Rivers Street, New Orleans," the operator read aloud, ensuring he understood the note. He continued, "Deep regret and sorrow to you and yours with the news that your son was killed in an accident shortly after arriving in Willow Springs, stop. His employer understands that financial compensation could never be enough to replace Robert, stop. In any event an amount of $1,000 has been wired to the National Bank of New Orleans in the hope that it will ease your suffering, stop."

The operator looked up to the mortician with a questioning expression. "I don't recall a boy being killed recently."

"Send that immediately, please," Mister Bowers said, ignoring the question.

"I do recall a coffin coming in the train couple of days--"

A second coin bounced onto the top of the table before the operator, and when he looked up he found a hard expression on the mortician's face. "More fingers on keys, less words in mouth."

The operator shrugged and sent the message as the tall man in black turned and departed.

***************************

Vance hesitated at the door of his hotel room, drawing a deep breath before releasing it slowly.

"What's wrong, suga'?" asked the saloon girl still laying naked in his bed at the Golden Eagle. She chuckled, telling him, "No one saw me come up the back way. And I'll sneak out that way after a bit more nappin', if'n you don' mind me sticking 'bout a bit. You plum wore me out, suga'."

Vance's hesitation wasn't about the more respectable crowd in the upscale hotel learning that he'd brought a two dollar whore into their midst. No, his hesitation was all about what was out there beyond the door: daylight. After paying up front for a month's lodging, Vance had had a laborer nail thick, heavy canvas blinds over the windows to keep the sun out. He'd told the clerk the truth, that he would soon be working at night and needed deep darkness to sleep through the day. Of course, that was only a fraction of the truth, but it was all Vance was about to tell any of the residents of Willow Springs.

He turned to look back at the whore. Most men wouldn't have hardly been able to see her in the near darkness, but Vance's enhanced sight allowed him to see not just her but the fang marks on her neck as well. Not that he'd been measuring for accuracy or anything, but he'd taken a bit more than a pint from her, the cause of her current exhaustion. She wouldn't remember being fed upon, of course, because of his ability to mask short term memories. But she would note the bite marks the next time she looked upon herself in the mirror. Men had probably done worse to her in the past, so Vance wasn't expecting her to return to him and ask what the hell?

"I'll need you to come around tonight again," he told her firmly, pulling out some coins and setting them on a table near the door. Concerned that feeding on her a second time so soon might not be a good idea, he altered his offer, telling her, "Better yet ... you keep one of these coins for yourself ... and send that little Chinese thing that was sitting on my other knee last night."

"Maybe both'a us?" she asked with a hopeful tone.

Vance contemplated the idea of having two naked donors instead of one, but held firm with, "Do as I say ... and there will be more coin for you in the future."

She agreed, watching him as he took hold of the door handle, hesitated, then opened it slowly. The light of late morning spilled into the room, and Vance drew a sudden, deep breath as if he'd suddenly dove into an ice covered river. He exhaled as the shock of daylight wore off, then headed out onto the second floor landing and down the stairs for the stables.

Mister Bowers had arranged a horse and the necessary tack for him the day before, and when he arrived the stable boy had the jet black beauty saddled and ready to go. Vance tipped the boy handsomely, mounted, and headed off, following the directions Johnathan had repeated to him the night before after his unfortunate and stunning loss at the poker table.

It was a healthy ride to the Stewart Ranch, and by the time Vance slowed and walked his horse through the opened gate, he was covered in a light layer of dust. A ranch hand -- who had been expecting Vance and greeted him by name -- took the horse off to the barn and gestured the guest toward the house. By the time Vance arrived at the large home's porch, an alerted servant was awaiting him with a smile.

"Mister Benjamin is taking care of some last minute business, Mister Vance, sir," she said with a deep southern accent, gesturing him to follow her into the house. Vance took a moment to kick loose some of the dust and dirt from his clothes and boots, then asked if there was a place to wash up, being told, "Right this way, we'll getcha all fixed up for brunch."

He spent a few minutes in what they called a Water Closet down in New Orleans, and when he emerged the servant was there to escort him off to the parlour. "I'll let Mister Benjamin know you're here."

It was only after the woman departed that Vance caught sight of someone else in the room, sitting in a chaise lounger across the room beyond a life sized, stuffed Grizzly Bear. If it had been night time, Vance would likely have heard the woman's breathing even from across the room, and further, he likely would have recognized her personal scent, telling him that the object of his desires was right here with him.

As it was, though, Vance didn't know it was Lillian until he'd quietly crossed the room to stand over top of the sleeping beauty. He looked down upon her for a long moment, watching her bosom rise and fall with each breath and imagining it doing so much deeper and with more rapidity as had the whore's chest last night as he fucked her to one of her many orgasms. Lillian had dressed down a bit, still in black though not as formally. Vance couldn't help but wonder whether that was the first step toward what Johnathan had foreseen.

Vance looked to the book that was about to fall from her hand, and taking it gently from her, backed and lowered himself into a deep, soft chair. He looked at the title, then at one of the pages inside, and he couldn't help but think Monsters, they do exist.

Then, suddenly, her eyes were open and she was looking right at him as his lips spread in a smile.

Something felt different in the room and Lillian was pulled from her nap. Her eyes opened slowly. At first she didn't really understand what she was seeing. A dream? There was a figure in a nearby chair. Her hands grasped for her book as if she could throw it and dispel the apparition.

When her hand came down on nothing and her vision focused Lillian was greeted with the sight of Vance Hamilton sitting there, in the parlour with her.

"How-" Her confusion was clear. A hand came up to her chest as she looked around. Lillian sat up slowly. "Hello, Mr Hamilton."

She tried not to seem to surprised but it was difficult. Her legs shifted, her feet lowered to the floor. She was careful to adjust the skirt so no part of her legs were visible.

"I am sorry. You have caught me off guard. It is nice to see you." Now, slightly more composed Lillian smiled. Her eyes caught sight of her book in his hands. "Do you always rescue wayward books from the hands of their sleeping reader?"

Her pulse was racing. She was alone in the room with a stranger and while she was not afraid it did bring back some of her rather sensual dreams from the previous night. Dreams that had included Vance Hamilton thanks to Anna's observations.

Lillian had tried to reason that her cousin in law was simply trying to tease but there a small part of her that found herself longing for the attention. She had never been a flirt as Jenny was but she had at one time been far more social than she was at present. Mourning changed a woman's obligations.

"How -- Hello, Mr Hamilton -- I am sorry. You have caught me off guard. It is nice to see you."

Click to expand...

"Forgive me, Lillian," Vance said quickly with a soft tone. He was conscious -- even self- conscious -- of the fact that he'd used the young woman's given name. But as he'd begun his apology, Vance had very quickly realized that not once during the dinner or the poker game afterward had any of Lillian's family used her married name. He knew she would correct him if he was being to forward, and continued, "I didn't mean to startle you. And ... it's nice to see you again, as well."

"Do you always rescue wayward books from the hands of their sleeping reader?"

Click to expand...

"I was considering giving it a read, should your nap persist," he told her with a chuckle as he opened the book and looked to a page. "Thankfully, you awoke, for I fear I might have bitten my tongue attempting to pronounce some of these names. Pho-uh-bus App-oh-loh ... awl-loh...? At-tee-muss ... no, Art-e-muss. And what's this...?"

He turned the book to show a hand penned drawing of a creature with body of a lion, the wings of an eagle, and the head and breasts of woman ... the very ample breasts of a woman. After a moment, he closed the book and leaned forward to return it. They didn't exactly have the kind of close relationship that allowed for his showing off the bared breasts of a woman, fantasy or otherwise.

"I think we would both recognize a hero if we saw one before us," Vance continued. "But ... how does one truly determine what is or is not a monster?"

He leaned back into his chair as he studied Lillian. "For instance, we would never call a puma ... what do you call them here, mountain lions...? We would never call one a monster, even though they kill with claws and fangs and devour their prey's flesh even before it has cooled. Mother Nature has designed them to do this ... to survive. So ... at what point do we stop calling such an animal a predator and begin calling it a monster?"

He used her name. For some reason that didn't bother her. In most she would find it forward, ill mannered but Lillian found herself liking the way her name sounded when he said it.

