Wild Boys: Six Shooters and Fangs

by catt dahman

  Coy came over and told them to build her a fire.

  "Is she better?"

  "Ain't worse,” Coy said, "you’ll have to move her when we leave, or her being out here will surely kill her. Moving her may kill her as well."

  That night the men sat as guards over the camp, and Paris sat guarding Frannie. He told them that she would not die in a way that made Tell remark that it wouldn't be surprising to see Paris fight an angel to keep her on earth with him. Kit pondered that a while, wondering how far the man would go to save her.

  Tell admitted to Paris that he knew Coy from rangering days and liked the man. He had been relieved to see that Coy hadn't really thrown into the band of outlaws; after all, he would've hated to have to kill a man that he considered a better scout than even he was.

  It was clear in Coy’s voice that he was angry about what had happened to Frannie. He offered to go with Kit and track the Lorrance gang. Paris thought it over carefully and then agreed after Tell nodded; Tell was an expert on character. Paris wanted to thank the man for his help, but the words stuck in his throat, and he hoped Coy understood.

  In the morning, the men split up. Paris held Frannie on the horse with him. His shoulder ached, was hot, red and infected, he knew.

  She raised her head and said, “Always having to save me.”

  Paris smiled. "Always.”

  Bryan's Junction was small but had an excellent doctor who ordered Paris from the room and then stayed in the room with Frannie a long time. Finally Doctor Pritchard came out and looked at Paris sitting and drinking whiskey outside the room and said, "Someone’s been doctoring that gal? I see old time herbs and shit like that used on her.”

  “What he’d do?" Paris would kill Coy if he had done her damage.

  “Saved her life. She was lucky.” The doctor looked Paris in the eyes. “She'll be fine, I think; I hope with some bed rest. She seems to be a fighter. Mr. Fallon, she lost the baby. In time, you and she can try to have another child although her pelvis is very narrow, and delivery would be hard on her."

  He nodded absently and said, “I want to see her.”

  “Not until I’ve fixed up that shoulder,” came the stern reply.

  The bullet had left a minute piece of lead in Paris, and the wound had become infected. The wound bled a great deal, and the procedure was very painful as the doctor took out the lead and cleaned out the infection, so it was an exhausted, haggard man who went to see Frannie later.

  There was a woman who saw to Frannie's personal needs, but mostly Frannie slept. Paris slept a lot, too, in a chaise lounge in her room. Frannie drifted far a long time, but the swelling on the back of her head went down, and she became aware of her surroundings. At first she was confused. She remembered Daniel trying to kill her as struggled to get up and out of bed. That's when she saw Paris; if he were there, then everything was fine; she was safe.

  When she awakened next, she remembered that she was safe with Paris, who was stretched out uncomfortably on the chaise lounge his long legs hanging off with an exhausted, miserable look on his face.

  She called his name.

  He went to his feet. “Are you all right?:

  “Tired."

  “You're safe. We're in Bryan's Junction.”

  “You came and got me?”

  He smiled thinly.

  “And Daniel Lorrance?"

  “Far away," he said.

  She relaxed and rolled over to sleep, unafraid. When she awakened again, Paris was right there with her.

  She laughed softly and asked, “Don’t you ever sleep?”

  He shrugged. “A little.”

  Frannie saw the bandage on his shoulder and asked, “What happened to you?”

  “Got shot.”

  “Someone shot you?” Frannie pulled herself up in the bed. “Tell me all that happened.”

  In a monotone, he down played the gun battle while he held her. “Could have been a lot worse.”

  “There were two of those creatures; they ate raw meat infront of me and made me know they would get me if I tried anything.”“I killed one.”

  Later, Doctor Pritchard told her that she could begin getting up on her own. “I lost my baby, didn't I?” She asked the doctor, although she knew she had.

  “Yes, Mrs. Fallon. I have heard the stories about your husband, and I was surprised to see how he reacted to the news. He is said to be an ice cold man and yet….”

  “How was that, doctor?”

