Set Fire to the Rain, Ch. 14 "Decisions"

This fic is intended for mature readers due to the vivid depiction of a consensual adult relationship.  The setting is First Season, post-“The Preacher”, screenplay by John Dunkel, story by John Meston, original airdate June 16, 1956. This fanfiction was written with absolutely no regard whatsoever to actual Kansas topography, geography or meteorological activity, equine expertise, proper medical treatment, dream states or pioneer homemaking skills.

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Happily, Matt had slept like a log for the remainder of the morning while Kitty prepared their rabbit stew over the fire, using vegetables from Rosemary Wills’ pantry. Her heart ached for this woman whose house she now inhabited. She pondered Rosemary’s hopes and dreams for the future, fatally dashed by a lethal fever. It made her speculate once more about her uncle’s ranch and what the value would be now that it had been ravaged by the flood. She anxiously wondered if her own hopes and dreams would be dashed as well. Her eyes lingered for the hundredth time on the handsome man who lay in the bed, slumbering soundly.

The stew was done, but she let Matt be, mentally willing his battered body to repair itself with blissful, healing sleep. Her heart swelled in her chest as she gazed affectionately at his face in repose, so like a little boy’s, innocent and free from strain. She resisted the overwhelming urge to kiss his forehead, now thankfully dry and cool. Instead, she settled with a sigh into the old rocker by the fire and was soon herself fast asleep.

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She startled awake with the sound of the door closing and turned to see Matt in his grimy union suit, just returned from a necessary visit out back. “Matt, why didn’t you wake me? You shouldn’t have gone by yourself.”

“You looked so peaceful, Kitty. I didn’t want to disturb you. Besides, my head’s feeling much better now. I think I can manage the outhouse by myself,” he said with a sheepish look her way.

She stood before him, arms crossed, nose wrinkling. “Matt, take that nasty thing off and let me wash it. It is filthy enough that it could probably stand by itself and take off walking.”

“Aw, Kitty…” he began, but then at the stern look on her face, he quickly changed his tune. “Okay…” he grudgingly relented.

She politely turned while he stripped off the soiled garment and slipped modestly beneath the covers once more. She circled back around to find him holding it out to her from the bed. “Thank you, Marshal. I will take care of this as soon as you’ve eaten.”

“Food smells good, Kitty. I’m actually feeling a little hungry.”

“Good!” She sat beside him on the bed with a plateful of stew, thinking that he could probably feed himself, but she so enjoyed this intimate time with him that she was reluctant to part with it. “Open wide,” she smiled.

“Mmm…” was his only response as he chewed.

She grinned happily. “You like it?”

“You are a mighty good cook, Miss Russell,” he said with a mouthful of rabbit, his blue eyes sparkling.

A bit of gravy dripped on his chest, and she carefully wiped it with a cloth napkin, then spread the cloth tenderly over his bare chest. “More?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he enthused. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No, I was waiting for you…”

He took the fork from her fingers, scooped up a bite of potato, and held it expectantly to her lips. She gazed at him, then took it in her mouth slowly. “Mmm…” she said with a hint of surprise. “It is good.”

“I told you…”

She smiled as she chewed thoughtfully. “Yes, you did. I guess I should listen to you more often.”

He barked out a laugh, and they ate the rest of the stew companionably until it was all gone. She sighed as she wiped clean his lips and her own with the napkin. “I guess I’ll go wash your clothes now. You stay right here.”

“Kitty, I wouldn’t be able to get very far in this state,” he said with a raised brow and an embarrassed glance downwards.

“No, you’re pretty much my prisoner right now, Marshal, and don’t you forget it,” she smiled coyly, heading outside to the well with the offending dirty clothing in hand.

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Matt woke to a darkened room, the only sound a whispered oath from his dainty red-headed companion, seated quietly before the fire attempting to comb the stubborn tangles from her snarled hair. His mouth ran dry at the sight of her figure in the gauzy white shift, backlit by the blazing fire. “Come ‘ere, Kitty.” He stiffly sat up in bed and beckoned to her, “Let me help you.”

Starting at his voice, she hesitated for several moments as she contemplated his serious expression, then rose and walked towards him as he patted the bed beside him, his covers slipping to his narrow waist. He took the brush insistently from her hand and smoothed it over the tousled mass of her neglected tresses, eliciting soft, involuntary sounds of pleasure from her parted lips until her hair gleamed in the firelight. He stroked a hand admiringly over his handiwork before laying the brush on the nightstand. Then he slid across the bed, holding the covers aloft expectantly. Kitty swallowed hard and slipped underneath with him, lying on the warm spot he’d just abandoned, her head resting on her elbow as she gazed curiously at his long-lashed, sweet blue eyes.

He took her hand in his and inhaled deeply. “Kitty, I’ve always liked you. A lot.”

Her eyes widened at his admission. “I like you too, Matt.” She looked down, tracing invisible patterns with her finger on the sheet. “A lot.”

He reached out and placed a finger under her chin. “You don’t understand, honey. I mean, I really care about you. I worry about you. It’s not safe, what you do…” He blew out a frustrated breath at his inability to express what he was feeling.

“Matt, you’ve been such a good friend to me. I’ve always thought I might like it, us, to go further…” She glanced away shamefacedly. “But I didn’t think you’d want me.”

“Wouldn’t want you? You are the most beautiful...” He struggled for words, his brow wrinkling in consternation. “…smart, kind… How could I not want you?”

“Because you’re a U.S. Marshal…” she choked out. “And I’m a saloon girl.”

“Kitty, I don’t care what people think. I don’t care that you’re a saloon girl, serving drinks to customers, but…” he left off, not sure of what to say for fear of hurting her. “I don’t want you doing the same sort of work when we get back to Dodge.”

Her face flushed pink at his implication, and she answered under her breath, “I don’t want to do that anymore either, Matt. I hate that part of my life.” Her voice broke and her eyes filled with hot tears. “I just can’t do that anymore…”

“You don’t need that extra money, Kitty. We can repair the damage to your uncle’s ranch. It’s only a day’s ride. I can work on it. Chester will help, too. I know he will.” He brushed away an errant tear that had rolled down her cheek. “You can still sell it, and it might take you longer to raise the rest of the cash…”

She gripped his hand tighter.

His eyes were pleading. “But no more business upstairs, Kitty. No more, you hear me? I…I care about you too much.” His next words rushed out while he still had the courage, “I love you, Kitty Russell.”

A quick, astonished intake of breath and she kissed him soundly on his full lips, wrapping her small body gratefully around his bare form, holding him warmly, closely, sweetly, desperately…hungrily.

“You love me?” Astonishment swallowed her features in the dim room.

“Of course I do. How could you not know that?”

“Why, Matt Dillon, you’ve never even tried to kiss me.”

“Can I kiss you now?”

“I want you to kiss me now, Matt. I want you to kiss me until I can’t breathe. I want you to make love to me.”