She smiled, her head tilting a little and a stray strand of hair falling from it's loose position. Her hair had not been well pinned up today and it seemed to threaten to fall at every moment. "Apollo, Artemis...gods and goddesses of the Greek world. I rather enjoy the stories of their heroes."

A blush formed as he turned the book. It wasn't long before he closed it, hiding away the illustration. Her aunt would never have approved. Of the book, of his viewing it with her or of him being alone with her.

"You bring up an interesting point and one I happen to ask myself often." Lillian took the book from him, placing it in her lap. "To me, the monsters as they often call them are beautiful and not to be treated as evil or bad. Often they are creatures or men, changed due to circumstances and just doing what they need to fight back, to survive as you put it. In Greek myths it is often the beautiful gods and goddesses who are the ones who bring down the worst experiences. For instance if Zeus stopped bedding every woman he desired no matter if she wanted it or not a great number of the so-called monsters would not exist."

A blush rose quickly in her face colouring her cheeks a pretty pink. It was not a topic one discussed in civilized company.

"I just meant that it seems in their stories monster does not mean evil. Sometimes yes, though I would argue that often not. They are often the result of the wickedness of others and made to suffer."

She leaned forward. It had been months since she was able to engage in such interesting conversation.

"Where do you stand on monsters then? Are men monsters?"

Vance listened to Lillian's explanation with great interest. She was obviously an intelligent and well read woman, which only added to the beauty sitting before him.

"Often they are creatures or men, changed due to circumstances and just doing what they need to fight back, to survive as you put it.

Click to expand...

His smile widened a bit at this. Lillian could have been talking directly to what and who Vance was: a man, changed to a creature, doing what he needed -- including fighting -- to survive.

When she spoke of Zeus bedding women with abandon, Vance saw red fill her face, even in the lower light of the parlour. The stories of mythology were often filled with scenes and tales that didn't set well with the Puritan values that continued to rule in much of American society, even now in the more progressive times of the late 19th century.

"I just meant that it seems in their stories monster does not mean evil. Sometimes yes, though I would argue that often not. They are often the result of the wickedness of others and made to suffer."

Click to expand...

"Indeed," Vance agreed with a softly murmur.

His own turning had been, as Lillian would describe it, the wickedness of others, and Vance himself had been made to suffer. Just as a human man raping a human woman was immoral and illegal, the way in which Vance -- then a human man -- had been turned by his vampire Sire had been immoral and, in a way, illegal within the vampire community, or The Coterie. Vance hadn't asked to be turned: it had been forced upon him. But, that had been a long time ago. And Vance had gotten as much revenge for the act as had been available to him at the time.

"Where do you stand on monsters then? Are men monsters?"

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"They can be, Lillian," he responded, taking a chance on using her given name once more. She didn't object, verbally or in her expressions, which led Vance to smile a bit with pleasure. Here in this setting, she may allow him such latitude, but once they were in the presence of her family...? In case Lillian had simply been too polite or shy to correct him, Vance offered her a face saving opportunity with, "Please forgive me, but ... I do not mean to sound too forward. I simply do not know whether you have returned to your family name of Stewart or retained your married name, of which I am unaware."

It wasn't universal that a widow of such a short marriage returned to her maiden name, but Vance had lived in a great many places and great many differing communities during his centuries. And the one thing that had been consistent in all those places and all those times had been the inconsistency between their cultures and customs.

"Concerning whether men are monsters," he began after getting his answer, "I believe that they often can be. But ... I would never condemn the gender as a whole for sometimes thinking or acting in evil. Often, I think they don't mean to do or think such things. And other times, as you have said, I believe they do so out of a need to survive ... and, afterward, search for a way to make things right for those upon whom their evil landed."

His thoughts, of course, were on the boy Bobby who had ridden with the casket from New Orleans to Willow Springs. He had been a general laborer, earning pennies a day in an effort to help his parents support themselves and their six children. He had expected to return to New Orleans with $50 in silver, likely the most money he would ever hold in his hands at one time. Instead, he was right at this moment being buried in the cemetery atop a bald nob south of Willow Springs. Mister Bowers, of course, had more than made up for the financial loss of the $50 with a wire transfer of $1,000. But while the money would allow the family to make changes that would aid their other five children in ways that would never have been available, young Bobby was lost to them forever.

There was a light knock at the door, causing Vance to stand quickly in surprise and lay his hand upon the butt of his Colt. He was immediately embarrassed at his move, a result of the daylight hours having lessened his senses, allowing the new arrival to sneak up on him. His vulnerabilities during the light of day could sometimes frighten Vance. He'd seen a great deal of death during his time -- death caused by others, and death caused by himself -- and, to be honest, it had made him a bit paranoid and, as a result, unwilling to venture out by day unless absolutely necessary.

Having the discussion with the man currently at the door was something Vance had found necessary, of course. But, to be honest, he would have found a way to delay it until after sunset ... if he hadn't been so anxious to see Lillian once again.

"Forgive me, Mister Stewart," Vance said as he pulled his hand back from the weapon. He glanced to Lillian with an expression of shame at nearly drawing his weapon in her new residence, and as he began to speak he also began to unbuckle the gun belt. "I ... I should have left this at the door when I--"

"Please, Mister Hamilton, don't take it off just yet," Benjamin interrupted. When Vance looked back to the family's patriarch, Benjamin curled an index finger to him in invitation and asked, "Would you come with me? Lilly, you are welcome to join us if you wish."

Vance was sorry that his one on one with Lillian was at an end, but after nodding his respects to her and donning his hat again, he followed after her uncle. Benjamin led him through the big house and out a back entrance. The real workings of the ranch were on display on this side of the property: the barns, smaller outbuildings, bunk house, corrals, and more were spread out over five acres of beaten down earth; and beyond them were thousands of acres of mostly open ranchland and rolling hills, upon which milled hundreds of head of cattle that would soon be ready for shipping to the markets, as far east as Georgia and as far west as west got, to California.

"My boys and I have been wondering what kind of money you might be worth, Mister Hamilton," Benjamin said as he descended the steps. Vance caught sight of Johnathan and Maxwell standing near an outdoor eating area, and unlike the day before each of them was wearing a sidearm. Benjamin continued, "Now, I know that packing a gun doesn't make one a gun slinger ... and that your potentially being a gun slinger doesn't make you the man I need to protect my herd at night ... however ... it doesn't hurt either."

The pair of them had by now reached the younger pair of men, and as they did Benjamin nodded his head to Johnathan. The man who had lost a tidy sum of money to Vance the night before turned to face an array of targets arranged on hay bales or on the ground anywhere from 30 to 100 feet distant. The targets were mostly pieces of cut wood, seemingly left over from some recent construction and now jammed into the ground or tops of the hay bales. But there were also some glass bottles -- some obviously formerly filled with whiskey or beer -- and tin cans, which Vance had seen in great use in Europe in a previous existence but which were still rather uncommon here in the United States and, particularly, way out here in the Western Territories.

"Big chunk to the left, John," Benjamin said. "Put it down like one of them rustlers poaching the North Draw.

Johnathan pulled his weapon, a Colt Army Model 1860. The gun simply referred to by those who knew guns as The Army had been a good gun during its time, revolutionizing up close and personal shooting during the Civil War. But its use of a paper cartridge shell, round projectile, and a separate percussion cap left it dramatically slow to use, open to misfires and clogging, and therefore far inferior to Vance's Colt Model 1873, well known by the name The Peacemaker.

The Army fired, spitting out smoke not just from the end of the barrel but from all about the cartridge. The weapon kicked and rose in Johnathan's hands, and all about him the rest of the family flinched at the explosion of powder, not something Vance didn't expect from them because of the .44's powerful and noise. Yet with all the action happening at this end of the demonstration, little happened at the other end: the piece of board -- the rustler -- still stood as it was, awaiting a reason to discontinue its -- his -- criminal activities.

