Night Eagle: Homecoming
by ysone
part 2

~~~

Blair hated the tension. It was so thick he could almost see it. Rafe avoided him as much as possible when they worked together, speaking only when absolutely necessary and ignoring him the rest of the time. Blair, for his part, tried to stay out of the man's way, which was next to impossible, given Joel's tendency to assign them to the same tasks at every opportunity. Blair liked Joel -- the big man was one of the few who didn't treat him as though he had leprosy or something equally as nasty -- but, honest to goodness, the foreman seemed determined to force Rafe and Blair to like one another by making them work together.

And it wasn't working.

"Watch where you're going!"

"Huh?" Blair glanced up, confused by Rafe's outburst. Blair was standing still, hadn't moved a step. So how could he watch where he was going?

Rafe just gave him another in a long line of angry glares as he pushed past him. Blair watched him go with a weary sigh. The tension was getting old, but he honestly had no idea what to do about it. Jim and Joel both kept insisting Rafe was a good guy at heart and that the two of them had a lot in common. Blair didn't see it, but he was willing to try. Trouble was, Rafe didn't want to try. He made it obvious at every opportunity that he merely tolerated Blair's presence and was counting the days until he was rid of the "redskin".

Blair sighed again and turned back to the broken corral rail he was working on.

"Almost finished, Chief?"

Blair jumped at the voice. "Damn, Jim, why do you keep doing that?"

Jim chuckled. "Because I can. You know, for an Indian, you aren't terribly alert."

"Guess it's the white blood in me," Blair teased in return. "Makes me careless."

"Are you almost finished here?"

"Yeah, this is the last one. Why? You need something? Is it your senses? Are you having trouble with the scales?" Blair hadn't had a lot of time in the past few days to work with Jim. Having been away from his ranch for so long, Jim was busy trying to catch up, and Joel had been keeping Blair busy. But they had managed to practice balancing the scales, making it easier for Jim to keep everything at a tolerable level.

"Let's see..." Jim said with a tolerant smile, "...yes...no...and no."

"Jackass!" Blair shot back with a smile. "Which one was yes? You need something?"

"Yeah, our horses, if you're finished here. I need to ride into town, and I want you to go with me."

Blair felt his heartbeat quicken at the words and worked to slow it down. He knew he wasn't fast enough when he saw the frown which replaced Jim's smile. "I have a lot of work here, Jim. I need to finish--"

"It's nothing that won't wait, though, right? Look, I know you aren't really comfortable around a lot of people, and I understand that. I wouldn't ask if I didn't really need you to come with me."

Blair bit back the frown he felt working the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, sure. Just give me a few more minutes to finish this up."

"Great, kid!" Jim's smile was genuine, easing just a bit the knot of apprehension in Blair's stomach.

Jim disappeared into the barn, and Blair went back to his work. He could do this, he told himself, despite the fear that was building at the prospect. It might not be easy, but he could do it. It'd be different this time. He wasn't a kid, at the mercy of the bigger, tougher adults. And he wouldn't be alone this time. Jim would be with him. He'd be all right. He could handle it.

"Just keep telling yourself that," he whispered to himself, not believing the assurances for one minute.

~~~

The closer they got to town, the harder Blair's heart drummed. Jim was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea, after all. Whatever demons the kid was fighting were winning. Jim knew Blair had lived in a town as a kid, before his mother died and he went to live with his father's people. He knew Blair's memories of that time weren't pleasant. And looking at the kid now, Jim had no trouble reading the fear on the expressive face.

"Blair," he started, waiting until the young man looked up. "Maybe you should head back to the ranch."

Blair looked like he wanted nothing more than to accept Jim's offer. "I thought you said you needed me to come with you."

"Yeah, I did, but I can take care of this business myself. I shouldn't have asked you to come along."

Swallowing audibly, Blair shook his head. "No, it's all right. I'm okay."

"Are you sure, buddy? Your heart is racing."

"You're listening to my heart?" The young man's eyebrows lifted.

Jim smiled sheepishly, embarrassed at the idea. "Well, yeah. Not on purpose. It's just there."

"Just there? Now? Or all the time?"

"Pretty much all the time. It's kind of like the wind in the trees, or the call of the birds. I don't really notice them unless I think about it, but they're there."

"What about the others?"

"Others? You mean the other men at the ranch? Do I hear their hearts?" Jim thought about it for a minute, surprised at the answer. "No. No, I've never noticed theirs."

"But you could hear them if you tried, right?"

"I guess. I don't know. I've never really tried."

"Let's try something." Blair shifted in his saddle to face Jim. "Close your eyes for a minute." Once Jim complied, he continued. "Now tell me what you hear."

"Your heartbeat. Birds. Something moving in the bushes…a small animal, I think."

"Okay, you know those sounds. They're familiar to you. I want you to picture the scale, and this time imagine lots of small weights sitting on it. Do you see it?" At Jim's nod, he went on. "Each of the weights represents a different sound. Those that you mentioned, take those off. Tell me what's left."

Jim did as Blair instructed, listing the sounds he heard and eliminating them until he was left with two additional heartbeats besides his and Blair's. He opened his eyes in surprise.

"The horses. I guess that answers that," Blair said. "You just haven't been listening for anyone else's."

"I guess not." Jim wasn't sure what this new information meant, but it did leave him with additional questions. Did this mean he heard Blair's heartbeat because he was listening for it? And if so, why? Why listen for Blair's and no one else's? If Blair's logic was sound, and Jim was hearing it because he was listening for it, then it followed that he was listening for it all the time, because he heard it all the time. During the day, even if they weren't working together. At night, as he was falling asleep. All the time. It had become so "normal" to hear it that Jim didn't even realize he was listening to it most of the time.

Jim didn't voice any of his concerns, although he had a feeling Blair was contemplating some of those same questions himself. Jim had no desire to discuss it any further. He wasn't sure he would be comfortable with what he might learn.

It was time to change the subject. He went back to his original question. "You don't have to do this, if you don't want to. I won't think any less of you if you turn back." He grinned to let the kid know it really was all right, but Blair's heart started pounding again anyhow.

"Thanks, but no."

