This fanfiction is
intended for mature readers due to the vivid depiction of a consensual adult
relationship. The setting is First
Season, post-The Preacher. None of the 19th Century practical
living skills described in this chapter should be relied on as even vaguely
accurate.
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Doc shuffled over to Kitty’s bedroom door and cracked it,
peeping carefully inside, almost afraid of what he might find. He might’ve known. Instead of spending the night in the spare
bedroom with him, Matt had fallen asleep atop the covers on the bed next to
Kitty, boots and all, one long arm flung protectively across her middle. Oh well.
Matt sorely needed the rest after sleeping in a chair for three nights
straight. Doc himself sure had slept
better with the bed to himself instead of having to share it with an overgrown
boy scout. He shuddered to think of how
uncomfortable it would have been with the both of them sleeping together. Shaking his head, he tried not to smile too
hard as he quietly closed the door behind him and puttered off to the kitchen
to make a pot of coffee.
Thirty minutes later Matt lumbered into the room, fragrant
with the aroma of fresh brew, his beard scruffy, clothes disheveled, and hair
in a state of utter disarray. Doc paused
mid-sip of his coffee at the sight. He started
to make a pointed comment, but just then Matt gave an enormous yawn, stretching
his large frame impressively and then aimlessly scratching his belly. Doc completely forgot what he was going to
say, so he just shook his head and instead asked, “Care to join me?”
“Don’t mind if I do, Doc.”
In the cupboard, Matt located two kinds of cups: fragile,
china cups with dainty pink flowers and handles that wouldn’t fit his thick
fingers, and heavy-duty, blue and white speckled enamel mugs that fit his grip
just right. Matt rubbed his sleepy eyes
and opted for the second choice. Pouring himself a big, steaming cup, he sprawled
in a chair opposite his friend, legs stretched out in front of him. He took a loud sip and aah-ed in
approval.
“Now that’s a good cup of coffee. Doc, you need to teach Chester how to brew a
decent pot.”
“That’s one job I don’t think I’m ready to take on.”
“You may be right, Doc.”
Matt took another drink from his cup and poked half of his dangling
shirttail back into his pants.
“You, uh…” Doc swiped at his mustache. “You sleep good last night, did ya’?”
Matt mumbled something unintelligible and slurped his coffee
noisily.
Doc prodded, “You say somethin’?”
Matt said crossly, “I said I slept just fine, Doc.”
“Mm-hmm…”
Irritably, Matt asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What do you mean ‘what’s that supposed to mean?’” Doc squinted one eye at him. “You feelin’ guilty?”
“What’s that
supposed to mean?” Matt grumbled.
“Oh, let’s not start that again, young feller. I just want to know what your intentions
are.”
“Intentions?”
“Yes.
Intentions. Are they honorable?”
Matt’s face began to turn red and he jumped up to pour
himself another cup of coffee even though he hadn’t yet finished his first. “I don’t wanna talk about it, Doc. It’s way too early to be talking about
this.” He plopped down hard in his
chair. “In more ways than one.”
Doc gave him a piercing look. “I’m just lookin’ out for that little gal in
the other room. I know you care for her,
but so do I.” Doc tugged at his ear. “I don’t want her hurt, Matt. She’s got an awful big heart.”
“I know she does, Doc.”
Matt scrubbed a hand over his stubbly cheeks. “But I’d never hurt her.”
Doc nodded his head firmly.
“Just so we understand each other.”
“We do, Doc… We do.”
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Rinsing his straight razor in a wash pan full of water, Matt
jutted his chin forward to scrape the last of his several days’ beard growth
from his skin. He was shaving out in the
yard to avoid making a mess in the house, stripped to the waist, squinting into
a small hand mirror he had propped up on the fence post close to the water pump
in the back yard.
Kitty was still asleep.
He smiled when he thought how pleased she’d be when she woke to find his
scratchy beard gone. She’d told him before she fell asleep last
night that she preferred his face as smooth as a baby’s bottom. He rubbed his cheek appraisingly and
nodded. Yep. That’d do.
Just then, Matt heard a ruckus coming from the hen house a
little ways from the house. He idly
wondered what had frightened them as he wiped away stray shaving soap from his
face with a towel. Then it happened
again. Chickens didn’t usually kick up such
a fuss unless something was pestering them.