"Nice shootin', Tex," Maxwell joked, leading to some additional laughter to the shooter's left and right. Maxwell lifted a hand up over his face as if trying to block the sun from his eyes and feigned staring off into the distance as his brother turned to eye him. "I think ... yes, I see it ... our herd, heading over the hill top--"

"Yeah, yeah, like you could do better, brother," Johnathan cut in as he leveled his weapon again, aimed, and fired. Again, no positive result. He cocked the single action pistol again, aimed, and fired. The board split in half, each side leaning a bit away from the other. As Johnathan turned to smile to his brother, he said only, "Dead."

"You or him first?" Maxwell asked, laughing. He turned to look at Vance, asking with a bit of dare in his tone, "Care to give it a try, Mister Hamilton?"

"I would prefer you all called me Vance, if that's alright," the newcomer said, looking to Benjamin for his approval of the request. The patriarch nodded, then gestured Vance toward the position from which Johnathan was slowly walking as he ejected with some difficulty the spent and burnt refuse of his paper cartridge rounds. Looking out upon the target range, he asked almost timidly, "Just ... pick a target?"

"Why don't you see if you can do any more damage to my brother's rustler," Maxwell suggested. "I don't believe he's dead. Maybe just injured."

Vance hesitated a moment, looking to Benjamin yet again. He knew what was behind Maxwell's suggestion: showing that he was a better shot than Johnathan by splitting the now smaller target. But Benjamin nodded permission to Vance before looking off toward the pieces of wood. Vance pulled his weapon from the holster across the left front of his waist, eyed the target, lifted to aim, and fired. Then, seeing the two pieces of wood remaining still as they word, Vance laughed. "Well ... that there rustler is a bit skinnier now that Johnathan's cut him in two."

"Try again," Benjamin said quietly as the others were making their comments and jokes about the two shooters and the fleeing rustler.

Vance exchanged glances with the Stewart patriarch, looked to the others, then back to the target. He drew a deep breath, then released it slowly. He knew what the issue was, of course: he looked a bit higher into the sky at the light blue under which he rarely found himself. If it had been midnight and he'd been out on the range, surrounded by wanna-be cattle thieves, Vance could have gunned them all down with his eyes closed, simply listening for their locations by the inhalation and exhalation of their lungs. Hell, he probably could have located the ones up wind simply from the smell of whiskey, tobacco, and sweat.

But here under the bright of day, his abilities were no more keen than those of Johnathan, Maxwell, or Benjamin. Luckily for Vance, however, he didn't require his vampire abilities to accurately fire the Peacemaker. He raised it before his eyes again, pulled back the hammer, and fired. Then again, and again, and again, and finally again. Each half of the rustler was split a second time, followed by the shattering of a bottle to their left, then the jumping off a hay bale by a can, which then jumped again with the final shot.

The reaction of the display was mixed: some were amazed, while others were ... what, jealous, envious, or maybe a bit concerned at what Benjamin had brought into their home. The Stewarts didn't know Vance well, and he wouldn't have been surprised to learn that one or more of them was now a bit concerned about having brought an obviously skilled gunman into their home so soon after first meeting him.

Benjamin, however, was thoroughly impressed. He crossed to Vance, stopped to study his face for a moment, then reached his hand out for the weapon, asking, "May I?"

Vance hesitated but offered the gun over. As he looked the still smoking gun over with awe, he asked, "You've used this against more than sticks, cans, and bottles?"

Vance didn't answer, but the expression in his face -- and particularly in his eyes -- gave Benjamin the answer he was afraid to hear and eager to hear both. The weapon was handed back to its owner, and as he turned to head back to the parlour Benjamin said to Vance, "Come join me for a drink ... and ... we'll talk about your wages."

Vance ejected the spent casings from his weapon into his palm, pocketing the still warm brass. He looked around to the others for a moment, then -- as he filled the empty chambers with fresh rounds -- fell in behind Benjamin. In the parlour, the patriarch offered Vance a tumbler full of whiskey, complimented him on his shooting, and began the negotiations.

"We've been losing 'bout ten head a month. Oh, not ever month. And not always ten at a time. Past November, we lost three dozen in one night, then went six weeks without a single brand missing. But ... it's significant enough to need help. Ain't getting it from the Sheriff. Or the Marshall either. The first is too busy with drunks and petty thieves. The latter too busy with bank robbers and Injuns.

"I'm not looking for someone who's gonna run off the rustlers, Mister Hamilton ... Vance," Benjamin continued. He conspicuously glanced to the Peacemaker now returned to its holster, then looked back up to continue, "Cattle price right now's at $30 a head. That means I'm losing $300 a month to poaching. I'll pay you $100 a head for every poacher you kill on my land."

Vance tried to hide his surprise at the man's request. He sipped at his drink as he studied Benjamin, then said, "You don't want the rustlers pushed off your land. You want'em buried below it."

"Exactly," Benjamin confirmed. The patriarch looked toward the door as some noise beyond it caught his attention, then looked back to Vance and continued, "I would prefer that my family believe you are being paid $50 a month to scare these lowlifes away, of course. I don't think the ladies of the Stewart family would understand my offer the way you and I do."

Vance turned and sipped at his drink as he wandered slowly toward the French style doors that looked out upon the ranch. While they'd been talking, the two brothers and a trio of ranch hands who'd joined them were taking turns shooting at the various targets and either laughing at or congratulating one another for their shooting.

"I would need to reside on the property," Vance said. He was actually thinking more about wanting to remain close to Lillian than he was the cattle thieves, but he was going to say that, of course. He got a quick, positive answer from Benjamin. Speaking of his special circumstances, Vance added, "And I would only work at night. I, um ... I prefer the quiet and peace of the dark. Plus, your boys and hands are out and about during the day, so--"

"Of course," Benjamin said, eager to agree to any easily filled request. "There's a small cabin ... sets off in the trees to the west. Mabel and I lived in it our first year here, while this house was being built. You would have privacy ... your quiet and peace."

Vance turned to study Benjamin for a moment, then crossed slowly to him. "And after the rustlers are gone ... what then?"

"You mean how are you gonna make money if there's no one left to put in the ground?" Benjamin clarified the question. When Vance nodded, Benjamin told him, "I'll still pay you that $50 a month to wander about out there in the dark ... remind new wanna-be poachers that the nights on the Stewart Ranch are a dangerous place."

Vance was tempted to tell the man just how dangerous the nights would in fact be here with a vampire patrolling them. But, it was such uncovered knowledge that had forced Vance to leave some of his previous locations of residence. The terms seemed acceptable, and Vance was about to offer out his hand. But Benjamin's next comment beat him to it.

"Besides, it won't be the money that keeps you living on the ranch anyway, am I right?"

It didn't take a genius to know that Benjamin's spreading lips were an indication that he, too, had noticed the attention Vance had been showing his niece. The patriarch didn't wait for any sort of response from Vance, instead offering out his hand, asking, "So, do you work for me?"

Vance hesitated, took Benjamin's hand, and confirmed, "I work for you."

He used her first name again. It felt familiar and right on his lips even if decorum said otherwise. Vance followed it with an apology for being forward. Lillian did not take it as an insult, though to tell him that she enjoyed it would be forward on her part. It did bring up the point that she had not decided if she was returning to her maiden name or keeping her husband's. Much like when she would change from her mourning clothes, Lillian had not thought that far into the future.

Vance discussed what he believed about monsters. Lillian found his thoughts on the subject fascinating. She hadn't realized how much she missed conversation of this sort until now. She and Bruce often discussed many topics from business to history, philosophy to general news. Both were well read and well educated. Their breakfasts often turn into great long discussions that they had to pull themselves away from to get on with their day. After dinner was often the same.

Now, she leaned in engrossed in listening to him when the knock on the door seemed to startle them both. Lillian sat straighter, her one hand gripping her book to her lap. Vane was standing, hand on his gun. As the door opened, Lillian's cheeks warmed. They were acting almost as if they had been caught doing something wrong yet they had just been too involved in conversation to pay much attention to their surroundings.

She stood as the men began to leave. "I will stay but I thank you Mister Hamilton for the conversation. And Lillian is fine."

Lillian watched them go. She couldn't bring herself to tell him which of her last names she would continue with. Choosing Stewart felt like she was trying to forget about Bruce but McGregor brought back sadness.