Jim didn't push the issue, but he spent the remainder of the ride into town trying to keep Blair's mind off his fears. It took only a few well placed observations about different sounds he was picking up to distract Blair. And despite the inevitable tests, Jim was happy for that distraction.

~~~

Blair was aware of Jim's diversionary tactics and was grateful; but as they rode into town, his panic returned full force. He was painfully aware of the open stares of the townsfolk moving about their business on the busy streets. He let his horse drop back to follow Jim's. Blair was working hard to hide his fears, knowing that many of these people would delight in using them as ammunition against him. He'd be damned if he'd give them the opportunity. I'm not alone, he kept reminding himself. He locked his eyes on Jim's broad back, using the man's presence as a physical reminder of the different circumstances this time. I'm not alone.

Jim stopped in front of the general store and dismounted, throwing his reins over the railing that ran along the edge of the oversized porch. After only the slightest hesitation, Blair followed.

"We're going to pick up a few things here first, Chief. Come on."

Jim slapped him on the back and headed up the steps into the building. Blair followed, pointedly ignoring the small groups of men and women gathered to the side, whispering as he passed.

It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior of the store. When they did, he spotted Jim moving between the tables stacked with various merchandise, heading toward the counter which ran across the back of the building and the knot of men standing there.

"Jim Ellison!" A broad-faced man just shorter than Jim detached himself from the group and stepped forward, extending his hand as he moved. Jim took the hand, a welcoming grin gracing his handsome face.

"Morning, Barrett."

Blair stopped behind Jim, using the man's larger size to block the stares that seemed to be boring through him.

"Haven't seen you in a month of Sundays, Jim. Heard you ran into some trouble down Newcastle way. You don't look no worse for wear."

"That's because I'm not," Jim assured with a smile. "Thanks to my friend here." He stepped aside to bring Blair into the conversation.

Blair tried not to notice how Barrett's smile faded and his eyes narrowed as Jim introduced the two men. Blair stuck his hand out in greeting. Barrett eyed it for a moment, then deliberately turned back to face Jim, ignoring the gesture.

"I heard you got yourself a renegade," he said, his tone making his feelings more than obvious. "That injury you had wouldn't have happened to be to your head, would it?"

Blair quickly withdrew his hand and took a step back, once again placing Jim between him and the men at the counter.

Jim's smile disappeared and his eyes turned to ice. "Blair is my friend, Barrett, and I expect you and everyone else," he let his eyes sweep the small crowd of gawkers behind the storekeeper, "to treat him with the same respect you would anyone else. If you don't think you can manage that, then let me know now, while there's still enough daylight for us to make the ride over to Clayton Falls for our supplies." He returned the full force of his glare onto the storekeeper, letting his expression reinforce his words.

Barrett swallowed hard before answering. "Let's not go jumping the gun here, Jim. I didn't mean no harm. I was just taken a little off guard is all. It's not everyday we get Injuns in here, you know."

Jim nodded, accepting the halfhearted apology, but his smile didn't return. He reached into his shirt pocket and drew out a folded piece of paper. "Stebbins' got quite a list this time. I didn't bring the wagon, so there's no hurry in filling it. I'll send a couple of men over in a day or two to pick it up. In the meantime," he handed the list to Barrett, then reached behind him to draw Blair back to his side, "we need to get some gear for Blair. I want everything…pants, shirts, coat, boots…the works."

Blair blanched, caught unaware by the words. "Jim?"

The rancher ignored Blair's whisper and the plea behind it. Blair, his gaze locked on Jim's face, missed the predatory glee which lit the storekeeper's broad face. Sensing a large sale, the man's attitude did a quick about-face.

"Not a problem, Jim, not a problem. We have everything you'll be wanting for your…um, friend. Let's see now…" The man turned his attention to Blair. Jim took a few steps away to lean against the counter as Barrett mentally took stock of Blair's sizes.

Blair stood frozen in place, too stunned to move. As the storekeeper disappeared behind him to begin gathering the requested items, Blair turned to Jim. "What are you doing?" he hissed under his breath.

"Me?" Jim's face was the picture of innocence, though his eyes sparkled in amusement. "I'm just standing here."

"You know what I mean, Ellison. I don't need anything. Tell him to stop."

Jim crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned further into the counter. "You're wrong, Chief. No offense, but that buckskin get up you're wearing isn't really suitable for the kind of work we do. Besides, I thought maybe you'd be more comfortable dressed…you know…"

It hit Blair suddenly what Jim's true intentions were. He frowned at the realization. "You thought I'd look more white in real clothes."

Jim's guilty flush was answer enough. "I just thought you wouldn't draw so much attention if you didn't stand out so much. I just thought that might make things easier for you." He pushed away from the counter and moved back to Blair's side. His voice low, he said, "If I figured wrong, Blair, we'll just skip it. Just tell me now, and I won't give it another thought."

Blair studied the man's face. There was no condescension there, no mockery, only genuine concern. How could Blair take offense at that? And Jim was probably right. As insulting as the idea seemed right this minute, Blair had to admit that it would be easier for the both of them if he didn't look so different, if he didn't draw so much attention.

He was about to tell Jim so when another thought crossed his mind. "I don't have any money."

Jim smiled. "You don't need any."

"But--"

The older man held up a hand, stopping Blair's protest. "We'll talk about it later. We've got an audience at the moment."

Blair glanced around Jim's shoulder at the assembled group, openly staring at the pair. The expressions ranged from curious to angry. Blair swallowed and nodded, letting the question of money go for the moment. He made a mental note to bring it up later, when they had more privacy.

"Here we go," Barrett announced. He handed Jim a couple of pair of dungarees and a couple of cotton shirts. "Now, boots…I figure he's about a size--"

"Wait," Jim said, handing the clothes over to Blair. "He'll need to try these on first."

"Oh, that's not necessary. I'm sure they'll fit," Barrett assured.

"I'd rather he try them on." Jim's expression took on a hard edge. "Is that a problem?"

Barrett glanced at Blair, and the younger man had no trouble reading the expression in his eyes. The storekeeper didn't want the "renegade" ruining the clothes by putting them on, in case they didn't fit, and he had to return them to the shelf.

"It's okay, Jim. I don't need to try them on."

Jim ignored Blair, keeping his gaze pinned on the storekeeper. "Show him where he can change, then we'll need more. This is barely a start."

"Jim--"

"Follow the man, Blair."

Barrett took one more look at Jim's expression and led the way to the back of the store. Blair reluctantly followed.

