Set Fire to the Rain 2, Ch. 3 "Respite"

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.  The locations/events in this fanfiction bear absolutely no resemblance to actual Kansas geographical features or post-flood safety procedures.

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Kitty attempted to take a deep breath and was rewarded with a hacking cough that felt like it started down in her toes.  Matt patted her on the back comfortingly, but she was in no state to be comforted.  Every inch of clothing and skin was caked with sticky, filthy, clinging, rapidly drying mud.  She had mud in nooks and crannies she didn’t even want to think about.  She wearily stood and on tugged on Matt’s arm. 

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“We can’t go anywhere until we get cleaned up a little bit,” she answered tiredly.

“I don’t know about this, Kitty…”

“Let’s go upriver, over there where the bank’s not washed out,” she pleaded.  “I can’t stand this on me another minute.”

He grimaced as he sat up, holding his side where Sam Keeler had pummeled his liver.

“Oh, Matt,” Kitty sighed.  “Are you hurting again?”

“Just a little,” he winced as he adjusted his position.  “I’m okay, Kitty.”

“I’m so sorry, Matt.  We’ll take it easy.  Let me help you up…”

She supported his big frame as best she could as he slowly and stiffly rose.  Together they tottered upstream where the bank looked stable.  Picking their way carefully into the relatively shallow water, they waded in, shoulder deep.  Kitty immediately ducked her head under water and scrubbed the offending mud from her face and neck.  She dipped her head backwards into the river and began rinsing her long braid, sighing appreciatively.  She noticed Matt simply watching her and urged, “Come on, Marshal, if we’re ever gonna’ make it to Cimarron, you better get crackin’…”  He grinned back at her and began scouring the mud from his face and ears.  Kitty waded closer and urged, “Lean back, Cowboy.”  She ran her fingers through his thick curls, matted with dirt, combing his dark locks through the water until they shone in the sun once more. 

Then she began unbuttoning his shirt, slowly peeling the filthy garment from his wide shoulders and rinsing it in the river water until it was as clean as possible, then pitching it with a wet thump to the grassy bank.  Matt did the same with her dress.  They worked together to unbutton and wrench the mud-coated garment over her head, swishing it through the gentle current until it was relatively clean.  It joined Matt’s shirt on the riverbank.  Next he stripped the thin shift over her uplifted arms.  She sighed because the delicate fabric would never be the same again, stained beyond repair.  Her corset and pantaloons followed, rinsed and pitched safely to the pile of abandoned clothing. 

“Let me help,” Matt murmured as she struggled to unravel her long braid.  She turned around and let him untangle her hair, running his fingers though it as she leaned her head back, fanning the red tresses out in the water, gently combing until it was clean and shining. 

Her hands found the buttons of his pants and worked gently, for fear she would hurt his bruised side further.  He stripped his britches off along with his old union suit and sent them sailing to the riverbank.  Then she gave a tiny, tired smile as she wiped away a smudge on his cheek, her wet hands sliding down his neck, dipping back into the water to rinse his sturdy chest and shoulders.  He felt her hands slipping below the water to slick over his back and stomach and finally settle over his injured right side.  She held her hand there, her touch as gentle as the flutter of a butterfly’s wings, and looked up into his thick-lashed blue eyes.  She tilted her head back in a sweet invitation and he met her halfway, her lips softly brushing his.  Then she laid her head against his chest and settled her body against his in the cool, cleansing water.  His hands stroked her shoulders, her back and arms, washing away the remnants of their traumatic day, until he finally felt her shuddering with cold. 

“Come on, honey, let’s get outta here.  Your lips are turning blue.”  He held her hand as they made their way across the slippery bottom and onto the grassy bank, where they spread their clothes out to dry.  Then they lay down side by side to dry their skin in the warm sunshine.  Another cough wracked Kitty’s lungs, and Matt drew her to him, stroking her bare back until they both fell asleep, thankful to be alive and that they still had each other.

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She stirred in her sleep and opened drowsy eyes just a crack.  Matt was dressing, slowly pulling his union suit over the large pale greenish-yellow bruise on his side.  “I’m going to clean up Buck, Kitty.  You need to rest.  Go back to sleep.”  She covered her mouth as she coughed, and then her eyes drifted closed once more as the spring sunshine radiated warmth over her exhausted body.

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Pale gray eyes spied what looked like a mermaid who’d come up from the depths of the Arkansas River onto its banks.  Long red hair fanned out, shining like fire in the sunlight.  Creamy white skin turning pink, exposed out here on the Kansas prairie like that.  She was sound asleep and hadn’t heard him approach.  Dempsey McCray felt his body start to respond to the sight of such a beauty as he stood there watching her, wondering where his partner had gotten to.  He needed to catch up pretty quick—he wouldn’t believe this. 

“Hold it right there,” he heard a deep voice growl from behind him, and a rifle hammer cocked directly behind his back. 

tbc

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