Her book in hand she made her way out of the parlour to the upper floor and her room. Luncheon would be ready soon and she felt the need to freshen up after her nap. As she made her way down the hall her mind was on Vance, the book and the desire she had to continue their conversation again.

"Your hair is a mess. What did Tilly do to it this morning?" Anna stood in her doorway with a frown on her face.

"What? Oh, no. I tried to pin it up myself..." Lillian reached a hand up to touch her hair. It was slipping out of its pins.

Anna shook her head. "Let me fix it for you."

The two women headed to Lillian's room. She deposited her book on the bedside table before sitting at her dressing table. Anna came up behind her and began to free the pins from the dark hair.

"Mr Hamilton is here. Uncle has taken him outside for a walk around the ranch."

As if on cue the sound of gunshots rang out. It had taken Lillian some time to get used that sound when she first arrived. Boston had guns but most gentle society did not carry them. There wasn't the same need as there was out here. It really was a different world than the one she had grown up in.

"I bet Jenny will be happy to see him. I know I am pleased to learn we will have some night time protection. I can hear things at night, when I can't sleep. Animals most times I am sure but there will be something nice about knowing someone is watching the grounds. Not losing cattle will be good too. I hear we have lost a fair number. Let's hope your Mr Hamilton is a good shot."

Anna's eyes met hers in the mirror that was attached to her dressing table. By the heat in her cheeks Lillian didn't need to look to know she was blushing. "He is not my Mr Hamilton. I have known him for as long as you have."

"And yet that rosey skin says perhaps you enjoy the attention he pays you. I am guessing he will sit across from you at lunch as well. The man was quite interested in you yesterday. I saw him watching you from the moment he came in the door."

Lillian shook her head a little causing Anna to pull her hair as she wound it. "Hold still now." Anna scolded.

"I believe you are mistaken. A man does not find a widow attractive."

The brush ran through the long strands. Lillian was waiting for Anna to pin them up as well but she stopped, stepping away. A look in the mirror showed that some of her hair had been artfully wound into a bun on the back of her head. The rest of the dark brown locks hung in waves about her shoulders and down her back.

Lillian looked at Anna. "Married women wear their hair up."

Anna smiled sadly. "You aren't married anymore sweetheart." She patted Lillian's cheek. The young woman was three years younger than her and had not been married long. She had less experience in men, families and marriage. Anna both envied and pitied her. To be young and widowed felt hard and harsh in this place. She should be out and enjoying life, not wearing black and sitting alone.

"I think Jenny's idea for a party before the baby is a good one and I think you might want to consider changing. I did not know your husband very well but what I did know of him I do not think he would want you to spend your time missing him and not living a life. You think on it. Would Bruce want you to smile or sit here pale, alone with a book in your hand?"

Anna put down the brush and left the room. The luncheon bell rang out signalling the family to come down to the dining room.

Lillian looked at herself in the mirror. The black added to the paleness of her skin. It almost made her look corpse like in certain lights. The dress itself was a cut for a woman her aunt's age, not a woman of 22. A hand touched her hair that now framed her face.

She looked down to her hand where her wedding band still sat on her finger. What would Bruce want her to do? The sound of people in the hall, Jenny's laugh reminded Lillian it was time for their meal. And of course, their guest.

People were sitting and the food was being put at their places when she stepped into the room. Jenny's eyes went wide at the sight of her hair. "You look beautiful." The woman smiled and looked excited. "Does this mean we can go get a new dress for the party?"

Lillian could feel her aunt's eyes on her as she took her seat. "We will talk after lunch Jenny."

Jenny bounced into her seat. "Maxwell is outside. He said Vance..Mr Hamilton is here. I wonder if he will take the job. Won't it be nice to have so many strong men around to protect the ranch?"

Lillian nodded as she looked down at her plate. Would Vance notice her hair? Would he like it? Did it matter to her if he did?

"The soup is beef and vegetable. Some cheese and other things will come out soon. Bread should be warm." Mabel looked around. "Those men better not bring dust into my dining room." She looked stern as she passed the basket of bread to Jenny. Anna rolled her eyes a little.

With their business concluded, Benjamin gestured Vance to follow him, saying, "By the scent and sound, I'm guessing lunch is ready, set, and the others are awaiting. You're gonna enjoy this, Mister Hamilton--"

"Vance," the new hire interrupted, wishing they'd just get this settled. "I insist that you all call me Vance. Please."

Benjamin glanced back over his shoulder, nodded, and turned back to pick a path through the large ranch house. "Vance it is, then. My wife and this cook we hired away from one of the cattle drive operations ... they could make a rock taste so good you'd ask for a second helping."

They were coming around a final corner just in time for Vance to hear Jenny saying...

..."Won't it be nice to have so many strong men around to protect the ranch?"

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Vance caught his host looking back over his shoulder with a knowing smile before they entered the massive dining hall. The long table was already occupied by all of the women save Mabel, who with the cook was still delivering platters and such. Maxwell was pulling out a chair to sit next to his wife, but Benjamin redirected him, glancing to Lillian and then Vance and gesturing the latter to the seat. That put Vance directly across the table from the dark haired beauty, with the other two female cousins flanking him on left and right.

"I seem to have the best seat in the house," Vance said, looking between each of the young women with a smile and clarifying, "All the beautiful Stewart women crowded 'round me..."

He glanced to Mabel, who was heading for her chair at one end of the table, opposite her husband at the other, and added with a polite nod, "Of course, 'cept the most beautiful Stewart woman of them all."

There were some giggles and comments and accusations of flattery as Vance sat, and as they were going on Vance looked across the table to Lillian for a long glance, followed with a quiet question included an obvious tone of appreciation, "Have you changed your hair, Lillian? It's very nice."

Although the inquiry had been meant just for Lillian, it didn't go unnoticed by others...

(OOC: I'm not going to make comment on the reactions. You can if you wish.)

"We don't discuss business at the dinner table," Benjamin said from a position behind his seat, adding, "which is the reason I have not yet taken my chair."

He looked around the room with a satisfied smile, then continued, "I am pleased to announce that Mister Hamilton, who, I would like to add, prefers be called Vance..."

Vance nodded his appreciation to the man, then let his eyes shift back to Lillian, hoping she understood that she was not just welcome but encouraged to address him as such, too.

Benjamin continued, "...has agreed to be our night time security agent."

The responses about the table ran from simply happy to overjoyed.

"And, assuming my lovely wife's approval," Benjamin continued, looking to Mabel for an expression of agreement, "Vance will be staying at the Cottage House."

Again, the responses ran from approval to joy.

Again, Vance's eyes turned to Lillian. He assumed that the beauty lived her at the house, and he'd assumed that the other Stewarts did, as well. But then, they may have had their own smaller homes on the ranch or even off it for all he knew. He would attempt to learn more about the living situations through dinner with some casual inquiries, of course. It was always good to know who might suddenly appear from an opening door while you were trying to get close to a beautiful dark haired temptress.

The men entered. Her cousins through one door, they had obviously stopped to clean up. Her uncle and Vance through another, coming from the hall and the parlour.

A shuffling of chairs as everyone took their seat. Lillian adjusted her napkin on her lap and then looked up. She found herself facing Vance. On either side her cousins in law sat. He commented on having the best seat, charming both the women at his sides and even getting a show of flattery from her aunt. Mabel smiled, giving him a good natured shake of her head as if to say he was full of nonsense.

The slight clattering of silverware was interrupted by a question then a compliment.

Before she could really answer him her uncle announced that Vance would be working for the ranch as their night security and would live on the property. Mabel agreed to the arrangement and said she would make plans to have it swept for him.

The table went back to eating. Lillian paused in her meal. “In regards to your inquiry, “ Lillian lifted her dark eyes to meet Vance’s. “Yes, I did. My hair was falling from its previous-”

“I suppose that was Jenny’s influence. Trying to get you from your mourning to be her social partner. Maxwell, you really should get better control of your wife.” Johnathan shook his head and ate a spoonful of soup.

“I will have you know that Jenny needs no controlling. She is a well spoken, educated and independent woman. Things are changing John, perhaps you would see that if you put down your cards and picked up a newspaper.”