~~~

Jim's patience was wearing thin. He'd expected a certain amount of ill will from the townspeople, but Barrett's deliberately insulting attitude was more than he was in the mood to deal with. He'd never really considered Barrett a friend, but they'd always gotten on well enough. Hell, the amount of business Jim alone did was enough to keep the store in business. He'd expected to be treated accordingly for that reason if for no other. Maybe it was time to start riding down to Clayton Falls. The store there wasn't as big, but Jim was sure they would welcome his business.

Barrett returned, and Jim turned his attention back to his purpose. "He'll need about five more pairs of work pants, and at least a half dozen more shirts. Then, he'll need some good clothes, Sunday-go-to-meeting type stuff. Something nice."

"You're going to take him to church?" Barrett seemed appalled at the suggestion, further infuriating Jim.

"That's his decision," Jim icily informed the man, "but if he should make his mind up to go, I intend for him to have something decent to wear."

Barrett swallowed back the retort he looked like he wanted to make and turned away, retrieving the requested articles and laying them on the counter beside Jim.

Jim inspected the items and nodded as they met with his approval. "Now, he'll need boots, a hat, bandanas, a belt, socks…"

The list grew. Barrett gathered the items, the pile on the counter growing rapidly. Blair came back to join them, his eyes growing wide at the pile of clothes and personal items which met him. For the next half hour, Jim had the young man going back and forth to the changing room, assuring the fit of each and every item he picked out. Blair's insistence that he didn't need so much diminished, then faded altogether once he figured out that Jim was just ignoring his protests, which suited Jim just fine. Even Barrett seemed to get into the spirit of things once he realized Jim was serious -- though Jim was convinced his sudden acquiescence was due more to the profit he stood to make than any relaxing of his attitude.

Finally satisfied that Blair had most everything he would need, Jim instructed Blair to change into one of the outfits, a pair of heavy denim dungarees and a deep blue cotton shirt which made the blue of the kid's eyes stand out. Jim silenced the voice in his head that pointed out that it was to emphasis the fact that Blair had white blood.

When Blair stepped back into the front room, Jim was amazed at the transformation -- practically no outward sign of the Indian existed. Blair could easily pass for a white man now, all but for the thick, dark braid that hung down his back, and even that wasn't a dead giveaway; many white men wore their hair long. Jim felt a pang of guilt at the necessity of the change, but kept reminding himself they were doing this for Blair's own good.

Satisfied at what he had accomplished, Jim turned to Barrett and indicated they were finished. The storekeeper, happy with the size of the sale, began totaling the purchase.

"Jim…" Blair said, his voice soft. "This is too much. I don't need this much."

"You'll need at least this much, Chief," Jim assured. "Probably more before long."

"I'm not going to be here that long," Blair reminded him. "What's going to happen to all of this when I leave?"

Caught up in the moment, Jim had forgotten Blair's plans were temporary. The reminder that this young man wouldn't be staying around longer than it took to teach Jim control of his senses caught Jim unprepared. He ignored the sudden heaviness in his chest at the words and shrugged. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, you need these things, so quit worrying about it."

Barrett finished tallying the items and handed the bill to Jim. Expecting such a large total himself, Jim was amused by Blair's reaction.

The kid blanched, sputtering. "J-Jim--I'll never be able to pay you back."

Jim pointedly glanced at Barrett. "We'll talk about this later."

Blair nodded, dropping his eyes as though he'd been chastised. Jim read the embarrassment in every line of the young man's body and felt another wave of guilt. Once away from here, somewhere a bit more private, they would have to discuss this and put the kid's worries to rest.

Another thought suddenly occurred to Jim. He handed the list back to Barrett. "One more thing. He'll be needing a gun."

It was a toss up as to who was more appalled at the suggestion, Blair or Barrett. Blair's loud, "No!" was almost overridden by Barrett's even louder, "Absolutely not!"

Jim looked from one man to the other, trying to decide which one to respond to first. He chose Blair. The kid's mouth was open, in the process of forming another protest, but Jim raised a hand to stop him.

"You need it, kid. Everyone carries a gun. It's just the way things are."

"Not for me," Blair insisted. "I've managed my whole life without one. I don't see any reason for that to change now."

Jim took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, while he contemplated the best response to make Blair understand what was at stake. "You weren't doing this kind of work before, Chief. Cow punching and range riding is hard, rough, dangerous work. I knew a man one time that got thrown from his horse, only his boot got caught in the stirrup. If he hadn't been able to get to his gun and shoot the horse, he'd've been dragged to death. It's an ugly truth, but there it is. You need a gun. End of discussion."

Seeing that Blair was still set to argue the issue, Jim pointedly turned his back on the young man to deal with the storekeeper. "We'll be needing a gun, Barrett. Let me see that Colt there." He indicated the rack of weapons on the wall behind the counter.

Barrett stubbornly refused to budge. "Sorry, Jim. That's where I draw the line. I'm not selling a gun to a…to a…savage. Bastards are too damned unpredictable. Liable to kill us all in our sleep."

There was a murmur of agreement from the diehard observers that were still hanging around, hoping for some excitement. All but these few had been run off by Jim's earlier glares and unspoken threats. Jim graced the diehards with another of his icy expressions, effectively removing them from the conversation, then turned back to Barrett.

"You aren't selling a gun to Blair, you're selling it to me, Barrett. Is that going to be a problem?" Jim's look said it had better not be.

Barrett swallowed hard, obviously nervous in the face of Jim's anger, but stood his ground anyway. "Yes, it is, Jim. Law says I can't sell a firearm to an Injun. I don't want no trouble with the law."

Jim clenched his jaw so tight it hurt. Barrett had never much worried about where he stood with the law before. After a long moment, Jim reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of coins. "This'll pay for what he's wearing. We won't be needing the rest of this. And don't bother filling Stebbins' order. We'll be riding over to Clayton Falls for our supplies from now on."