  “He was ranting and raving when he brought you in, and he threatened my life if you died. He didn't care about the baby then, just about you. But then later, your husband wept, Mrs. Fallon. He cried.” The doctor turned and was through the door before she could reply.

  In the hall, the doctor and Paris grumbled at one another. Frannie sat for a second, pondering what the doctor had told her.

  Paris came in after a while with his shirt open covering a neat new bandage. The clap of thunder heralded his entrance. “Where else but in East Texas are there storms like these in the dead of winter?”

  “It’s been a warm winter.”

  For a few seconds, he stood staring out the window, announced that the storm looked to be a bad one, and then turned to light a lamp as the room darkened.

  Frannie smiled grimly. “I’ve always been afraid of thunder storms. I got lost in one as a child," She said as she jumped just a clap exploded.

  "Can't hurt you."

  Shivering, she nodded but unconvinced. Paris noted that she was shivering, but she told him that it wasn't from cold but from nervousness. With a smile, he sat down on her bed. “I'm here; nothing will hurt you.”

  "You are always there for me. I do feel safe with you."

  “I promised Doc I would be.”

  A flash of pain covered her face. “I wish you'd live your own life and not just do things for him.”

  “He’s my best friend…and I am….stuttered Paris, “Frannie since you lost…you know…the baby, maybe you'd rather not be married to me. I mean I understand that,” he sounded unsure of himself as he spoke. “I know you have no reason to be with me now.”

  "And there's no reason for you to be stuck with me,” Even as she said it, she watched him grimacing. “'What?"

  “My fault that you lost the baby. Daniel Lorrance had it in for me, and I’m sorry.”

  “I don't blame you.”

  "You should…you have a right to."

  Frannie frowned and said, "You have never wanted me to like you. You do things for me and treat me good and have saved my life more than once, but then you act like I shouldn't like you. Why can’t I like you?"

  “It's easier if you don’t,” he said as he whirled at a particularly loud clap of thunder.

  "It isn't for me; it's confusing.”

  Paris looked back at her. Shrugged. He didn't meet her eyes.

  “You're a strange man, Paris, so loyal and noble and so scared to let people get close to you, yet I sense that there is a sensitivity about you,” she said as she sighed. “I don't understand you."

  “You couldn't."

  “Help me to.”

  “It's not a pretty story. Then, you'd know how I am, and you’d likely hate me for what I am, even knowing why.”

  “You try to make people hate you as it is. Is it easier to live with hate?"

  He frowned. “Yes.”

  “Doc doesn’t hate you.”

  "And he and I have endured a lot of pain because of our friendship."

  “I see.”

  Paris looked at her sharply. “At age seven, I watched my entire family brutally murdered, the women were raped first and then burned alive. To avenge that, many years later, I killed the man's family who ordered it done. I killed the women and children without mercy. It was over land just like your father.”

  “That must have been terrible for you.”

  “l am a hard man.”

  "You came after those men; you saved my life." And she thought of the doctor telling her tha
t Paris had wept when she had lost the baby. “You sat here with me night and day.”

  “You’re my wife,” he replied tensely.

  “0h.” His tone silenced her. She looked at his bandage to hide her reddening face. “I can't believe you took a shot.”

  “I did. It could’ve been worse. This isn’t bad at all.”

  She put her hand on his muscular upper arm right below the wound; he flinched but didn't move. “It’s hot; is it infected?”

  “It was, but it's healing now.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “No, but I can't use it much yet.”

  Her face showed concern. “I’m sorry this happened to you.” Absently, she stroked his arm.

  He caught her wrist with the other hand, inadvertently pulling her closer; he didn't want her to touch him.

  “Don’t, Frannie.”

  She narrowed her eyes and said, "Seems a wife could touch her own husband.” She was irritated at him and popped off, but she also was aware of the feel of his skin, his scent, and the heat of his body. She wasn't sure why it all seemed to be overwhelming her. She was teasing him, and yet she also meant those words.

  “You ain't mine,” he snapped but didn't let go of her wrist. “Even with Doc gone and me doing right by him, you ain't mine,“ his voice was hoarse.