The sound of Johnathan’s spoon dropping into his bowl signalled the beginnings of an argument between the boys. Their values were constantly at odds. Johnathan saw traditional to be the way while Maxwell was more modern, liberal.

Both Jenny and Anna were agitated. It was not the first time such an argument occurred between the men.

“Excuse me.” Lillian put her spoon down and folded her hands in her lap. “If I may interject for a moment. Anna is the one who helped me. I like it and found nothing wrong with the style. Mr Hamilton’s - Vance’s compliment confirms the style is fetching.” A blush stained her cheeks. “I thank you for the compliment.”

“Anna?” Johnathan looked across the table at his wife. “You know she is in mourning.”

Jenny huffed. “But she is free to stop. If she were a man she would have already taken a new wife and would have been patted on the back for taking care of his home by putting a new woman in it. Why shouldn’t Lilly choose when her mourning period is over? She is young, has means and good standing. She should be able to enjoy life.”

Lillian licked her lips. She appreciated Jenny sticking up for her but it was sure to just resume the previous argument.

Johnathan looked around the table as if looking for confirmation that Jenny had turned into a monster before his eyes. “She is married and the mourning period should be a year to show respect for that.” He hissed the words at Jenny.

“If I may, again. As I am the topic of this conversation it might be pertinent to ask me my thoughts on the topic?” The family looked at Lillian. Since her arrival at the ranch she had been quiet, rarely engaging family discussion and debates. This felt different. Perhaps because she was the focus, perhaps because they had a guest.

“My apologies Vance, my family seems to desire to discuss my private life in front of a guest and ruining a perfectly lovely meal.” To add to the statement Mabel clucked out a noise of annoyance and agreement. Her children were being ill mannered indeed.

“As for my status, since you all seem to have decided that it should be discussed, I would have you know my feelings on it. I will, slowly, end my mourning. I am not ready to cast it off as if it did not matter but I believe that Bruce would not have wanted me to spend my life in black and in the shadow of his memory. If that had been the case he would not have left the estate for me to run.”

Jenny grinned. “So does this mean we can look at dresses for the party?”

Lillian looked thoughtful. “Yes, we can but I reserve the right to decide I am not ready.”

“Of course!” Jenny excitedly went back to her food. Anna smiled into her soup. Johnathan looked as if his soup had soured. Her aunt and uncle proceeded through their meal as if nothing had happened.

The conversation turned to the nursery preparations, the need for a new mattress for Maxwell and Jenny. Mabel made note that she would order a new one for the Cottage House as well.

“When will you start your position here Vance?” Lillian, her soup done looked up at him. The bowls that were empty were being cleared and plates with hard cheese and some fruit put out for them.

"Yes and will you stay here, in the guest room as the Cottage House is prepared?" Jenny chimed in on the conversation. She wanted to learn more about the man. She also hoped he might throw some compliments her way instead of her widow cousin in law.

“I suppose that was Jenny’s influence."

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Vance listened quietly to the Stewarts discuss -- even argue -- about Lillian's mourning period, the length of such, and more. He could tell there was a great deal of difference in the personalities of the men, of the women, and even of the two generations present.

He himself was conflicted about Lillian's mourning period. He understood Johnathan's argument about a more lengthy period demonstrating more respect toward Lillian's deceased husband, and to an extent he even agreed with the man. But Lillian in all black did nothing for Vance personally, and he was -- and had been from the moment he'd seen her -- very interested in seeing her in something that might edge her one or two steps toward the saloon girl end of the spectrum and better show off the womanly features her current wardrobe aimed to hide.

Vance was a bit surprised that Jenny hadn't jumped into the conversation with both feet, but when she finally did, she did so with raised fists, figuratively speaking anyway. It was true that what society expected from a man was often significantly different from what it expected from a woman. Vance had seen generations of this before these folk were born, and while he couldn't know for sure, he was somewhat confident that it would remain that way for generations to come.

The conversation finally turned, and after a couple of shortly discussed topics, it came round to Vance when Lillian inquired about his accepting her uncle's job offer.

“When will you start your position here Vance?”

Click to expand...

But even before Vance could clear his mouth and formulate an answer, the excitable Jenny was back in action.

"Yes and will you stay here, in the guest room as the Cottage House is prepared?"

Click to expand...

Vance looked to the young married woman with a smile, finding it met with one from her. He'd seen and heard something in Jenny the night before during dinner at the hotel, and because his beyond-human senses had been at their peak, he'd also sensed something from the young woman: lust.

Since long before Vance's birth as a human and rebirth as a vampire, there had been discussion within the science community about whether or not humans secreted chemicals that attracted mates, similarly to the way many animals did when they were in heat. The science community had a variety of words and terms for these chemicals, though one day in the future they would come to be known as pheromones.

Vance didn't need science and future discovery to know that Jenny was exuding these chemicals now. Or, at least she had been last night. Here now, with the world beyond the windows bathed in daylight, Vance didn't have the ability to detect them anymore than anyone else at the table could. But last night, as the Stewarts were leaving the hotel, Jenny was almost on fire as she passed by Vance. He didn't know how intimate or erotic of a relationship she still had with her husband, but Vance wouldn't have been surprised to find out that they'd kept some of their family members awake with the sounds of intense and excited love making.

He looked across to Lillian in an attempt to determine what she thought about her cousin's question, but her expression was hard to read. Jenny's flirtatious nature was no surprise to any of the Stewarts, and by the reaction of most of them Vance assumed that it wasn't anything that concerned them. Just youthful exuberance that won't ever result in much, he thought to himself. Oh, how he was wrong.

"Benjamin and I have chosen night after this for me to begin work," Vance began his answer. "I have some things to tie up in town before I--"

Johnathan laughed, and seeing Vance's explanation pause asked, "You've only been in town a day. How could you possibly--"

Benjamin cleared his throat rather noticeably, and Johnathan went silent as he picked at the dessert that had just been set before him.

"I have paid for a room that I will need to announce I am vacating," he continued, "and I have a couple of telegraphs to send--"

"Let's finish this up," Benjamin said, gesturing an extended finger toward his dessert and the plates of pie closest to him. "I want to show Vance some of the property ... give him the lay of the land before he starts."

Vance raised no objection to ceasing his answer again, not really wanting to go into more details about his business in town. What was he going to tell them, I have to ensure I paid a family for brutally murdering their son, who is now buried in the Willow Springs Cemetery without a proper marker or I need to recuperate from all this daylight by sucking a pint of blood from the necks of two saloon whores ... or, if that won't suffice, drain one entirely and have Mister Bowers find yet another hole for an unexpected casket.

Some more conversation ensued about the upcoming birth, the planned party, some problems with fencing on the west perimeter of the fence, and more. Finally, when Benjamin had had enough conversation, he stood and said with a slightly demanding tone, "Vance, let's git outside. I have things to show you."

Vance stood, politely bid farewell to the others -- giving Lillian an extra long glance -- and thanked Mabel for a meal fit for a king before following off after his new boss. Benjamin led his new hand at a stiff pace to the stables, where the son of one of the hands -- given a heads up earlier -- had both of their horses ready to go.

They headed out and spent more than four hours walking and trotting their rides about the property as they chatted about ranching and far more. Benjamin showed Vance some of the places that were better hidden from view and, therefore, favorite places for the rustlers to poach their fill of his cattle. They discussed some ideas on how to secure those areas, but for the most part they agreed that it simply took putting a man out here in the dark to catch the thieves.

A couple of hours before sundown, Benjamin took a long hard look at Vance and asked, "You feeling okay? Did the meal not settle with you? You look pale."

"No, I'm fine, Benjamin," Vance lied. To be honest, he was feeling a bit weak and at times had even realized he was sweating about the brim of his hat and collar of his shirt. "I think it's the temperature. Bit different from New Orleans."

They agreed to head back so that Vance could deal with his business. Vance wanted to see and speak with Lillian again, but he could feel the affects of the day wearing on him at a quickly growing rate. Just short of the fence lined road that led back to the house, Vance asked about whether or not it would be impolite not to return.

"Not at all," Benjamin said, spinning his horse around to offer out his hand for a quick shake. His lips spread in a knowing smile as he added, "I'm sure the women will be sorry you did not come back to bid them farewell, but ... I'll make an excuse."