“I’ll make love to you, Kitty Russell. Come ‘ere…”

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Exquisitely smooth, naked skin on sweaty, tangled sheets. Soft, sensual cries of wonder and longing and deferred passion unleashed. Greedy lips and insatiable mouths breathless with rapture—laving and suckling and tasting ripe flesh. Hands ravenous for the feel of the other beneath fingertips, embracing, clutching, exploring. Legs covetously encircling, velvety softness urgently impaling silky hard length, earthy exclamations of devotion and delight. Bewitching, impassioned thrusts in the flickering firelight, succulent breasts heaving, flaming hair tumbling seductively. Sweet, blessed, overwhelming passionate release, satisfying a void too long hollow. Fierce aching, yearning, needing—at long last fulfilled. Two lovers, entwined, exhausted…tenderly joined in heart and flesh forevermore…

End

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Set Fire to the Rain, Ch. 13 "Nightmare"

Dying embers in the darkness.  Quiet whimpers in the night, then tormented cries.  Thrashing, moaning…  He worriedly shakes her shoulder.


“Kitty, wake up!  You’re dreaming…”


Gasping for air, eyes wide with fright.  Confusion when she stares back at him.  Then a burst of anguished tears.  Strong arms swallow and soothe her, rubbing her shuddering back through the thin shift, stroking her tangled hair, letting her weep. Liquid eyes sorrowful, blue gaze intense.


“I’ve never killed anybody before.”

“It’s hard, honey, I know.”


“I ended that man’s life.  He’s dead because of me.”


“I’d be dead if you hadn’t.”


A distressed intake of breath.


“Come ‘ere, Kitty.”


Arms and bodies protectively entwine on the soft bed.  Quiet, heart-rending tears linger long into the night.

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Kitty woke to an empty bed.  Matt was gone.  She jumped up and hurried to the outhouse.  No Matt.  Wrapping her arms around her body, covered only by the thin, cotton shift in the chilly spring morning, she raked her hair out of her eyes and scanned the surrounding area.  Where on earth could he be?

A shot rang out nearby, and her heart caught painfully in her throat.  Then she saw him, walking a little unsteadily toward her out of the trees, an old rifle slung over one shoulder and a bloody rabbit clutched in his hand.  Letting out a relieved sigh, she put her hands on her hips and declared crossly, “Matt Dillon, where were you?  You scared me half to death!”

He gave a cheeky grin and explained, “I had to check on Buck.  Had to fix up his leg.  He’s the only way we have out of here.”  He squinted at her in the bright morning sunlight, and she felt badly that his head must still be pounding.  "He, uh, had a rock from the river hung in his hoof.  I dug it out--he has a bad bruise but should be okay in a few days."

“Hopefully, you’ll be feeling much better by then as well,” she said with a small smile, suddenly shy, remembering Matt’s comforting arms in the dead of night, his whispered words of reassurance.  She’d fallen asleep cocooned in his embrace, his fingers caressing her damp cheeks.

He proudly offered her the rabbit, and she took it gingerly between two fingers, a disconcerted look on her face.  “Why, thank you, Matt…but, um, I’ve never skinned a rabbit before, or anything else for that matter.”  Her nose wrinkled and she bit her lip.

“I shot it…” he conceded.  “So I can skin it and cook it, too.”

“You skin it for me, Cowboy, and I can manage the rest.”  Her eyes danced with amusement as she   gratefully handed the limp animal back.  “You need to eat something a little more substantial.”  She shaded her eyes with one hand and looked into the distance.  “Matt, look there!  I think someone’s coming on a horse.”

He glanced to where she gestured.  “Yeah, I think you’re right.”  Then he looked pointedly at her, his gaze appreciatively taking in her appearance.  “Uh, little lady, you might wanna go get dressed first, before, uh…”

Her eyes darted down and she saw that in the bright light of day her shift was nearly transparent.  “Oh!” she blushingly exclaimed, swatting Matt on the arm and skedaddling back into the house.
Matt happily laughed out loud, holding his poor bruised side, then shook his head as he turned to watch the horse and rider approaching the homestead.

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“Harlan Nesbit, ma’am…”  Mr. Nesbit doffed his hat at Kitty and Matt from atop his horse.  “Just riding through Gray County, checkin’ on my neighbors since the big storm.  See if anybody needs help.”

“Well, thank you kindly, Mr. Nesbit, but we don’t really live here.”  Kitty had hurriedly donned the green dress and rushed breathlessly back outside barefoot, but she hoped that the traveler wouldn’t be able to tell.  She didn’t want to miss a word of what he had to say.  She explained, “We were just passing through and found this empty homestead to use as a shelter from the storm.”

“Yeah, this is Coy and Rosemary Wills’ old place, but I saw smoke comin’ out the chimney.  Thought I’d stop by.  Where are you two headed?”

Matt answered, “Up past Cimarron.  A little ranch formerly owned by Kitty’s uncle, Solomon Pierce.  She’s inherited the place.”

“Oh, yes, I know Mr. Pierce well.  A gentleman, he was.”  He bowed his head to Kitty.  “My sympathies, Mrs….?

Matt spoke up quickly, “Dillon.”

Kitty’s eyes widened nearly imperceptibly, but she didn’t say a word.

“My sympathies, Mrs. Dillon.  Your uncle was a good soul, and so was his wife.”

Kitty got a lump in her throat again at the thought of the family she’d never known, would never have a chance to know.  She cleared her throat.  “Thank you, Mr. Nesbit.”

“And I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.  The Pierce ranch suffered some flood damage.  Barns and fences...that kind of thing.  But nothing that can’t be replaced,” he hastily reassured her.

Kitty’s heart sank down to her toes.  A sizeable chunk of the money she would need to purchase half-interest in the Long Branch from Bill Pence had just slipped through her fingers.  “Thank you for telling me, Mr. Nesbit,” she replied, trying not to sound dejected.  But disappointment welled up inside her.  What would she do to raise the remainder of the cash?  She shuddered to think of returning to the Long Branch and being forced to continue in her present position, entertaining men in her room nightly.  The thought turned her stomach.  Her disheartened gaze met Matt’s, but he squeezed her arm reassuringly.

Matt spoke up, “You wouldn’t be heading in the direction of Dodge City, now, would you?”

“No, Mr. Dillon, I’m afraid not.  I’ve only got a couple more homesteads to check out, and then I’m headed back to my own place.”

“That’s alright, Nesbit.  We should be ready to head out again in the next few days.”

“Good luck to you, Mr. and Mrs. Dillon.  Until we meet again…”

The man wheeled his horse and headed across the prairie.  Kitty’s shoulders sagged at the thought of the lost income from the flood-damaged ranch while Matt patted her back comfortingly.  He murmured softly to her, “We’ll figure it out.”  She slipped her fingers into his hand and squeezed tightly.