Without waiting for a reply, Jim turned on his heel and headed for the door. Mentally, he counted off the steps. When Barrett's voice stopped him on the fourth one, he had to work to hide his smile.

"Jim! Wait! Don't be rash. I'm sure we can work something out."

Jim stopped, but didn't turn. The storekeeper hadn't said what he wanted to hear yet.

"I mean, there's no law says I can't sell you a gun, right? I could do that. You want a new gun, Jim, who am I to dispute it? Right? Not my concern what you do with it after you buy it. Right, boys?"

There was no response that Jim could hear from the now silent observers. As anxious as they were for some excitement, they weren't about to get involved in this particular argument. They didn't have the profit from Jim's purchases at stake like Barrett did, but they did depend on the town's sole storekeeper for supplies themselves.

Wiping the smile of victory from his face, Jim turned back to face Barrett, noticing as he did that Blair had moved with him to the door and was now standing beside it, his head down to shield his expression. Jim didn't have to see his face to read the embarrassment and shame in every line of his posture. Jim felt a flush of guilt wash over him. He hadn't expected this much trouble, or he'd have probably never dragged Blair into town with him. He could have done much of the shopping without the young man, but he hadn't wanted to have to guess at the sizes. He just hadn't realized what he was letting Blair in for. The whole morning had turned into a nightmare.

Jim sighed heavily. No wonder Blair had chosen to live with the Indians. He'd faced his share of prejudice there, too, from what Jim had seen, but nothing like this. Damn. Jim could only imagine the hardships Blair had faced, and continued to face, just because of his heritage. Two worlds, a foot in each, but welcomed in neither. And Jim had just unintentionally added more fuel to the fire. He'd have to find a way to make it up to the kid.

His eyes left the young man and found their way to Barrett. The storekeeper was standing behind the counter, waiting expectantly for Jim to make his decision. As much as he detested doing business with such a small minded man, Jim swallowed his resolve and moved back to the counter. Barrett let out an audible sigh of relief, his face splitting into a wide grin at the renewed prospect of a good day's profit. He handed Jim the gun and stood back to allow his inspection.

Jim ran his eyes expertly over the weapon and bounced it in his hand a few times to test the weight. Finally, he set it down on the counter. "I'll take it, and I'll need a dozen boxes of bullets." He ignored Barrett's wide eyed expression. Blair would need some practice, to get the feel of the weapon, but he wasn't going to explain himself to this man.

While Barrett gathered the order, Jim let his gaze wander back to Blair, who had now found something to draw his attention away from Jim's confrontation. The young man was standing in front of a shelf filled with books. His eyes were wide and full of awe as he studied the titles. Blair had a healthy respect for books, Jim had seen that for himself. He figured the kid was in heaven with all of Steven's books at his fingertips, but the abundance of printed material at the ranch had obviously done nothing to quench the kid's desire. One book in particular seemed to draw Blair's attention. The young man reached out a tentative hand toward it, stopping just short of actually touching it to glance toward the storekeeper. Seeing the man was engaged elsewhere, Blair let his fingertips brush lightly over the gold embossed title stamped prominently on the spine. His movements were almost reverent.

Barrett returned, drawing Jim's attention away. By the time he'd finished giving the man instructions on which of the items they would be taking with them and which to pack up with Stebbins' supplies, Blair had moved away from the shelf of books to the front window, where he was staring out at the busy street.

Jim walked over to the shelf and retrieved the book Blair had been looking at. "I'll take this, too," he told the storekeeper. "Wrap it up with what we're taking now."

Barrett did as he was told, then presented Jim with the final bill. Jim didn't even blink at the total. He paid the man, and without a word of farewell, picked up the bundle and met Blair at the door.

"Ready, Chief?" The question was unnecessary. Jim knew the kid had been ready to leave since before they'd arrived.

~~~

Blair kept his head down as he followed Jim to the horses, hoping no one would notice his shame. Though he knew Jim hadn't intended for it to be, the ordeal had been one of the most humiliating experiences of Blair's life. He had felt like he was on public display from the moment he had ridden into town with Jim; that was no more or less than he had expected and was prepared for. But that scene in the store…Blair clamped down on his emotions, not willing to give them free rein for fear they would embarrass him further.

Blair glanced down at his new clothes. He had to admit, they did make him look…white. He couldn't really fault Jim for the idea. He was sure the rancher hadn't meant for the gesture to be as insulting as Blair had initially taken it. Jim was right in two respects, at least. Blair would draw less attention dressed this way, and the clothes probably were better suited for the type work a ranch hand did. But, Blair decided as he pulled at the collar of the dark blue cotton shirt, they definitely weren't more comfortable. They didn't have the soft, easy give of the buckskin he was used to. These clothes were stiff and unyielding.

"You'll have to 'wear' into them," Jim said.

Blair glanced up in surprise. "You reading my mind now?" Jim chuckled. "No need. You look as uncomfortable as a bull at a barn dance."

Blair dropped his gaze. "Jim…about the clothes…"

"Forget it."

"I can't. Jim, they're bound to have cost a lot. I can't pay you back."

"You don't have to. Look, Chief, this was my idea; I should pay for it."

Blair shook his head firmly. "No, this is too much. I can't let you spend this much money. I was thinking maybe I could do some trapping up on that ridge to the north. I could sell the furs--"

"That's not necessary," Jim interrupted with a frown. He stopped and took a deep breath. "Blair, you saved my life. Consider this a thank you of sorts." Evidently seeing the protest that Blair was preparing to make, he held up a hand and quickly added. "But if you still insist, then you can pay me back out of your first month's wages."

"What are you talking about?" Blair was honestly confused, and it wasn't helped by the strange expression that flashed over Jim's face at the question.

"Your wages. Surely you realized… Come on, Chief, you knew you would draw wages. Right?"

"I don't understand," Blair answered, furrowing his brow as he considered this new revelation. "Wages for what?"

"God, Blair, what do you think?" Exasperation filled Jim's tone. "The work you do around the ranch and with the horses. You work as hard or harder than any of the hands, plus helping me get control of these damned senses. Did you honestly think you weren't going to draw pay for it?"

"You give me a place to sleep, food to eat…what more do I need?"

Jim laughed. "You'd be surprised, Chief. Look, if you don't want to spend it, fine. Put it up and save it. But it's yours. You're earning it."

Blair was prepared to argue further, but a voice from across the street forestalled him.

"Jim!"

Both men turned to see Simon Banks striding rapidly across the street, dodging a fully loaded wagon that kicked up dust in the dry afternoon air.

Blair glanced at Jim, noting the pleased grin which graced the taller man's face. He knew Jim and Simon hadn't parted on the best of terms the last time, thanks to Blair, and he knew that it understandably bothered Jim. Simon was his best friend, and Blair hated to think that a wedge might have been driven between them because of his presence. Especially when Blair wasn't at Jim's ranch to stay. He'd be leaving, heading back to his own world just as soon as his work with Jim was done, so it was important to him that Jim and Simon's friendship not be strained because of him.

As covertly as possible, Blair moved away, hoping that by removing himself he could remove any potential tension his presence might cause.