Vance wasn't sure whether or not he should single out Lillian for a special farewell, but Benjamin beat him to it by asking, "Shall I pass anything on to Lilly for you, Vance?"

The new hand's mouth spread in a guilty smile, and with his body feeling as it was, he suffered a noticeable blush that otherwise his body would never feel.

"I'll think of something appropriate," Benjamin said laughing as he turned his horse toward the buildings. He called over his shoulder as he kicked his horse into a slow canter home, "Tomorrow evening, Vance. And we'll get to work getting rid of these cattle thieves."

Vance watched his new boss ride off, then looked toward the big ranch house wondering whether or not he'd catch sight of Lillian. He turned his horse and hurried it into a gallop back toward town. He slowed it after a mile or so, not wanting to work it too hard, and trotted the remaining distance to the stables nearest the Golden Eagle.

He stopped in at a barber shop to take a quick bath, paying the extra dollar for clean, first-use water. He would have gotten a shave, but a nick of the razor with the way he was feeling now would have felt like a knife being sunk into his neck. When he was dried and dressed again, he made his way to the saloon where he'd found last night's meal, located her again, and put yet more coins in her hand as he said, "Let's go upstairs ... and bring two friends."

A few minutes later, all four were naked and engaged. Vance put two of them at work pleasing one another -- "For my viewing pleasure", he claimed -- and inconspicuously fed on the third. With her passed out in a chair near the door, he fed on a second, then a third. They wouldn't recall most of the evening when they awoke the next morning, and even if they did they wouldn't understand it enough to realize that a man had sucked blood from their bodies.

He left an hour later, feeling refreshed and regaining his strength quickly. He returned to the Golden Eagle just in time to catch a slice of pie and a glass of brandy in the restaurant before it closed.

Lunch concluded. Benjamin and Vance were the first to leave. Lillian watched them go, her eyes meeting Vance’s as he exited.

The early afternoon found Jenny and Lillian in town. They went off to look at catalogues for dresses then opted to see the local seamstress. While in her shop they noticed an advertisement that had been placed in the window. It seemed the next two nights there would be a performance singer Adeline Markham at the Silver Horseshoe. Like the Golden Eagle the Horseshoe was a hotel but it also often featured traveling performers.

After picking out fabric and cut the women headed back to the ranch. Dinner was uneventful but the women related the news about the singer. The family decided to take in the performance the next evening.

After dinner Anna retired early and Johnathan left in the carriage to play cards.

At the salloon Johnathan found himself on a winning streak. Not a big one but enough that he felt his luck had turned. It did not escape attention however. The Iron Clubs had eyes in the salloons watching those that owed them money and Johnathan was one such person.

When he exited that night, heading for his carriage he found himself confronted by some of the Iron Clubs. They took his winnings as a downpayment on what he owed and roughed him up to send the message that payment was due and if he didn’t pay it soon they would come for it.

The morning saw the ranch at its normal activities. The Cottage House had been swept and prepped for Vance’s occupancy. Mabel even made sure the staff put a few necessities out there to get him through the first few days. She wasn’t sure what he had brought with him so the bed was made, towels tucked into drawers and the like. The new mattress and bedding would arrive in a few days but staff assured Mabel that the cottage was comfortable for the time being.

There were questions around the breakfast table about Johnathan’s bruised face. He assured them all that one too many whiskey and the carriage stair did not make for a good pairing.

By the time the sun was beginning to set the family were gathered to leave. Lillian decided not to attend, feeling an odd headache come on. Mabel claimed a storm must be coming in. In truth, Lillian wasn’t sure if it was the weather or the constant company of her family but a night of quiet was what she desired.

They left, bidding her a good rest. Lillian wrote some letters home - to her parents, her estate manager - as well as went over some of her accounts.

The sky grew darker, the staff had dimmed the house to only a few oil lamps and Lillian headed off to her room.

Her dress was removed in favour of a white nightgown. The fabric swished around her bare feet as she moved to her dressing table. She released her dark hair from it’s small bun, the waves joining the others about her shoulders. Lillian brushed her hair out until is hung long and smooth about her shoulders and back.

Standing she moved to her bed, preparing to read only to realize her book had been left in the parlour. Knowing no one but the servants were home she decided to forego the night coat and made her way downstairs to the parlour.

She began to cross the room, her eyes trying to focus on the chaise in the dim light of the oil lamp that sat lit on a table near a window. A beacon to those who would be coming home.

The sound of boots in the hallway made her stop.

No one who was home, the cook or Tilly would wear boots in the house. The ranch hands knew better than to come this far into the house.

For a moment Lillian thought she had imagined the noise. She turned, her back to the door and began moving.

“I told you they went out. I saw them with my own eyes. Think there’s jewellry in the rooms?”

“Thinking the old man might have something too. Just get to searching. No need to be careful.” A laugh, hard and menacing sent chills up Lillian’s spine.

As she stood there, frozen the door of the parlour opened. The man was almost as startled as she was but her recovered first.

“Well now...this is a surprise. And you even dressed for me….” He began walking towards her. Everything about him from the way he smiled to the filth on his clothes spoke of one not afraid to do the unimaginable.

“Stay away!” Lillian began to back up. In the hall she heard Tilly scream. The sound of a smack and a body hitting the floor followed.

Lillian turned and began to run. She did not get far. Her head was yanked back as a hand grabbed her hair. Her body, once moving forward was abruptly jolted backwards. She cried out.

An arm went about her waist and the man picked her up. Lillian tried to kick and hit at him but it was futile. He dropped her on her stomach on the chaise. One hand pressed down on her back. She could hear the sound of boots and a belt.

“Well you found a prize.” Another man laughed as he approached.

“Hold her down.”

“Stop! No!” Lillian was crying as she struggled.

The hand on her back moved and two more grabbed her. She could hear pants hit the floor. Then there was the sound of her nightgown ripping as he tried to lift it up and untangle it from her kicking legs.

He growled in anger as he roughly shoved her legs apart. Her backside and back were fully exposed to him and as he opened her legs, so was her sex.

Lillian was sobbing now. “Please...don’t...please..”

Her head was yanked back by her hair. The man behind her leaned in. She could feel his manhood, hot and hard against her ass. “Tell Johnathan that this is what happens when he decides not to pay on time…”

The voice was hard in her ear. He moved away and held her by one hip as he prepared to take the woman. He didn’t care how she was related to Johnathan the message was the same. Add to that he got to bed a woman how normally wouldn’t give him the time of day and it was win/win in his books.

The multiple clicks of the Peacemaker's hammer pulling back sounded directly behind the rapist's head. It was obvious he knew the sound well, for his activities over the top of Lillian's mostly exposed body came to an instant halt.

"I've never shot an unarmed man before, particularly in the back," Vance said with a soft, menacing growl as he pressed end of the weapon's barrel against the base of the man's skull, right where a fired round would severe the spine and cause instant death. He added with a continuing growl, "Get up slowly ... back away ... and pull up your pants."

"Listen mister," the man who Vance would later bore the nickname Buck began, sounding equally menacing, as if the gun at his head meant nothing to him. He began rising slowly away from Lillian, looking for his partner but finding himself seeming alone. He reached cautiously down to his belt, trying to be inconspicuous about letting his hand slip to the holster there. Finding his weapon removed, Buck turned slowly to find Vance displaying it to him in his left hand. Unafraid, he continued, "You kill me ... and one of my men'll kill you. I got--"

"Six men with you ... yes, I know," Vance cut him off, the Colt just six inches from the man's nose. "If you look behind me, you'll find one of them..."

Buck leaned a bit and looked past Vance as he continued to do up his pants. The man who had been helping hold Lillian down was now laying face down on the floor. Well, face down wasn't entirely accurate: his body was belly down, but his face was more or less facing a distant upper wall, the neck connecting it to the body snapped and twisted in an unnatural way.

"Lillian ... you're safe," Vance said softly, his eyes still on Buck. "Go upstairs and lock your door. I'll be up soon ... after I deal with our unwelcomed friends."