Then Kitty spoke with more assurance than she felt, “Matt, you go skin that rabbit quick so you can get back into bed.  You look terrible.  I’ll go start making us a rabbit stew.”

tbc

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Set Fire to the Rain, Ch. 12 "Clean"

This fic is intended for mature readers due to the vivid depiction of a consensual adult relationship.  The setting is First Season, post-“The Preacher”, screenplay by John Dunkel, story by John Meston, original airdate June 16, 1956. This fanfiction was written with absolutely no regard whatsoever to actual Kansas topography, geography or meteorological activity, equine expertise, proper medical treatment or pioneer homemaking skills


Kitty returned from the barn, where she’d fed and watered Buck and, failing to locate a curry comb, wiped his filthy coat down as best she could with clean straw.  She’d led him around the barn a little, but her heart dropped when she saw how he was still limping.  She wouldn’t be riding Matt’s buckskin for help anytime soon.

Wearily dropping into her rocking chair once more, she gazed at Matt sleeping soundly in the bed, remembering what Doc always said about plenty of rest being the best medicine.  She certainly hoped so.  She didn’t remember Matt ever being down for the count for this long, except when he was gunshot.  Maybe his poor body would heal itself if she could keep him in bed long enough.

Her stomach noisily reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since morning, and despite Matt’s protests to the contrary, he needed to eat at least a little something to keep his strength up.  She found a jar of green beans and another of delicate new potatoes and dumped them together in an iron pot with some salt, wishing she had a little pork to season it with.  No matter.  She was so hungry she’d eat shoe leather at this point.  Not for the first time, she said a little heartfelt prayer of thanks for the poor folks who’d called this small cabin home and had left behind their rich bounty of provisions.

A tiny mirror was hung on the wall with a blue ribbon over the small, carved bureau, the one possession of the late couple that looked like it might have been an expensive purchase.  Kitty looked at her reflection in the wavy glass with dismay.  Hair snarled, face smudged, clothes filthy.  She felt dirty and smelly, but maybe after she fed Matt, she’d have time at last to do something about it.  She couldn’t abide being this grimy anymore, shuddering at the thought of what had been washed downstream with the floodwater that she and Matt had marinated in for hours.  She could’ve sworn she saw an outhouse floating by at one point that black night.

Carefully, she opened one of the drawers with a protesting squeak, hoping to find some serviceable, clean clothing she could wear after her bath.  There wasn’t much--a man’s faded shirt and frayed pants, an extra blanket, threadbare handkerchiefs, a dainty crocheted doily.  But her heart leapt happily when in the bottom drawer she found some soft, cotton ladies’ pantaloons and a thin shift edged with a delicate row of tiny, white ruffles.   And folded painstakingly next to them was a simple pale green cotton dress with a square neckline and a pristine white cotton apron that’d been starched and ironed.  Kitty sighed in appreciation.  Perfect.  They looked like they might be a little big on her, but they were clean.  She tenderly removed the clothing from the drawer, gently unfolding them and laying them over the rocker to air a bit while they ate supper.

She sat on the bed next to Matt with a big, steaming plateful of green beans and new potatoes and a hot cup of coffee.  Setting the food on the nightstand, she spread a cloth napkin on Matt’s chest.  Kitty noticed a light sheen of sweat on his forehead and cheeks and worriedly placed a hand on his face to check for fever.

“You’re warm, Matt.”

His eyes opened a crack.  “Well, if I weren’t, I’d be dead.”

She pursed her lips at him.  “That’s not funny.”

For the first time in a long time, he gave her a crooked smile that almost, but not quite, reached his eyes.  She threaded her fingers through his thick, unruly hair, brushing it off his face.  “You need to eat.”

“Not very hungry,” he said.

“I didn’t ask you if you were hungry.  I just said you needed to eat.”  She popped a bite into her own  mouth.  “It’s not half bad, considering what I had to work with.  Here…”

Obligingly, he opened his mouth and chewed quietly.  “You’re a pretty good cook, Kitty.”

“You’d be surprised at what I can do, Matt Dillon.”

“Oh, yeah?”  He gave her another charming lopsided grin and took a big bite from her fork.

“Here, have some coffee.  It’s a little old, but it still tastes okay.  Better than Chester’s.”

“Anything is better than Chester’s,” he chuckled quietly as he took a deep draw from the mug and offered it to her.  She sipped it and placed it back on the nightstand.

“I thought you’d say that,” Kitty laughed.  “I know your stomach hurts, Matt, but just a few more bites.  Please…”

He couldn’t resist that charming pout.  Just the tiniest frown on her lips and he relented, taking another chunk of potato in his mouth.  Together they cleaned the plate before she helped him lie back comfortably once more, relieving the painful pressure on his bruised innards.  “Matt, I’m going out for some water.”  It was growing dark out, and she entreated him, “You just rest, alright?  This fever worries me.”

“I’ll be okay, Kitty,” he yawned.  “I’ve got you taking care of me.”
Her heart fluttered in her chest with his sweet words, and she gave him an appreciative smile as she went outside with the empty water bucket.

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Red-orange firelight flickering on white, supple curves, wet and glistening. Quiet splashing in an enamel wash pan, delicate hands wringing out a threadbare cloth, slowly stroking over graceful arms and softly rounded belly, voluptuous bare breasts, long, supple, shapely legs and full hips.  Low, contented sounds of bliss escape from moist, rose-colored lips, long flaming hair drenched and clinging.  All too soon, her exquisite form is concealed within clean white cotton, shadowy hints of the beauty that lies beneath barely visible through flowing, gossamer fabric.  He still feigns sleep, watching breathlessly through heavy lashes, and sighs soundlessly when she slips under the covers with him, curling up on the far side of the lonely bed.

tbc

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Set Fire to the Rain, Ch. 11 "Recovery"

Heat.  Kitty sighed.  Wonderful, toasty heat.  She’d thought she would never, ever be warm again.  Then her sluggish consciousness suddenly registered the fact that the body heat she was feeling was coming from a very large U.S. Marshal lying completely naked on the bed beside her.  And she was snuggled up equally naked next to him.  Stars above!  Her eyes flew open and she peeped up to make sure Matt was still asleep.  Closed eyes, even breathing—good sign.  Whoa.  The bedclothes covering Matt were quite impressively tented.  Her eyes widened at the sight and she gave a small sigh.  Oh, Marshal Dillon…

She’d just meant to take a short little nap, but evidently they’d both slept through the afternoon and the night.  She reluctantly slipped out from under the warm covers, quick as a wink, and hot-footed it to the hearth to check her clothes.  Sigh.  Still slightly damp, but good enough to wear for now.  She silently placed more wood on the fading embers and thought to herself that maybe she’d dig around later and see if there were any clothes left behind by the poor woman who’d lived here such a short while ago.  She dressed hurriedly in front of the fireplace, glancing over her shoulder from time to time making sure that Matt was still sleeping peacefully.  Her brow wrinkled slightly.  She could swear he had the tiniest of smiles on his face right now.  Hmph.