~~~

"Jim! Good to see you," Simon said, climbing the couple of steps to stand beside his friend on the shaded porch. His words were genuine. The argument with Jim earlier in the week had been weighing heavily on him, and Simon was grateful for the chance to put their friendship back on steady footing. Not that he'd changed his opinion of Jim's decision to take in that…savage. But it was Jim's decision. And be damned if he was going to let that red devil ruin what had been a sound friendship.

Jim accepted Simon's offered hand, shaking it with a grin that told the dark man the feeling was mutual. Jim was just as anxious to get past the hard feelings as Simon was.

"What brings you to town?" Simon inquired. "Here to talk to Tom?" He knew the town's sheriff had already been out to the ranch to get Jim's story about the shooting, but maybe Jim had remembered something new, something which might shed some light on who the shooter could have been -- not that there really was much chance of catching the culprit. The West was a violent place, and those who chose to make it home had a hard life. If the Indians or outlaws didn't get you, the land would. Jim could have been shot for anything, from straying too close to an outlaw's hideout to snoring too loud in his sleep, and there wasn't much Tom Bruck, the local law in these parts, could do about it.

Jim shook his head, "No point, Simon. You know as well as I do Bruck's pretty much got his hands tied. It was out of his jurisdiction anyhow. He said he'd turn the report over to the Marshals, but I doubt anything will ever come of it."

"Yeah, I know," Simon sighed. "Hell of a way to live, ain't it? Tell me again why we chose to come west?"

Jim chuckled. "A new life, remember? Fresh start? The lure of wide open places just begging to be tamed? Any of this ringing a bell?"

Simon joined in the laughter. He knew exactly why they'd decided to come west, leaving the overcrowded, crime ridden cities back east in their dust. He just needed a reminder from time to time.

"So, what brings you to town then?"

"Blair needed a few things."

Simon was surprised at the words. He hadn't noticed the young half-breed. His eyes raked over the area, noting only a few townspeople milling by and a young man standing over at the far edge of the porch. Simon's eyes narrowed as the young man lifted his head and their eyes met.

"Well, I'll be a--"

"Quite a change, huh?"

Simon stared, ignoring Jim's amused comment. He took in the kid's altered appearance without noticing the way Blair shifted uneasily under the intense scrutiny. It was amazing what a simple change of clothing had accomplished. The kid could easily pass for white. There were still clues to his heritage if anyone looked close enough to see, but the initial impression was so drastically different--

Simon stopped his thoughts abruptly. Appearances made no difference. This boy was no different where it counted. Raised by savages to be a savage. A killer. That's what Indians were -- lock, stock and barrel. Cold blooded killers, no respecter of persons. As likely to murder and scalp a woman or child as a man. Clothes couldn't -- wouldn't -- change that.

But looking at the young man bravely meeting his glare, Simon was hard pressed to equate that stereotype to what he saw. There was an innocence in the youthful expression which rocked Simon back on his heels. Despite the fact that Simon had no doubts the kid could stand quite well on his own two feet, there was something almost…vulnerable…about him. No, that wasn't quite the right word, but Simon couldn't think of one better to describe what he was seeing. Before he could give it further thought, the boy turned away.

"Makes no difference!" Simon announced gruffly, attempting to hide the path of his thoughts. "Can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. He's still a redskin."

Jim's gaze hardened at the words. "I'm not trying to make anything out of him but what he is…an intelligent, compassionate, trustworthy human being. Yeah, he's still a redskin, just like you're a 'black-skin' and I'm a 'white-skin'. Colorful bunch, aren't we?"

Simon frowned as Jim's point was driven subtly home. He was reminded suddenly and forcefully of another reason he'd chosen to leave the relative safety of the East -- to escape the stigma of his race in the wilds of the indifferent West -- and here he stood judging another man by the color of his skin.

But, damn it, this was different! Wasn't it? Or was that just an excuse? Was he judging a man by the reputation of his race, just as others had judged him?

Simon shook his head, attempting to dispel the unsettling -- and unflattering -- thoughts. "I don't want to argue this anymore, Jim," Simon declared, hoping to put an end to this topic. He didn't want to fight with his friend, and he didn't want the situation to put a strain on their friendship.