Despite having a .45 caliber pistol aimed at his face, Buck laughed aloud, tugging his belt tightly around his waist. "Mister, you're dead. Less'en you let me walk out that door alive and well--"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure ... the other four of you will shoot me down," Vance said. Without taking his eyes off the man, Vance could see Lillian setting about covering herself, and he again told her to get to the safety of the second floor. Vance stuck Buck's revolver -- also a Colt 1873 -- into his own waist behind his gun belt, reached out to grasp the man's long, oily hair, and twisted his head in a way that gave him total control. "Let's take a walk."

Vance urged the man out of the parlour and home's front door, then gave him a shove that sent him tumbling down the steps and rolling out onto the packed dirt before the porch. When Buck rose and looked about himself, he found two of his remaining five compadres writhing about the ground in obvious pain and distress, another pair bound at ankles and wrists as if calves at a rodeo, and the fifth bent over the porch's railing but with his belly up, again a very unnatural way of laying about.

This time when he looked back to Vance, Buck's expression of confidence was obviously strained. He opened his mouth as if to speak but went quiet as Vance tossed a big knife onto the ground before him.

"Cut'em loose," he told the man, gesturing to the pair who were struggling to get free of their bindings. Vance repeated his demand to Buck, who was a bit confused and a bit frightened. When the pair were free, Vance gave another order as he nodded toward the groaning pair, "Get'em on their feet."

"Why?" Buck asked, even as he was slowly moving over to the pair to help them to their feet. "What's your game, mister?"

"You letting us go?" one of the men asked with a hopeful tone.

"We're not going anywhere," Buck said, steadying one of his men, then stepping away a couple of steps. He'd been inconspicuously looking to each of his men's waists, and without exception, all four of the still living had their side arms still in their holsters. He looked to Vance's waist seeing his own weapon, and despite feeling a bit vulnerable said with returning confidence, "Four guns to one, mister."

He and the others glanced to one another, silently feeling one another out. After a moment, without a word spoken, they'd confirmed with one another that there was going to be a shootout here and now.

"Five to one," Vance corrected.

He pulled Buck's gun from his waist band and tossed it out to land almost directly between the wanna-be rapist's feet. After a moment of studying Vance, Buck leaned slowly over to retrieve his weapon. He examined it, ensuring it was still loaded, then slowly returned it to the holster on his waist.

"You're gonna wish you'd just let us have our fun with your little lady in there, mister," Buck growled, his body tensing up as he prepared to draw his gun. "Maybe we woulda let you have a turn at her after we was all--"

But Buck's offer to share the Stewart woman was never finished. One of the men who was a little less confident than his boss drew his gun, hoping to get the drop on the lone man standing on the top step of the porch. In an instant, Vance drew his Colt single action and fanned the hammer.

Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom!

In just a bit more than a second, it was over. Five .45 caliber rounds were discharged, one entering the chest of each of the men. Vance had been studying them with not just his normal human senses but with his beyond human vampire senses, and he'd deduced which of them would be the greatest threat to him. The three fastest of them managed to get their weapons out of their holsters. But only Buck and the first to have drawn -- ironically the slowest of them all and the last man at whom Vance had fired last -- had gotten off shots.

As Vance watched the life slowly and painfully leave the men who hadn't died instantly, he casually looked down to the left side of his belly. Blood darkened the hole in his almost brand new shirt, causing him to grimace in disappointment. He really liked this shirt! He pressed the fingers of his left hand over the entry hole as he descended the steps to investigate each of the men, ensuring the end of their lives. By the time the smoke had ceased exiting the barrel of his gun and he'd turned to look back at the house, he could already feel the wound on his side closing. Unfortunately, it wasn't a through and through, so the bullet was still inside him. But, oh well, it wouldn't be alone: there were at least four others still housed within his torso.

The voice was familiar but at that moment she couldn’t immediately place it. Lillian felt the weight lift off of her as he moved away. She noticed that there was no one holding her down either. Trembling, she tried to curl herself up and cover her body back up. Shame and fear mixed causing her heart to pound and her stomach to turn.

Vance. As he told the man to pull up his pants it all clicked together. He had begun his work tonight and Lillian was grateful that he had.

Her legs were tucked up, her nightgown pulled down as she tried to hide herself, preserve some dignity in all of this. Her eyes were puffy and cheek red, raw from being pushed into the chaise.

Her hands covered her mouth stifling a silent scream as she looked behind Vance’s legs to where a man lay, head and body at angles that were not possible.

She looked up at Vance as he told her she was safe, to go and lock her door. Lillian couldn’t move. She was frozen to where she was sitting, just to the side of the chaise.

Four other men. Vance had the upper hand but the numbers seemed wrong. She knew that if the man had the chance he was going to cut Vance down and return to finish what he started. Lillian watched as Vance ensured the man left the parlour. She sat there listening as they moved outside. Only then did she look back at the dead man on the floor.

She began crying, wracking silent sobs that shook her entire body. Lillian rocked a little as she cried. She wished she had worn her dressing gown, as if the extra layers would have somehow stopped this from happening. He hadn’t entered her, Vance had come just in time.

Her eyes were closed tight and for a moment it almost felt like she wasn’t there.

The sound of gunshots caused her to freeze and look up. Unthinking, she scrambled up and towards the window. A new fear set in. Lillian looked out.

Her brain was screaming no but stood there in silent terror.

So many shots had gone off. What lay before her eyes was not what she expected. Vance stood amid other men, all who laid on the ground dead. She saw him turn and look back at the house. In the dim light she could see the a discolouration on his shirt.

Lillian ran to the parlour door, out to the hall and to the front door. She moved as fast as she could outside and down the stairs.

“Vance!” She feared now that he was hurt, that he had been hit. It gripped her stomach like an icy hand. Lillian ran towards him. She could see now that it wasn’t a trick of shadow. His shirt was stained with blood.

Vance had heard Lillian's bare feet padding quickly his direction across the hard wood floors of the house long before he saw her burst out the door and onto the porch. A slight breeze that had been blowing much of the night caused her torn gown to waft to one direction, revealing her nakedness nearly to her waist for a moment.

“Vance!”

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As Lillian descended the steps and neared him, Vance realized that her gaze fell almost immediately to the bloody stain over which his left hand was still pressed. He holstered his firearm with only one live round in it, something a gunslinger never did. He wasn't concerned about the nearly empty cylinder, of course: he was concerned with Lillian discovering that the typically fatal bullet wound was already nearly healed.

"I'm fine, Lillian, really," he said, waving dismissively to her. "It was a glance ... a flesh wound."

It wasn't true, of course: the bullet had penetrated his belly and was resting against a kidney. But without an exit would, Vance could say the shot had come from an angle that sent it across the surface of his flesh rather than entirely through it.

"I told you to go upstairs," he said to her with the authority of a father or husband as he stepped closer to her, shedding his long coat as he continued with a softer tone, "You don't need to see this."

He slung his coat around Lillian's shoulders, telling her, "Lillian, you're safe with me. No one will hurt you while I am with you."

With the ease of carrying a small child, Vance headed up the porch steps, through the house to and up a stairwell, and -- asking which door was hers -- directly into Lillian's room. He returned her to her feet and -- turning to stand with his nose almost against the door -- told her, "Dress for bed, Lillian. You need rest ... and I won't leave you tonight, not 'til your family returns to watch over you."

As he waited for her to dress or crawl into bed or what ever she chose to do, Vance thought of the other Stewarts. He had seen them coming into town earlier in the evening, and -- not seeing Lillian in one of the two carriages -- decided to ride directly to the house to check on her rather than head out to one of the favorite theft points of the rustlers.

But before the house had even come into view, Vance had known there was a problem...

A few minutes earlier:

As he headed his horse at a slow canter toward the property of his recently gained employment, Vance glanced to the dirt road. The clean, continuous, parallel tracks of the carriages were disrupted by the tracks of hooved horses, and those tracks were heading to the ranch. He urged his horse ahead at a full gallop until he was just short of the last hillock before the house. He brought his ride to a stop, dismounted, and ran up the road instead.

As he'd expected and feared, there were men at the house. Even from more than 300 yards away and with only the light of the half full moon aiding him, Vance recognized three of them as some of the man who'd roughed up Johnathan outside a saloon the night before.