He couldn’t see anything amiss.
Maybe it was an old fox in the henhouse.
He grabbed his gun belt from the fencepost, fastening it quickly around
his waist, and cautiously headed for the door on the opposite side of the
building. Then he heard it: a voice speaking softly inside. He froze and drew his gun before rounding the
corner.
“Hold it right there,” Matt ordered.
An old man wearing an ancient blue plaid shirt and overalls slowly
held out his hands and gave a half-toothless grin. “Don’t shoot, son. I ain’t a’gonna hurt ya’.”
“Who are you?”
“I work here. For Mr.
Pierce. Name’s Isom Dewey.”
Matt’s eyebrows beetled as he placed his gun back in its
holster. “Work for him? Mister, he died three weeks ago.”
“Yeah, that’s true.
But, Mr. Pierce, he paid me enough money to keep the place up after he
died. He knew he was sick and it was his
time.” The old man gingerly placed an
egg he was holding into his double egg basket and added. “I guess you could say I work for Miss
Russell now.” He smiled his nearly toothless
smile again.
Matt scratched his head and asked curiously, “How do you
know about her?”
“Oh, Mr. Pierce, he done tole me ‘bout meetin’ her in Dodge
here while back. She was his only kin,
he said. Gonna’ leave the place to
her. He tole me I was gonna’ keep it up for
him, leastways till she took it over. I
guess she’ll decide what happens t’ me after that.” Isom Dewey began shuffling toward the door of
the henhouse. “Young fella’, who might
you be?”
Matt chuffed a laugh and said, “Sorry… Matt
Dillon. I’m a U.S. Marshal from
Dodge.”
Dewey’s eyes widened and he pulled up short.
“Oh, I’m not really here on official business, Mr. Dewey. I’m a friend of Miss Russell’s and I’m
escorting her on this trip. Turns out
it’s a good thing I came, too.”
Peering across the yard, Isom Dewey clapped a hand on his
leg and called, “C’mere, Big Sam!” A big
yellow Labrador retriever came loping from around one of the barns. “Good boy…
This here’s Mr. Pierce’s dog. I
been takin’ care of him since Mr. Pierce passed. I guess Big Sam is Miss Russell’s dog now,
too.” The old man leaned over and
affectionately rubbed the top of the dog’s head. The lab’s face was white and his walk a
little stiff. Matt could tell he was
starting to get on in years.
“Good ol’
Sam. I knowed him since he was a pup,
when Mr. Pierce first got ‘im.”
Matt questioned, “You’ve worked here a long time then, Mr.
Dewey?”
“Oh, call me Isom. Yeah,
a long time indeed. Mr. Pierce was a
good man, a kind man. I always enjoyed
workin’ for ‘im.” They started heading
back toward the house. “How is Miss
Russell a’doin’? She feelin’ better?”
Matt’s surprise must’ve registered in his face.
Isom laughed good-naturedly and explained, “Mr. Hepley tole
me ya’ll was comin’ here to stay for a while.
He said Miss Russell was sick.
You all done had a passel o’ bad luck, I hear.”
“You can say that again, Mr. Dewey…I mean, Isom. We sure have. I guess you could say we got nowhere to go but
up!”
They’d arrived back at the water pump where Matt had draped
his shirt. He shrugged it back on and
answered Isom. “She’s gonna be
fine. That’s what Doc says. Doc Adams is our friend from Dodge, too. He came to take care of Miss Russell when she
got sick.” He finished buttoning and
asked, “You think we could cook one of those chickens to eat today? I think some chicken broth may be just what
the doctor ordered.”
Isom quickly nodded.
“I’ll get right on it, sir. I’ll
pluck it and bring it to the house.
Here’s a basket o’ eggs for you, too.
It was nice meetin’ you, Mr. Dillon.
I’ll see ya’ later?”
Matt held out a hand for him to shake and nodded in
return. “Same here, Isom. I sure appreciate your help.”
Isom turned and shambled back toward the henhouse. “Come on, Big Sam!” he called. “Let’s go get us a chicken for Miss Russell.”
tbc
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