  “Is that what you want?” she asked lowly.

  His eyes were blazing. “Fran.” He wasn't tender like Doc, but instead, he wrapped his fingers behind her head and pulled her closer so that their mouths were a half-inch apart. Her breath was warm and sweet against his.

  Softly, he brushed his mouth across hers, pushed her nightgown down over her shoulders so that he could run his mouth all over her skin; then, he kissed her deeply. Paris' hands on her were insistent, hot, indecent, and she wanted him so much. Her feelings shocked her; she involuntarily froze.

  Paris felt her go rigid, cursed himself for loving her and said, "I shouldn't have."

  She stared at him. She couldn't have relations yet, but it was more than that; it was the surprise of feeling intense pleasure, and it was the memory of John Holliday and the baby that was almost hers, and it was Paris himself, the scary, frightful man whom she had feelings for; it was too soon.

  "It isn't that...." she tried to say, tears filling her eyes.

  When had he ever had anything but pain? Why in the hell had he put himself through this? Paris choked the words out, “He’s my best friend, and he loves you. Anyway, there ain't room for both of us in your heart. I can't compete with his perfect memory."

  "It isn't that either….”

  “Well, it is for me.” He stood.

  He strapped on his guns.

  "You can have that divorce." He slammed the door behind him as he left but not before Frannie saw his dead, cold eyes. As she cried, Frannie wasn't sure whom she cried for.

  Paris went straight to the saloon where he downed three shots of whiskey before he even looked up. The saloon wasn't in the best of conditions, and there wasn't a poker or Faro game going, but the liquor wasn't watered down; it burned nicely. He had another two shots before his anger and embarrassment for himself receded like a tide.

  He was without emotion, his feelings hidden where they couldn't be touched. When the little red-haired whore came over to him, Paris wiped his mouth hard, pulling out money. "Let’s go," he ordered her roughly. The whore's eyes widened in pleasure at the thought of being with the tall, handsome cowboy, but he snapped at her.

  He snarled, "Don’t look at me, and don't talk.” He followed her up the stairs and

  kicked the door shut behind him. And he tried like hell not to think of Frannie.

  Frannie felt that she was always in a never-ending, confusing storm that made no sense as it shifted. Paris was coolly polite to her when he wasn't drunkenly stupid or in a rage. His moods kept swinging as if with the winter winds, and each time he went out, it was for days at a time before she would see him again. Frannie worried that she would next hear that he had been killed or had killed someone.

  He checked in with her with polite words and a cool demeanor but took his meals elsewhere. When he would come to her room, he would ask polite questions while pacing impatiently, his eyes roving about but not lighting on anything for long. Frannie was content to sit in the room and read; she didn't dare to go out and risk one of his angry fits.

  Paris usually had a poker game, but when he didn’t, he would sit and drink alone as he carved, littering the floor with paper-thin slices of wood. Often, he worked at getting his injured arm back in shape, grimacing if his quickness or aim was off a fraction. The pain that was still deep in the muscle, he ignored; his ability was everything.

  Paris often heard news as cowboys came through. Kit and Coy Willis were behind Daniel Lorrance, still tracking and chasing the gang as they aimlessly headed west. Paris waited for Tell.

  When Tell finally came in, Paris wasted no time in getting ready to join Kit and Coy and finishing up the matter.

  "Frannie, I'll be leaving with Tell," said Paris as he went to her room and told her without preamble.

  "To go after those men?"

  “Yes."

  "There's no need to; they won't come after me again."

  “Probably wouldn't,” Paris agreed, “but they slighted me, and I owe them a debt now."

  "You and your damned debts," Frannie spat angrily. Paris didn't flinch at her language, and that made her madder. "All you care about is your honor. I don't see that you are so damned honorable."

  “No ma’am, I ain't.” He nodded, half turned.

  “When are you coming back?” Frannie tried to keep the fear and desperation from her voice, but nothing she did or said ever got to him, and she wished that she didn't care.