First things first.  After she’d visited the outhouse around back of the cabin, she carried a water bucket she’d found in the house out to the well.  Tugging on the rope first to make sure it wasn’t rotten, Kitty let the well bucket drop and listened in satisfaction as it splashed when it hit bottom.  The rusted pulley squeaked in protest as she pulled on the rope to haul the bucket up and set it on the edge of the stone well.  Yesterday, tied to a tree in the middle of a flood, she’d never thought she’d want to see a drop of water again.  But suddenly, she realized she was awfully thirsty, and she used the dipper to drink her fill of the cold, fresh clear liquid before she carried it inside the house.

Finding a dented coffeepot and some coffee that she sniffed and deemed usable, she put the pot on the fire to boil.  Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her that she was hungry as a bear.    Kitty diligently searched until she happily found a small store of home-canned vegetables and fruits that still looked good.  Opening a jar, she found a fork and dug right in.  Sweet, tender, delicious peaches.  Juice ran down her chin, and she wiped it carelessly with her sleeve.  She poured steaming coffee into a tin mug and then perched beside Matt on the bed.

“Wake up, Matt,” she said through a mouthful of fruit.

“Mmm…?”

“Matt, you need to eat.  I found food.”  She enthusiastically stuck another bite into her mouth.

“Not hungry,” he grumbled, laying his arm protectively over his eyes to block the sun’s painful rays.  “Stomach hurts…”

“But you’ve got to eat,” she entreated.  “You’ll never feel better if you don’t get some food in you.  Here…”  She offered her fork with a dripping, juicy peach on the end.  Then she raised her eyebrow at him and waited.

Matt grunted and wearily opened his mouth, so she carefully thrust the syrupy fruit between his lips before he could change his mind. He chewed slowly and swallowed while she took another bite.  She managed to get several more bites down him along with some hot coffee before he complained, “Can’t eat any more, Kitty.  Stomach’s cramping.”

She popped the last precious bite from the jar into her mouth and clucked like a mother hen.  “You need to go out back, Matt?  Come on, I’ll walk with you.  I don’t want you passing out in the outhouse.”

“Kitty…” he protested.

“I’m not kidding.  All those blows you took to your head, Matt…  You’re staggering around like a drunk.”  She stood, laying the empty jar and fork aside, then held out her hand.  “Come on, let’s go.”

He just sat and looked at her.

She put her hands on her hips.  “What now?”

“Could you give me my clothes first?”

“Oh!”  She quickly handed him his union suit only and he gave her another look.  She retorted, “Well, there’s not any use in you getting completely dressed when you’re going right back to bed.”

He gave a long-suffering sigh and waited again.  She mumbled, “Sorry” and turned her back while he slipped it on.  Smothering a smile when she turned back round, she gently put her arm round his waist.  Men’s underwear wasn’t the most attractive of garments, she had to admit.  Not by a longshot.  But thankfully Matt managed to get his outhouse business done without incident while Kitty waited within shouting distance.

Safely back in their little cabin, Kitty pulled the bedcovers back and helped him sit down slowly, then surveyed his battered appearance.  “Matt, we’ve got to get you cleaned up.  All those cuts and scrapes…”

“Aw, do we have to?”

“Yes, Matt, I didn’t come all this way through fights and storms and…floods!”  She pressed her lips into a thin line.  “…just to have you die on me from an infected cut.”  She pouted prettily and he blew out a big breath.  He was beaten.  He grimaced and grudgingly allowed her to pull his union suit off his shoulders, down his arms to his waist, and he lay back silently, arm draped over his eyes again, whether from pain or embarrassment, she wasn’t sure.  Then she went to draw more water from the well to heat in the big iron kettle by the fireplace.

He was asleep again by the time she had her washbasin, soap and cloth ready.  She eased down on the edge of the bed and looked him over.  Poor Matt.  Her heart squeezed in her chest at the damage Sam Keeler had done to him.  Soaping her washcloth, she gently cleaned his cuts and abrasions.  She held her breath every time he winced a little as the soap stung his skin.  Rinsing her cloth in the warm water, she washed the rest of his rugged, handsome face and neck, biting her lip whenever he grunted in pain.  She smoothed the threadbare old washcloth over his broad chest and long, muscular arms, then his big calloused hands, holding them a little bit longer than necessary.

When she pulled the bedcovers back further, her stomach lurched as she saw the large, ugly, mottled bruise on his right side, obviously the source of his abdominal pain.  Keeler had really done a number on Matt.  Her faded cloth traced ever so gently over his skin so as not to hurt him any further.  His breathing was so soft and measured, she couldn’t tell if he was asleep or awake.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she grasped the worn bedcovers in trembling hands and pulled them back all the way.  Once again, Matt’s impressive length was obvious beneath his straining underwear.  Her belly burned as she hopefully wondered if she was the cause of that.  She set down her washcloth and worked the thin, worn material of his old union suit down over his narrow hips and lean, well-muscled legs.  The sight of him made her mouth go dry.  She tried to clear her head by taking another deep breath, then took up her washcloth and tended to his needs.  Matt had taken care of her out on the prairie; now it was her turn to take care of him when he needed it.

When he was as sweet-smelling and clean as she could get him, she pulled the covers up over his glistening, naked body.  She leaned over him, caressing his stubbly cheek softly with her fingertips, and hesitated a moment before brushing a feather-light kiss on his forehead.  Then Kitty sat soundlessly in the rocking chair in front of the crackling fireplace and watched Matt Dillon sleep, listening to his soft breathing, wishing she could do something more to help him feel better.

tbc

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Set Fire to the Rain, Ch. 10 "Warmth"

This fic is intended for mature readers due to the vivid depiction of a consensual adult relationship.  The setting is First Season, post-“The Preacher”, screenplay by John Dunkel, story by John Meston, original airdate June 16, 1956. This fanfiction was written with absolutely no regard whatsoever to actual Kansas topography, geography or meteorological activity, equine expertise, proper medical treatment or pioneer homemaking skills.

Warmth.  Matt sighed.  He hadn’t believed he’d ever be warm again.  Rain, flood, hunger, exhaustion, and a good, old-fashioned beating—a surefire recipe for pure misery and a bone-chilling loss of body heat.  He lay very still, head pounding, eye throbbing, gut aching, but, by God, he was warm.

Softness.  His battered consciousness slowly registered something warm and soft and breathing in the bed next to him.  He cracked an eyelid, the one that wasn’t black and blue and nearly swollen shut.  It was nighttime again—he must’ve slept through the afternoon--but by the light of the dying embers of the fire, he could just make out a small form huddled next to him, seeking warmth by nestling against his side.

His lips parted and he drew in a quick, shallow breath at the sight that greeted him.  Wrapped in a worn quilt that had slipped down to her waist, he gazed at her naked back, white skin nearly luminous in the darkness, tangled red hair spilling over bare shoulders .  He fought the strong impulse to reach out and smooth his hand over that lovely, creamy expanse.