"Just give it some thought, Simon," Jim implored quietly. "You're as fair minded a man as I've ever known. I know you're afraid for your son in light of the massacre over in Clark County, but it's not like you to overreact to this extent. If nothing else, trust me on this. Blair is as honorable a man as you will meet anywhere, regardless of race."

~~~

Jim was aware of the shifting of Blair's heartbeat in response to his plea to Simon Banks and knew the young man had heard the compliments, but he kept his focus on Simon. For some reason, it was important to Jim that his old friend accept his new friend. Maybe if he explained the reason he was so dependent on Blair…Jim stopped the thought as quickly as it formed. No way in hell he was telling anyone about this Guardian business. No one would believe him anyway. He'd end up locked up somewhere. No, this was one secret he definitely wouldn't be sharing with Simon.

"Sure, Jim," Simon said, clearly acquiescing solely in the name of peace. "I'll give it some thought."

Jim nodded, satisfied. Despite Simon's attitude, Jim knew the man would keep his word, and that was all he could ask.

"How's Daryl?" Jim attempted to shift to a safer subject.

"In a heap of trouble," Simon answered with a put-upon smile. "But he doesn't know it yet. I just met with Mrs. Purvis."

"Problems in school?"

Simon scowled. "I think that boy's due for a hide tanning. It's time he stop taking his education for granted."

"Maybe you need to sit him down and explain a few things to him, Simon," Jim suggested. "It might help him understand if he knew the troubles you went through to get your own education."

Simon sighed deeply. "I know. I really do need to tell him, but…"

Though the sentence was left unfinished, Jim knew which direction Simon's thoughts were headed. "But you don't want him to see just how nasty the world can be to someone just because of the color of his skin."

"Exactly," Simon said, innocently stepping into the trap of words. "I hate for my son to see just what men are capable of. Back East it would be different. He'd have grown up knowing it, but here…well, I was hoping to shelter him from it as long as I can. It's not a perfect world here, I know that, but the prejudices are fewer and farther between."

"I know what you mean," Jim said, laying another verbal snare, pleased that Simon was so neatly walking into it. "For all its growth and progress, Oneonta is a pretty tolerant place…for the most part. Pretty diverse population for a cow town, wouldn't you say? And every man accepted for who he is and what he can do, rather than what he looks like. For the most part, that is."

Simon's eyes narrowed as Jim's words finally hit home. Finally, his eyes softened a bit, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You ever thought of running for office? Smooth talking like that is wasted on a bunch of cows."

Jim returned the smile, pleased and relieved that his friend wasn't angered by the verbal snare he'd set. "Just pointing out the facts, Simon."

"Point made and taken. I'll give it some thought, Jim…but no promises."

"That's all I ask," Jim nodded.

~~~

It was a relief when they finally turned their horses toward the ranch. The sun was fast making its way below the horizon. It would be dark when they finally reached home.

Home. That word stuck in Blair's brain. Why had he thought of Jim's place in those terms? He'd seldom associated it with any of the places he stayed. It had taken years before he thought of the village as home. So why was he thinking of Jim's ranch as home? Especially when he knew he'd only be here another couple of months at most.

Blair shook away the confusion that question caused. He shifted his the saddle, frowning at the unfamiliar weight of the gun against his hip. He had argued with Jim about putting it on, but it had been a losing battle. The man was adamant. Blair had finally agreed to give it a try, but he made no vows on its remaining where it now resided. He was uncomfortable with the weapon, and frankly, didn't understand Jim's insistence in the matter. It was one more in a long line of things the two of them were going to have to discuss at length in the very near future.

Blair reached up a hand and pulled at the stiff, unyielding collar of his new shirt. These clothes were also going to take some getting used to. They weren't nearly as comfortable or as soft as the buckskin garments he had dressed in just this morning, though he reluctantly admitted they had served their purpose admirably. As Jim had gone about town, taking care of ranch business and making a few personal calls, scarcely anyone had taken notice of the a nondescript cowhand tagging along beside him…and to be truthful, Blair liked that feeling of invisibility. He hadn't even been questioned as he accompanied Jim into the hotel restaurant for lunch. He had held his breath for several long moments, waiting to be told in no uncertain terms that his "kind" weren't served with decent folk, but the waitress had seated them with nothing more than a warm smile in Blair's direction which had Jim teasing him throughout the meal.

Blair glanced down at himself, wondering what the waitress had seen. Did clothes really make that big a difference? He was still the same person he'd been this morning when he'd rode into town with Jim -- a half-breed the waitress would have had nothing but scorn for had she known -- but because he had been dressed as a "civilized man" he was acceptable in her eyes.

Blair wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he knew he wasn't in the mood to dwell on it any longer. The emotional tension of the day had left him drained. By the time they reached the ranch, Blair was too tired to even eat. He made his apologies to Stebbins, who seemed to take it personal when anyone skipped a meal, and went straight to bed.

It wasn't until the next morning that he got around to unpacking the bundle of clothes Jim had brought from the store. Just a few things -- Jim had said the remainder would be picked up with the rest of the supplies. Blair debated for a minute over where to put the new things. He'd been pretty much living out of his pack, not wanting to spread himself around Jim's brother's room any more than necessary. He already felt like an intruder here.

He finally decided to put the new clothes in the bottom of the high wardrobe, where he wouldn't have to plunder though too many of Steven's things to get to them on a daily basis.

Blair turned back to the bed and carefully untied the string holding the brown paper around the bundle of clothing. The paper fell away to reveal more than just the clothes he'd expected. A book…Iliad. Confused, Blair reached out to the tome, but stopped just short of actually touching it.

"It's not a snake. It won't bite you."

Blair snapped his head around, startled by the voice. Jim was standing in the doorway, a smug expression on his rugged face.

"Why?" Blair said, finding his voice.

"Well, for one thing, it doesn't have any teeth."

"I mean why did you buy the book?"

"Why not?"

Blair smiled. Ellison logic. Nothing if not consistent.

Jim gestured lazily toward the high shelves, filled with Steven's books. "I know you probably haven't made a dent in these yet, but I saw you looking at this one in town, and, well, I wanted you to have it. As a sort of thank you."