(Vance had nearly interceded when he saw the Iron Club members toss Johnathan out of a saloon and into the street. But the beating had already ended, the threats about payment of a debt had been made, and the men from the Iron Club had already begun returning to the saloon. Vance could have aided Johnathan but hadn't. Johnathan needed to want to quit what was getting him into such troubles, and Vance wasn't convinced he was ready to shed those troubles yet.)

Moving silently through the dark at nearly the speed of a running horse, Vance covered the distance from the hillock to the corral, where two of the men were looking over the new horses Benjamin had recently purchased for breaking. Vance took hold of the first man with the strength of a bear, clapped a hand over his mouth and nose, and held him until he passed out. He used a lasso hung over a corral post to tie the man up, then moved around the pen to the second man and repeated the actions with the second man, using the man's own bull whip to bind him.

And all the time, Vance was listening for evidence of Lillian. He was certain that she was inside the house. What he didn't yet know was whether or not there were other men inside. The tracks on the road had indicated at least 4 horses, and there were five men currently within Vance's view. If there were men inside, he needed to get to them before they knew he was on the property. Otherwise ... well, Vance didn't want to think about the otherwise if Lillian was in there with them.

Then he noticed the open from door of the house, and an instant later he heard:

“I told you they went out. I saw them with my own eyes. Think there’s jewelry in the rooms?”

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Without hesitation, Vance rushed toward the house. Without slowing, he met the back of one man's skull with a powerfully thrust fist. A second man, turning at an unexpected sound, felt his nose being crushed by a punch he never saw coming. Before either of them had even hit the ground, Vance was already ascending the steps to the porch, where the last man -- the only one aware of the attack in time to react -- was reaching for his sidearm. But Vance was on him in a flash, bending him over the porch railing and forcing him backwards with such force that the sound of his cracking spine should have been audible to the remaining men inside.

Vance hurried into the house as he heard Lillian screaming, finding one of the house servants laying on the floor unconscious. He rushed into the parlour, grabbing one man's head and giving it a quick twist as easily as if he had been removing an apple from a tree. And then the gun was out as he threatened the last man with his death should he not leave the lovely Lillian be.

"I'm sorry I did not get here sooner," Vance said out of nowhere, recalling how close Lillian had come to being violated by the man and -- likely -- the men. "I should have been quicker. Please forgive me."

He waved her concern away. She stood in front of him, concern filling her eyes. It seemed like a lot of blood for a glancing blow.

Vance stepped closer, his voice firm. A breath caught in her chest as she struggled not to cry. Yes, he had told her to go upstairs but she had been so stunned that she had been unable to move. How could she explain to him that the situation, how close she had come to having her body violated wasn’t something she could just walk away from? Even more importantly no one had ever laid a cruel hand on her. The cruelty, malice behind it all had shocked her.

His coat came down on her shoulders. Lillian was engulfed in the warmth of it. She could feel the heat from his body in the material. It enclosed her body like a shadow in the night.

Lillian’s rational mind told her that no one could make a promise like that yet, something about the way Vance said it made her believe it.

She felt him lift her. He carried her as if she were a child. Lillian clung to him, face buried against him. Again silent tears fell. She pressed herself against him needing the feel to remind her that she was safe. Vance smelt of gunpowder, horse and blood yet none of that bothered her.

When he inquired about her room only then did Lillian lift her head from against his chest. He had taken her into the house and upstairs. A gesture directed him to her room. Social manners said she should not have a man in her room but Lillian wasn’t even thinking about manners or decency at the moment. Fear was still her most powerful emotion at the moment though it was receding with Vance’s close presence.

In her room, the door once more closed, Vance set her down. He immediately turned and for a moment Lillian feared he was leaving.

As she opened her mouth to beg him to stay, that she was scared, Vance stated he wouldn’t leave her.

It took a moment for her to register what he had said. Relief washed over her. Lillian removed Vance’s coat, laying it on her bed. She moved to the other side of her room and began to change. Her nightgown was cast aside. She would have it burned in the morning. A new nightgown was pulled over her head, the ribbon secured under her bust. Lillian pulled on her dressing gown over top. She tied the ribbon and secured the garment over top.

A brush was quickly run through her hair making her wince a little as it passed over the back of her head. The man had pulled quite hard on hair. In the mirror she could see the fading redness on her cheek but her eyes were still red from crying.

The material of her nightgown and robe swished about her bare feet as she approached the bed to pick up Vance’s coat.
A hand rested on the back of his upper arm, a gesture to tell him it was safe to turn around. He really shouldn’t see her like this but not that long ago she had been far more exposed to him and the strangers who sought to use her body.

Lillian waited for him to turn around before speaking. Her eyes met his. “You do not need my forgiveness. If you had not come when you did he - they - “ A trembling hand held his coat out to him.

She didn’t wait for him to take the coat. Lillian dropped it as she moved forward. Her arms moved under his and she hugged him tightly. Once more her face was pressed against his chest. “I will never be able to repay you for saving me. My thanks is not enough.”

Lillian felt his arms move around her. Once more his touch pushed her fear away.

Her hands moved down a little, her elbow brushing the slowly drying stain on his shirt. “Your wound. We should dress it.”

In any other circumstance all of this would be unseemly for a woman of her standing. She did not have men in her room, did not allow them to see her in her night time garments and certainly did not hug or touch them. But this was not Boston, this was not a normal night and he, not a normal man. He had saved her from a brutal attack. He had killed numerous men who had meant to rob the house and hurt any they found.

She moved a little out of his arms in an effort to inspect the injury.

(OOC: The pic below is out of context. It is simply meant to demonstrate what is mentioned in the text preceding it.)


Vance felt Lillian's hand upon his arm, and after a half glance to ensure that the touch meant what she intended, he turned to face her. She was now better concealed with the double layers of a nightgown and a robe, yet Vance still ensured that his gaze did not fall below her own face.

"You do not need my forgiveness. If you had not come when you did he - they--"

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Suddenly, she was against him, her arms wrapped around his torso.

“I will never be able to repay you for saving me. My thanks is not enough.”

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Vance hesitated before returning the embrace, knowing that if one of her male family members was to enter at this moment, it might be he who was laying on the ground with a bullet in his chest. The thought shouldn't have been born within his skull, but Vance found himself enjoying the feel of Lillian's body against his. Too much, actually. Down south of his gun belt, Vance's enjoyment began to prove itself with the swelling of his cock. Inconspicuously, he ever so slowly pulled his lower body back just enough to ensure that his groin wasn't in contact with her.

Lillian's hands shifting upon him, and she pulled back to look at the dark stain on his shirt.

“Your wound. We should dress it.”

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"It's nothing," he tried to again convince her. "I'm fine. I'm more concerned about you, Lillian."

But as she pulled back to look closer at the injury, Vance knew that fighting Lillian on this was hopeless. He fingered the bloody hole in his shirt, smoothing some of the thick red liquid over the healing wound to make it look worse than it was. Opening the hole with his finger tips, his belly did look pretty bad. But it was all appearances.

"Maybe a pitcher of water and a rag?" he requested with a soft voice. He began unbuttoning his shirt, hesitating to laugh about the thought he'd already had, "If Benjamin were here to see this."

As Lillian retrieved the necessities for dealing with his wound, Vance finished unbuttoning and opening his shirt and adding, "Maybe a needle and thread. Have you ever sewn up a wound?"

As he listened to Lillian's answer, Vance glanced over his shoulder at Lillian to ensure she was busy. Quickly and quietly, he pulled from its sheath the knife he'd retrieved after the shootout, pressed it against his body directly over the bullet wound -- which by now was little more than a red swollen ring of flesh -- and slashed it across an inch of his belly. Instantly, the flesh opened and began spilling blood yet again. He sheathed the knife again, just in time as Lillian came around him to tend to his wound.

She had an expression in her face as she caught sight of his bared torso. He was a very fit man, well toned, but he was also decorated with an abundance of scars. Vance had always found it ironic that while his body was almost magical in its ability to heal itself from injury, each of the dozens of serious wounds he'd suffered through the centuries had still left a scar. Across his belly and chest was the scar evidence of three sword, four knife, two spear, four gun shot, and even one scythe attack.