Instead, he gingerly captured a wayward curl in his fingers, tenderly raking it out of her face.  Then he pulled the covers slowly over her so as not to wake his sleeping beauty.  His breath caught in his throat as she made a small sound, stirring in her sleep.  But she simply burrowed closer, pressing her sweet, soft, warm breasts to his side, nuzzling her flushed face into his shoulder.  He sighed deeply and wrapped a protective arm around her.  Then he lay very still and quiet, listening to her rhythmic breathing, until exhaustion tugged him once more into peaceful oblivion.

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Set Fire to the Rain, Ch. 9 "Rest"

Grateful tears sprang to Kitty’s eyes as she caught sight of the humble little one-room cabin and barn, a sight for sore eyes indeed. She spied two fairly fresh graves out behind the house, where it seems Chester and Matt had buried the couple who’d lived here together, and then died here together as well. She hoped the house was still empty, so that she and Matt could dry out and get some rest. She was bone-weary and so chilled, she felt like she’d never be warm again. And poor Matt…

Her feet were dragging by the time she led the horse right up to the front door. She pulled the latchstring and entered the musty-smelling interior. Evidently, no one had been here since Chester and Matt buried the couple, because everything had been left behind undisturbed, just as it had been when the man and his wife had lived here. It made the hair on her arms stand on end to think of it, but at the same time she felt very thankful.

Most happily, there was dry wood still piled on the hearth with a tin of matches nearby. Shivering, she immediately piled kindling from a basket into the small fireplace and tried to light a match with shaking hands. It took two or three tries, but finally the well-cured kindling caught fire, and she carefully piled a few more larger sticks on top.

Once she got the fire going, she hurried back outside to help Matt down off his horse. She gently shook his shoulder and he jerked awake, his face a mask of pure misery. “Come on, Matt…” she soothed. “I’ve got a fire going. Let’s get you inside.” He was so weak he practically fell off Buck, sliding into her waiting arms. He leaned heavily on her small frame as she helped him stagger into the house. She steered him toward the one bed in the room, quickly brushing away dust and a few dead insects with her hands.

He started to lower himself onto the edge of the bed, but she quickly stopped him. “Pants,” she ordered.

Even in his groggy, injured state, he looked taken aback.

“Matt Dillon, you are soaking wet and we are going to get these clothes off you before you climb in that dry bed. You’ll catch your death!”

“But, Kitty…”

“No ‘buts’, Cowboy, take off those pants or I’ll do it for you.”

“But…”

“What did I just tell you?” She sighed in pained exasperation, looked to the ceiling and lowered her voice. “You are not the first man I’ve ever seen.” Her cheeks turned pink at the admission, and so did Matt’s.

She began unbuckling his gun belt hurriedly and unfastening his pants until his fumbling hands, trembling with the cold, brushed hers away. She looked up into his eyes and he glanced away quickly while he stripped his wet pants down to his boots. When his awkward fingers were unable to manage the tiny buttons on his shirt, she pushed his hands aside and finished the job, helping him to quickly shuck his vest and shirt.

“Turn around,” he said quietly.

She crossed her arms and did as he asked while he stripped off his boots, pants, and cold, wet union suit, dropping them all in a heap to the floor to join his other sodden clothing. She heard him slide beneath the covers, his heavy sigh evidence that he was situated.

She turned to face him, a look of concern creasing her forehead. “I’ve got to take Buck to the barn, Matt, but I’ll be back in just a few minutes. Maybe I can find us something to eat. Okay?”

Matt grunted in reply, pulling the covers up to his chin and closing his eyes wearily. She’d barely gotten the door open before she detected the soft even breathing of sleep.

Hurriedly, she led Buck to the small barn, where, thankfully, there was still a little hay left behind for him to eat. She removed the makeshift rope halter Matt had made and then uncinched the saddle, hoisting the heavy wet leather atop the stall gate to dry. The saddle blanket followed. She stroked Buck’s neck as he contentedly ate his hay, then closed the barn door and eagerly hurried back to the house.

Kitty could still hear Matt’s soft breathing emanating from the bed, so she stoked the fire and added plenty more wood. Unbuttoning her riding jacket with trembling fingers, she glanced around the room. She spotted a folded quilt on a bureau in the corner, which she shook out and placed by the fire to warm.

Checking to make sure Matt was still asleep, she stood in front of the roaring fire, stripping off her clinging, wet clothing one piece at a time, spreading each out to dry on the hearth. She finally stood naked in front of the fire, drying her waterlogged skin, when she felt someone’s gaze. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Matt’s eyes watching her quietly in the dim cabin, the only illumination the firelight that was warming her smooth skin. She gasped and quickly reached for her quilt, holding it in front of her, as Matt’s eyes slowly but surely drifted closed again and his quiet, even breathing resumed. She let out a breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding, then wrapped her quilt around her body, tiptoeing to the bed. He was sound asleep.

She gathered his wet clothing and spread it before the fire with hers to dry. Her utter exhaustion hit her all at once. Her body ached and her feet felt like they were made of lead. She eyed the bed longingly. Matt would never know if she lay down and took a little nap beside him. He was passed out cold again. What harm would it do? She was so tired, and there was only the one bed. Quiet as a cat, she slipped under the covers on the far side of the bed, tucking her quilt tightly around her, listening to the sound of Matt’s quiet breathing. Kitty was asleep before her exhausted head hit the pillow.

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Set Fire to the Rain, Ch. 8 "Shelter"

Matt dropped to his knees on the saturated prairie earth, clutching his abdomen, where cold-blooded Sam Keeler's fists had pounded his internal organs so ruthlessly. "Can't do it, Kitty," he said breathlessly. "Hurts…bad… Need to rest…a minute."

Kitty's heart sank. She knew Matt must be in excruciating pain to admit that he could go no farther. She crouched down and put her arms around his chest to help him ease down and lie back slowly.

She took a deep breath, frowning thoughtfully, "Matt, I've gotta' go."

"Go?" he asked, eyes closed against the sun, even though the sky was still cloudy. His head pounded and his vision was blurred. Made him nauseous to even open his eyes for very long.

"You know, Matt…" she said abashedly. She emphasized the word, "Go."

"Oh!" he quietly exclaimed, his cheeks blushing pale pink.

"I'll be over in that clump of trees. Um, what about you?" she questioned with her hands on her hips.

"Me?"

"Matt, I know you must have to go, too. Do you think you could manage…" Her voice rose higher. "…without me? While I'm gone?" Her cheeks turned pink as well, and Matt kept his eyes closed against the onslaught of both the painful daylight and the embarrassment of the moment.

"Yeah, Kitty, just help me sit up."

She hauled him to a sitting position again and headed for the privacy of the trees, throwing over her shoulder, "You're sure you'll be alright?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," he muttered, thinking things had gotten pretty bad the day he couldn't take a piss by himself.

Kitty picked her way through the bushes, finding a spot where she could hike her skirts and relieve herself, but she could still keep an eye on Matt in the distance. She'd seen plenty of men in her lifetime, and what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. She hoped he could manage without passing out cold again.