  “I may not come back.' He shrugged.

  “What do you mean?”

  He cocked his head when he looked at her. “I guess I mean that I may just stay out West a while, or I might stay out there for good if I get a mind to. You and Joshua can run things if you put your mind to it, and perhaps you should be contacting your lawyer.”

  He mounted his horse, looked down at her, and tipped his hat. “Mrs. Fallon.”

  Frannie spun, refused to watch Paris and Tell ride out of town. Damn him anyway. To cool off, she forced herself to slowly pack her clothes, what few she had there; she would be glad to be home where she belonged. And if she tried real hard, maybe she could recapture a time before her life had been messed up, that day she had met John and Paris. Lawyer indeed. He had another surprise coming if he thought he could write her off that easily.

  Frannie clenched her fists in sudden fury, but then a banging on her door interrupted her anger. She made a snap decision that if it were Paris, she would get a gun and shoot him.

  It was Perry Creek. "Mrs. Fallon…Frannie…Oh, Lord."

  "Perry, I'm so glad to see you."

  “Yes’um.” He looked frantic.

  “What is it? The ranch? One of my brothers?”

  Perry swallowed hard. “Fran…it’s…I ain’t sure how to tell you this.”

  “Tell it out straight.”

  “You got a telegram over to the ranch.”

  “Well, let me see it.” She held out one hand.

  “I didn't bring it. Joshua read it cause you weren't here; then, he sent some men into town to check out the gossip and see if it could be true, and it was, we got it straight from two men just in from Tombstone."

  “Perry, what is it you're yapping about?” She was rarely this short with the hands, but something about Perry's tone was scaring her.

  "Lord help us, Frannie, he’s alive."

  Frannie grabbed Perry's arm to steady herself. “Say it.”

  "Doc Holliday.”

  Her grip went tighter.

  "Doc Holliday is alive and well again in Tombstone. He’s in re…something."

  “Remission?”

  "Yes’um. He wants you to join him there.”

  "This is the truth?"


  ”It is, Frannie. Where is Paris?"

  "He and Marshal Starr have gone after Daniel Lorrance since Paris thinks he has a damned debt to repay, and he’s an idiot anyway who would rather be a self-pitying, suffering fool instead of living his own life." She frowned. "I could take a stage or the train or if you rode with me, we could make Tombstone in a couple of weeks."

  "I ain't taking you to Tombstone by horse," Perry declared. He was also trying to figure out what she meant by saying that about Paris, but then he didn’t quite get why he had been sent to tell about Doc anyway since she was married to Paris.

  “Well then, I'll go alone, but if something happens to me, I guess you'll be answering to Paris and to John."

  "Ah now, Frannie."

  "Make your choice."

  Perry sighed. Either way, both men were going to kill him for taking her out there alone. Frannie sent a telegram in reply to John Holliday’s message; she was on her way.

  Chapter 19

  Side Hunting

  On their way to Leadville, Tell and Paris were still outside of Pueblo when they came across the first people they had seen in days.

  Tell was squinting into the distance. "Looks like a bunch of fellows all well mounted." Then his face split into a wide grin.

  "I’ll be damned; lookit that.”

  Paris looked up with some interest.

  As three riders cam in closer, Tell called out, “Well, hello, Ford; can’t say I figured on seeing you out here."

  “Marshall Starr, I'm surprised to see you, too.” Ford Masterson grinned back.

  "As I live…I can't believe you're still kicking around," Tell said, the lead man with the newcomers as he tilted his hat back.

  “Then you underestimate me.” Tell laughed. “This is Paris Fallon. I guess you've heard of him.”

  ''He introduced Coy Willis and Kit Darling, as well.

  Several of the men nodded gravely as Paris shifted in his saddle.

  Tell pointed at the man who had spoken to him. "That old used-up thing is Nate Newcomb, a buddy of mine from the Rangers."

  “Used up? Hell, I'm still doing all the good."

  "What about the ranch, you given it any thought?” Paris broke in to ask Ford. "Any guilt about leavin’ it?"