"I told you already, Jim, you don't have to--" Blair broke off, his eyes widening in sudden realization as Jim's words sunk in. "You mean…I can read these?"

~~~

Irritation slammed into Jim, twisting his gut uncomfortably as understanding dawned. He had just assumed Blair knew he could help himself to the books. He should have known things were never that simple with the kid. "Why would you think you couldn't?"

"They aren't mine," Blair answered simply.

Jim sighed loudly, straightening and stepping into the room. "Why would you think I would object to your reading them? Your opinion of me that low?"

"I thought…because…" Blair faltered, and Jim could see the evidence of an internal battle. He held his breath, hoping the kid was going to finally open up so they could put this kind of misunderstanding behind them.

Blair dropped his eyes. "Before…when I was little, my mother was a housekeeper. The man we…she worked for," Jim caught the slip and his frown deepened, "had a whole room full of books. Scores of them, maybe even hundreds, on shelves that reached from floor to ceiling. Some of the shelves were so high it took a ladder just to reach the books on them. I think he must have been incredibly rich."

"You must have been in heaven." Jim smiled.

A bitter smile crossed the youthful face as his eyes lifted to meet Jim's. "I wasn't allowed in the room…except to help clean, and I was forbidden to touch the books."

Jim shook his head, easily imagining the torture that must have been for someone who treasured books like this kid did.

"But I did," Blair continued, turning away from Jim. "I did read them. I snuck in at night while everyone was asleep and read them anyway."

Jim's smile returned. "Good for you!"

Blair turned, surprise coloring his face.

"What?" Jim asked, questioning the expression.

"What I did was wrong. I was the maid's son, and I had been strictly forbidden to touch the books..." Blair's voice trailed off.

"Which you did anyhow," Jim finished for him. "And I say, good for you. What's the problem?" At Blair's continued confusion, he went on. "Look, I happen to think education is one of the most important things a person can do for himself. My guess is, you never attended formal school. Am I right?"

Something indefinable flashed through the young man's eyes. "I'm a half-breed," he stated simply, as though that was answer enough.

And it was. Jim knew that as an Indian Blair more than likely wouldn't have been allowed around "normal God-fearing" children.

A hint of defensiveness colored Blair's tone as he hurriedly continued. "But my mother was a very educated woman. She taught me to read and write, and she saw to it I had books when she could manage to--"

"I wasn't questioning your intelligence," Jim interrupted. "It's obvious to me that you're very intelligent. I admire the fact that you found a way to get to those books, despite being forbidden to read them. As hard to come by as books are out here, no one should ever be denied access to them." Blair's eyes tracked around the room, not really focused on any one thing. Jim suspected he wasn't finished with his story. He waited patiently, hoping the kid would decide to continue. Blair rarely spoke of his days before going to live with the Indians, and even then only in the vaguest terms. Jim was curious, but hadn't pushed, knowing the memories of that time weren't all pleasant for Blair.

Finally the young man's gaze settled on the book still sitting on top of the open pack. "I got caught. My mom was fired. It was a long time before we could find another job." With the words, a visible wall dropped between them, closing off the kid's emotions.

Jim sighed, knowing that was all he was going to get for now. Damn. No wonder the kid had been reluctant to touch Steven's books. Jim cursed himself for not making it clear from the start that it was okay. Thankfully, it wasn't too late to rectify the situation now.

"Blair…" He waited until the dark blue eyes lifted to meet his own. "These books," he swept his arm wide, encompassing the entire shelf of tomes, "were written to be read. Help yourself."

Blair studied him for a long moment, and Jim knew his words were being weighed for veracity. Then, slowly, a warm smile lifted the corners of the young man's sun darkened face. Jim's own expression lightened to match it. The wall was still there, but it no longer seemed so impenetrable.

"Thank you." The words were as simple as the heartfelt expression that accompanied them.

Jim nodded. "Good. Now that that's settled, Stebbins' pancakes are calling."

~~~

Blair climbed onto the top rail of the temporary corral, leaning back against the poplar tree that was currently standing duty as a fence post. Once he was comfortable, he relaxed, letting his eyes rake the area. It was nice here, in the hills above Jim's ranch house. The elevation gave him a spectacular view of Cascade Valley. He could almost see as far as Simon's ranch. He knew Jim would have no trouble at all. Blair had spent a lot of time here over the past few weeks, and he'd come to enjoy the solitude. It was peaceful and relaxed here, away from the tensions of the ranch. When he could, Jim rode up with him. Sometimes they worked on the Jim's senses, testing and trying them. Sometimes Jim just watched Blair working with Mak'ha Ma'heo.

Mak'ha Ma'heo…free spirit. It was the name he'd arrived on for the mare after much deliberation. He hadn't felt right about naming her at first, having no intentions of keeping her, but Jim was insistent, and Blair was fast learning that it just didn't pay to argue with Jim Ellison when his mind was set on something. And the name just seemed to fit. She was definitely a free spirit, with a mind of her own. He'd finally broken her of the biting…well, for the most part. At least she didn't bite him anymore. He had yet to test her with anyone else. Even Jim kept his distance, not quite trusting Blair's word that she wouldn't take a chunk out of his arm. Blair chuckled, remembering the one time Jim had approached her, not long after Blair had moved her up here where he could work with her away from the prying eyes at the ranch. Jim had seen the easy way Blair moved around her and had been lulled into thinking she was safe to approach. He quickly learned that she wasn't quite ready to tolerate him, expect from a distance. He hadn't tried to approach her since, despite Blair's assurances.

A questioning snort met Blair's short laugh. He let go of the memory, turning his attention to Mak'ha. "Sorry, girl," he said softly in his native tongue. "I didn't mean to ignore you." He reached out a hand, gently rubbing her muzzle. The mare extended her head closer to allow him access to her ears.

"Not spoiled a bit, are you?" Blair chuckled. "But if you are, I guess I have to take full blame for it." He obligingly scratched between her ears, smiling at the contentment flowing from the animal. "If you were a cat, I think you'd be purring."

Blair jumped down from the rail, landing lightly beside the mare. "Well, girl, I guess you're about as ready as you're ever going to be." He took down the bridle from where he'd hung it by the gate, letting Mak'ha sniff it before placing the bit in her mouth. She didn't like it, but she didn't fight it, either. "We've taken way too long, as it is. Jim is beginning to think I'm stalling. Of course, you and I know better, don't we?"

He idly rubbed her neck as he spoke, giving her a chance to relax before he sprung the rest of the bad news on her, but she must have sensed something, because she pawed at the ground nervously. Blair took a breath, letting it out slowly. "Look," he shifted so he could look her in the eyes as he spoke, "you know I would rather do this bareback, and well, there's no doubt you would, too…but we're going to be on show. Those guys didn't see in you what I saw. They're too blinded by their white man's notions. We both know how crazy white man's notions are, don't we?" The horse snorted, as though in agreement.

Blair led the mare through the gate to where he'd tethered the gelding he'd ridden here from the ranch. He began removing the saddle from the gelding, continuing his monologue as he transferred it to Mak'ha. "They're going to be judging us, both of us, and I want to give them their money's worth." He chuckled again, thinking of the many bets placed against him in this venture. While the idea made him nervous, the thought of all the money Jim was going to win from those bets more than made up for it. Jim had placed his trust in Blair on this. It was only fair the man should be repaid for that trust.