She sighed at the blessed relief of emptying her full bladder at long last and was pulling up her cold, wet pantaloons with some difficulty over wet skin when she heard a noise behind her. Whirling around and dropping her skirts, she laughed when she spied Buck, happily munching on the bush where she'd just peed. He was covered in mud, weeds and slimy river vegetation hanging off his saddle, plus his bridle was completely missing.

"Come `ere, boy," she cooed, inching toward him, her heart in her throat. They would be able to ride him to the nearby homestead so that Matt could get some desperately needed rest. Then she might be able to ride for a doctor. Buck took a tentative few steps toward her, favoring his left front foot. Kitty's heart sank. He'd been injured.

She sighed heavily, but wondered at the same time if Matt might still be able to ride him. The homestead couldn't be too far away at this point, and they could take it slowly, both for the horse's sake and for Matt's.

Kitty drawled soothingly, "Come `ere now, sweet Buck…" and put her hand on the buckskin's forehead, stroking him and whispering nonsense syllables into his ear.

They still possessed the rope they'd used to lash themselves to the tree, but she didn't know how she was going to lead the horse back to Matt to begin with. Cold water trickling uncomfortably down her legs from her soaked skirts reminded her of all the sodden petticoats she was wearing. She hiked her skirts for the second time and unfastened a white cotton petticoat, letting the dripping article of lace-trimmed clothing drop heavily to the ground. She stepped out of it and talked gently to Buck as she wrapped it around his neck, holding the two ends together to use as a collar. Urging him with sweet tones and leading him with his makeshift petticoat halter, she had soon gotten the horse back to Matt's location.

Matt squinted from his supine position and managed to look hopeful.

She smiled, "You manage okay?"

"Yes, Kitty…"

"Looky here what I found in the bushes."

"I see that."

"He's limping a little, Matt, but I think if we walk slow, he can make it. How much farther, do you think?"

"Not even a mile."

She grabbed the length of rope from the ground and thrust it at Matt. "We need a halter."

He slowly and carefully reached for the rope, clutching his side the whole time. His voice was a strained whisper, "I kinda like the lacey one you got there."

"Very funny."

Matt quickly tied a makeshift halter which she slipped over Buck's head, then instructed, "Get on, Cowboy."

She was alarmed that Matt appeared to be getting weaker all the time. She had to help hoist his foot into the stirrup, and it took every ounce of her strength to help boost his heavy body atop the horse. His face was white as a sheet and he was unable to sit up straight.

She took the rope halter in her hand and asked, "Which direction?"

He hissed through his teeth and held his side for a moment before he could raise his finger and point wordlessly to a copse of trees in the near distance.

"We'll take it slow, I promise," she said in a low, soothing voice. "Just hang on for a little bit longer."

Kitty unhurriedly led Buck toward the trees, but the farther they rode, the lower Matt's body drooped over Buck's neck, until his head was lying pillowed on Kitty's damp petticoat. As she shivered with the cold and wet and glanced over her shoulder from time to time at Matt's pain-ravaged face, it frightened Kitty to think of what was going to happen to them if they did not find shelter soon. She didn't even know if Matt was conscious or not at this point.

Just then, they made it around the trees Matt had pointed out to her earlier, and there stood the most beautiful sight she'd beheld in quite a while, a tiny one-room homestead and barn in the middle of the Kansas prairie.

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Set Fire to the Rain, Ch. 7 "Swept Away"

This fic is intended for mature readers due to the vivid depiction of a consensual adult relationship.  The setting is First Season, post-“The Preacher”, screenplay by John Dunkel, story by John Meston, original airdate June 16, 1956. This fanfiction was written with absolutely no regard whatsoever to actual Kansas topography, geography or meteorological activity, not to mention equine expertise.

Matt latched onto Kitty's waist tightly while she clung to the saddle horn and clutched the horse's reins with desperate fingers, frantically trying to steady him.  She could see the whites of the horse's frightened eyes as he tossed his head and whinnied in panic.  Matt hastily reached around her and seized the wet mane with one hand, hoarsely muttering in her ear, "Hold on!"

Matt watched with alarm as the coiled rope floated off their saddle and, gritting his teeth through the stabbing pain, reached out and snatched it from the greedy current, hitching it securely over his arm and onto his shoulder.

Buck battled the aggressive floodwater valiantly despite his double load, struggling to stay afoot in the swirling, eddying torrent that splashed chaotically all around them, overtaking trees and bushes and grassland.  Manmade objects, violently washed downstream, floated desolately past:  fence posts, chicken coops, and rain barrels littered the murky, foaming water along with tree limbs and the pitiful, lifeless bodies of small animals sacrificed to the unexpected deluge.

The encroaching water rose ever higher, and the overwhelmed horse lost its footing and stumbled.  Kitty cried out in alarm as the animal slipped from beneath her.  Her voluminous, water-logged skirts were dragging her down into the depths of the cold, filthy water until she felt a hand snatch the back of her jacket and yank her, retching and coughing, to the surface.  She clung frantically to Matt as they were swept downstream with the debris, their heads going under again and again as they fought to stay afloat against the burdensome, confining clothing that cruelly threatened to pull them to the bottom of the black river.

Abruptly, their swift journey was halted as they smashed into a stationary object with a force that knocked the wind out of Kitty.  She thankfully felt Matt's arms wrap securely around her as she struggled to suck the air back into her screaming lungs.  Dazed and weakened, grateful for his strength and his presence, she laid her head against his chest until breath returned to her body at last.  She raked the streaming hair out of her face and looked up at her rescuer.

She saw Matt, face bloodless and desperate, trying to wrench the coil of rope from where it was slung onto his shoulder.  He held steadfastly to the object that had ceased their movement, a tree trunk, while he fought the current threatening to wash them away again.  Kitty wrapped one arm around the trunk and with the other helped Matt unwind the rope and use it to lash themselves securely to the tree.  Hoping their bindings would hold, they clung together, bodies shaking and exhausted, praying for the strength to hang on.  Matt's head dropped limply onto Kitty's shoulder as he fell mercifully unconscious with the mighty flood raging unrelentingly around them.

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Kitty desperately felt for signs of life in Matt for the hundredth time.  He had remained unconscious, one of her arms wrapped tightly round him, her hand possessively curled around the back of his neck, the other arm hugging the only thing that had kept them from drowning, the stolid tree trunk.  Matt's breathing was shallow, but she comforted herself with the feel of his chest rising and falling steadily against her own.

She didn't know how much longer they could last like this.  Her fingers were wrinkled prunes and numb to boot, and her body ached from being lashed to the tree trunk for so long.  They were both shaking with cold.  Kitty had been freezing and wet for so long now she'd nearly forgotten what it felt like to be comfortable.

The pallor of Matt's skin frightened her.   She had to get him to a warm, dry shelter, and a doctor, soon.  An exhausted tear slipped mutinously from the corner of one eye, getting lost instantly in the raindrops spattering her cheeks.  She laid her head against Matt's big shoulder and prayed for the deadly waters to recede.   She prayed for a miracle, until she finally fell into a deep, fatigued sleep.

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Kitty's head jerked upright, disoriented, dizzy and confused.  The large, wet man's head resting on her chest brought it all rushing back like the floodwaters that had assailed them hours before though.  She placed her hand on Matt's pale cheek and sighed with relief when she felt his breath on her face.  Then she noticed the water around them.  The floodwaters had receded considerably, and the current was no longer strong.

Urgently, she held Matt's battered face between her palms and entreated, "Matt, wake up!"

His head continued to loll in her hands.  "Matt, please!"  She gently shook his shoulders and stroked his cheek.  "You've got to wake up!  We need to get out of here!"

Matt's eyes opened just a slit as he quietly moaned.

"Wake up!  I can't do this by myself.  You've got to help me."  She rubbed a hand over his forehead and both his cheeks, forcing him to look her in the eyes.  "Come on, snap out of it, Matt Dillon, let's get out of this water and get you someplace warm and dry."

She began untying the ropes that bound them together to the tree.  It looked like the water was only waist high now.  She hoped that perhaps they could just walk to the bank of the river.

Matt eyes became more focused as she jostled him, struggling to yank the knots out that they had secured the night before.  It was gray dawn, but the ominous storm clouds still hovered overhead.  He fumbled to help her, and soon they were free.  They gingerly lowered their feet and happily encountered the sludgy mud at the bottom of the engorged riverbed.  She grabbed his hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and together they struggled up the silty bank to firmer ground.

Collapsing on the riverbank, side-by-side, the enormity of their situation hit her as she gazed over at her injured companion, his eyes sunken and complexion pallid.  They had no horse, no food, no shelter…  A lump formed in Kitty's throat, and she slipped her hand into Matt's and squeezed gently.

Matt mumbled something unintelligible beside her.

"What?" she asked, raising up and leaning on an elbow.  "Did you say something?"

Eyes closed, he murmured more clearly, "Homestead…"

A glimmer of hope lighted in her chest.  Matt knew this country like the back of his hand.

"Matt, tell me…"

She had to lean her ear near his mouth to understand him.  "Deserted…behind those trees…a ways over."  He had to rest and draw another shallow breath.  "Can't see it from here."

"Are you sure?"

"Course… I'm sure…." he gasped.  "Dead…fever…Chester and I buried them… few months ago…"

Her eyes widened.  She'd prayed for a miracle…  "Can you walk?"

He opened one swollen, black eye and looked at her wearily.  "No…"  Groaning, he sat halfway up.  "…but I will."

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Set Fire to the Rain, Ch. 6 "Kitty's Ride"

This fic is intended for mature readers due to the vivid depiction of a consensual adult relationship.  The setting is First Season, post-“The Preacher”, screenplay by John Dunkel, story by John Meston, original air date June 16, 1956. This fanfiction was written with absolutely no regard whatsoever to actual Kansas topography, geography or meteorological activity.

Kitty stood in the driving rain, adrenaline rushing through her veins, over the body of Sam Keeler, rifle trembling in her hands as she slowly lowered it.  Eyes wide open, breathing raggedly, she stared at Matt in disbelief.  She'd killed a man.

Matt's voice was but a hoarse whisper as he raised his head from the sodden ground to wearily look at her.  "Get his gun."

Kitty stared at Matt like he was crazy.

His reply: "You can never be too careful."  After the effort of talking, Matt collapsed back once more onto the rushing flow of muddy water that was coursing over the packed soil, down the ridge to the river.

Kitty didn't want to touch Keeler.  She used Matt's rifle butt to knock the Derringer from his grip and jumped back when it fell to the soggy ground.  Not only was Keeler shot, but so were her nerves.  She had to hold it together for Matt.  She had to somehow get him upriver for medical help.  

She reached down and gingerly picked up the small gun that had once belonged to that beast of a prizefighter and stepped away from him as quickly as possible.  Kitty kept expecting him to reach out and grab her ankle.  She kept telling herself that was impossible.  Because she had killed him.  The thought made her stomach churn.

She stuck the small gun in the pocket of Matt's slicker that billowed voluminously around her small form and hurried to the marshal's side.

"Oh, Matt!" she breathed.  She wanting to touch him but was afraid she would hurt him.  His mouth and nose were bleeding and there was a cut on his cheek, but it was hard to tell because it was all mixed with mud and rain streaming over his face.  Instead she pulled off the slicker and laid it over his torso, an effort in futility since he was already soaked to the bone.

"Matt, we've gotta' get you to a doctor."

Matt grimaced at her.

She asked, "How far do you think we are from Cimarron?"

"A few miles," he muttered.  "Kitty, it's pouring down rain."

"With no signs of letting up!  Matt, we need to get you to a doctor now.  You're hurt bad."

"You ride on to Cimarron without me and bring back help."

"I am not going to leave you here by yourself, Matt Dillon!"

"Kitty, I don't think you have a choice."

"Well, do you think you can ride?  If it's only a few miles…"

He struggled to sit up.  "I don't know."

She wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders and helped him as best she could, grunting with the effort.  He gasped and held his left side, but remained sitting upright.  "So far, so good," he wheezed.

"You stay here.  I'll go get the horses," she instructed.  She sloshed through the puddles, carrying Matt's rifle to replace in the saddle boot, and found not two, but three mounts, obviously Keeler's mode of transportation for following them over the prairie.  It was a rented horse, from Moss Grimmick's stable.  Kitty grabbed the reins of all three horses and led them to where Matt was sitting under the oak.

"Let me help you up."  Kitty leaned over and let him put an arm over her shoulders and gritted her teeth.  It was painful to watch Matt and hear him groan in pain as he dragged himself to his feet.  He was forced to lean heavily on her for support.  He managed to get his foot in Buck's stirrup, but she had to shove mightily on his backside to help push his body onto the horse.  He gasped at the effort, and bent over double, nearly falling off the other side.

"Matt!" she exclaimed, running round the horse to catch him.  She grabbed his shoulder and pushed to equalize him.

"I don't think I can hold myself up, Kitty," he huffed, holding his side.

She threw his slicker over his shoulders and stood thinking in the cold, stinging rain.  Then, decisively, she hoisted her weighty, sodden skirts above her knees.  "Scoot back," she instructed.

"Back?" he asked.

"Scoot back," she repeated firmly.  "I'm coming up."  She placed her foot in the other stirrup, grabbed the saddle horn and awkwardly hauled herself up in front of him.  It was uncomfortable with her skirts hiked up past her knees, and not very ladylike sitting astride his saddle, but a girl had to do what a girl had to do.

"Kitty…" Matt's voice was weak as a kitten's.

"Don't you say a word, Matt Dillon."  She shot a dangerous look back at him.  "Wrap your arms around me."

He tentatively put his arms around her slim waist, but she grasped his hands firmly and wrapped them tighter.   He gave a little grunt of surprise.

"Hold on to me, Matt.  I won't break," she insisted.  "We don't have that far to go."  And with that she urged the horse on gently with her knees, at a slow walk, so as not to jostle Matt's injuries.

"What about the other two horses, Kitty?"

"We'll come back for them.  Right now I'm worried about you."  She hugged his arms reassuringly as the horse reluctantly moved forward through the storm.  

They rode on through the torrential rainfall for a mile until Kitty could feel Matt's strength waning.  She turned her head and murmured to him, "Lean on me, Matt.  I'm stronger than I look."

"Kitty…" he whispered, but then she felt him place a little of his weight gratefully against her back.  She could feel his body shivering with pain and cold and exhaustion.  A half mile later, he was sagging, and he rested his cheek on her shoulder.  Kitty's stomach clenched with worry for her companion.  She had to get him to safety.

Suddenly, the horse shied.  It was dark now, so she couldn't see well with the storm clouds shadowing the moon.  But then she heard it, a faint rumbling, in the distance, coming from upriver.  As Buck nickered in alarm, the hair on the back of Kitty's neck stood on end.  Something was wrong.  She just wasn't sure what.  The rumbling got louder.  She could feel the reverberations in the air around them.   Her mind was racing—a train, a herd of buffalo…what the hell was it?

"Matt…"  She shrugged her shoulder to wake him.  "Matt, wake up!  Something's coming.  I feel it."

Matt sat up with a great effort and peered blearily into the darkness.  The thundering, roiling sound was upon them in a flash.  A wall of water four feet high churning down the river channel overcame their horse and swirled around them in the deep blackness of the night.

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Set Fire to the Rain, Ch. 5 "Kitty's Rescue

"Are you crazy, Keeler?" Matt demanded hoarsely as he slowly dragged himself to his feet before the tall, powerful fighter, his hand gripping the back of his bloodied skull.  "I told you to get the hell outta Dodge last week."

"You didn't tell me, Marshal.  You told my promoter.  And I fired that useless toad."  Keeler spit in his hands and clapped them together.  "Now I wanna know what it feels like to kill me a marshal with my bare hands."  Keeler curled those formidable hands into fists and assumed his fighting stance.  "You ready to die, Dillon?"

Rain continued to pelt the men as they stood face to face.  Matt shouted over the thunder, "You followed me all the way out here to kill me because I hurt your pride??  In this storm?  You've lost your mind!"

The wild look in Keeler's eye at the memory of the humiliation he'd suffered at Matt Dillon's hands made the hair on the back of Kitty's neck stand on end.  She shuddered, a combination of the cold rain streaming down her face into her collar and also the foreboding memory of the warning she'd given Matt last week in the Long Branch--that Sam Keeler was the kind of man that couldn't be laughed at.

And Keeler had been a laughingstock all right, after Matt had beat him at his own game, first by buffaloing him in the street and then knocking him out in a bare-knuckle fight outside of town.  But Matt had been defending mild-mannered preacher Seth Tandy, whom Keeler had continually bullied in spite of the fact that he wouldn't stand up and defend himself.

Kitty apprehensively stepped away from the two big men, worry for Matt's safety gnawing at her belly.  Keeler was starting this fight with an unfair advantage over Matt after smashing him in the back of the head with a chunk of wood.   And Keeler was a bloodthirsty man.  He was determined to kill someone with his bare hands.  He wouldn't stop until he had.  Shivers ran down her spine as she watched the two brawny men circle each other warily, fists raised in the air as lightning slashed the blackening sky and thunder crashed around them.

Keeler punched first, landing a straight left to Matt's jaw.  Kitty winced as she heard the crunch of bone on bone and Matt staggered backwards.  Matt shook his head to clear it and continued to circle his aggressive opponent.

When lightning struck again, Matt struck as well with a sold right to Keeler's nose, stunning him enough so that Matt was able to land two more quick, powerful punches to his head, causing Keeler to reel and stumble backwards into the mud.  Blood poured out of the man's nose but Kitty's eyes widened at the resulting feral look in his eyes.  Matt leapt on top of him while he was down and the two rolled in the muck, blood running in pink rivulets with the rain sluicing down their bodies.  Keeler ended up on top and landed a dirty punch to Matt's liver.

Matt gasped in shock and pain, paralyzed from the blow as a wicked grin spread over Keeler's features.  Keeler began jabbing and pummeling Matt's face mercilessly over and over as Matt lay helpless, unable to move from the crippling blow he'd taken to his midsection.
Kitty cried out as she heard the pounding of Keeler's deadly fists against Matt's body and saw the blood pouring from his face.  Kitty leapt doggedly on Keeler's back, clawing at his face with her nails.  "Get off him, you big ape!  Stop it!  You'll kill him!"

Keeler roared in protest, and elbowed Kitty in the face, knocking her off him as easily as he would a child.  The blow made her see stars, and she landed on her backside in the mud.

Matt hissed at Keeler, "Don't you hurt her!"

Keeler threatened with a maniacal smile, "I've never killed me a woman.  Maybe I'll do that after I get done with you, Marshal…"

Matt growled in rage and tottered to his feet to slam his fist solidly into Keeler's stomach, knocking the wind out of him.  Keeler sank to his knees, splashing in the mire.  Matt held out his hand and grunted, "Kitty, stay back!  I don't want you hurt!"

Keeler lurched forward and gave Matt a crushing left hook to the kidney, putting him down for the count once again.  Keeler began kicking Matt while he was down, and Kitty threw herself onto Keeler, pounding him with her fists to no avail.  He pitched her backwards like a rag doll into the swirling dirty water.

Keeler grinned at his opponent, the big, strong marshal no one could beat, now knocked nearly insensate.  He leaned over and began thrashing Matt again with his bare fists with hardly any resistance.  He was gonna' kill him a marshal today…and maybe a woman, too.

"Hold it right there!"  A determined, angry feminine voice carried over the howling wind.

Keeler hesitated, hovering over Matt Dillon's body.

"Get off him!  Now!" Kitty demanded as thunder boomed ominously overhead.

Keeler laughed, but then he heard a gun cocking.  He twisted his body to look back at her.  She was pointing a dripping rifle straight at his back, her finger on the trigger.

Keeler smirked.  "Little lady, you know you're not gonna' shoot me."  He rose to his full height and stepped over Matt's prone body, advancing two steps…three.

"Stop right there, mister!"  A streak of lightning in the sky seemed to punctuate her words.

"Come on, give me that gun.  You know, it's wet.  It's probably not even gonna' fire in this rain."

"I told you not to come any closer.  I will shoot you."  She squinted down the barrel at him, mud splattered on her face and rain dripping in her eyes.

Quick as a flash, Keeler reached in his pocket and jerked out a Derringer, but Kitty hastily moved to pull her trigger.  A shot rang out.

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