He tightened the cinch around Mak'ha, then rubbed her neck affectionately. "Okay, girl, this is it. Show time. I've just got one request…well, two, actually. One, don't embarrass me, okay? I don't want to give these guys anymore fodder for torment than they already have. So, best behavior, all right?"

Mak'ha snorted. Blair took that as agreement, and moved on to his second request. "If you just feel this overwhelming need to bite someone, and you can't control it…try to aim for Quinn."

~~~

Jim leaned back, letting his chair rest on just the two back legs. He propped his booted feet up on the porch railing, a smile which looked suspiciously like a smirk crossed his handsome face.

"You wanna share?"

Jim looked up to find Joel crossing the porch toward him. "Share what?"

Joel eased his big frame into the chair beside Jim with a weary sigh. "Whatever's got you grinning like you're up to something."

"Oh," Jim clasped his hands behind his head, giving the impression of a man with not a care in the world, "just thinking…planning how I'm gonna spend all that money."

Joel's eyebrows crawled up toward his hairline, but before he could voice his question, the sound of an approaching rider filled the ranch yard. Already knowing the identity of the rider, Jim was content to watch his foreman for a reaction. He wasn't disappointed.

"Well, I'll be damned!" The big man's open-mouthed astonishment was enough to bring a full blown laugh from Jim. "I'll be double damned! The kid did it. He broke the mare!"

Blair rode into the ranch yard astride the mare and leading the gelding he'd ridden off on just a few hours ago. Jim hadn't known the kid planned to bring the horse -- what was Blair calling her…Mak'ha? -- back with him today, but he'd known for some time now that Blair was essentially finished breaking her. He also knew Blair had been delaying bringing her back, not at all looking forward to the reaction he'd known his success would provoke.

Joel stood, moving to the edge of the porch. Jim brought his feet down, allowing his chair to fall forward to all four legs. By now, several of the hands had noticed the arrival as well. Some were loudly cursing the turn of events that would cost them money, but there were some, Jim noticed, that wore expressions of grudging respect. This was something they could understand, something they could appreciate.

As Blair headed for the corral and dismounted, Jim stood and made his way over to him. The mare turned her head at Jim's approach, causing Jim to sidestep, keeping Blair between them and bringing a short chuckle from Blair.

"I honestly think you're safe, Jim," Blair said, patting the mare's neck. "She's already had her dinner."

Jim laughed. "Not taking any chances, Chief."

"Great job, Blair," Joel said, joining them. "Unbelievable, but good job, nonetheless."

Blair colored slightly under the praise. "Thanks."

Jim glanced over at the small knot of men gathered nearby and raised his voice cheerfully. "Well, boys…I think we have some settling up to do."

~~~

Rafe didn't spare a glance as he heard the clatter of hoofs behind him. He didn't have to look to know who it was or where he was headed. It was Sunday morning, the sun scarcely making its debut…reasonable human beings were still sleeping. Rafe almost chuckled at the thought. So what did that make him? He was up and about. Sundays were their only day off. Those few hands who hadn't stayed in town last night were still sleeping off their "fun" for the most part. Henri included.

But Rafe had never been much of a drinker. He enjoyed it on occasion, but didn't care for the aftereffects of an all night binge, especially since he was most definitely a morning person.

As was someone else. Rafe set down his straight razor and grabbed his scrap of toweling to wipe the remainder of the soap from his face. As he did, he let his eyes find the reflection of the retreating figure in the small mirror nailed to the back of the bunkhouse.

It was the same ritual every Sunday morning. Blair rode off at daybreak and didn't return until almost dark. Rafe briefly wondered where the breed went, what he did, but just as quickly dismissed the questions. Some damn savage ritual, most likely, and he was better off not knowing. Damn breed. Probably off praying to some rock or offering sacrifices to a tree or something.

Rafe pointedly ignored the horse the kid rode. He wanted to be angry that Blair had proved him wrong in front of the other men. But…damn it all! How could he deny what the damn breed had accomplished? But it wasn't respect he was feeling. No, sir, definitely not respect. Just…acknowledgment. He knew what had gone into breaking that horse, and well, he could at least acknowledge it to himself. There was no harm in that.

Subdued voices drew Rafe's attention away from the retreating figure. He turned to see Quinn and Rooker round the corner of the bunkhouse, leading their horses. He was surprised to see the men up so early, especially considering the condition the two had been in last night. Hell, he'd been surprised they had even come back at all last night. They usually stayed in town until Sunday night, holed up with some saloon woman or passed out drunk somewhere.

It didn't take him long to figure out their reasons.

"Give 'im a few more minutes," Quinn said, keeping his voice low, though he obviously hadn't noticed Rafe's presence. "Bastard's probably got eyes in the back of his head."

Rooker chuckled. "I doubt that, else he'd wouldn't keep having so many accidents."

Rafe knew about those 'accidents'. Most of the hands did. A few seemed to find amusement in watching Quinn and his men harass the kid behind Jim's back, but most, Rafe included, didn't see the humor when the damn breed refused to fight back. So far, they had turned their collective heads the other way, pretending not to notice.

"That's enough," Quinn declared, bringing Rafe back to the present. "Let's go."

"I don't think so," Rafe heard himself saying. Damn, he hadn't intended to get involved.

The two men started, whirling around to face Rafe. Quinn recovered first.

"Stay out of this, spic."

Rafe bristled at the slur. "Leave him alone, Quinn."

"What's this?" Rooker questioned. "Don't tell me you're going soft on the savage all of a sudden? Hell, kid, you're welcome to ride along with us, if that's what's got you riled up."

Rafe ignored the question, not wanting to explain himself to these two. "Just put your horses up."

"Or what?"

Rafe forced himself to stand his ground as Quinn took a threatening step toward him. "Or I'll have to go have a talk with the boss-man. I'm sure he'd be interested in hearing about all those accidents you were talking about."

"Be careful, boy," Quinn warned, "or you'll end up on the receiving end of a few accidents yourself."

Rafe laughed, not at all intimidated by the man. He had more than a few friends to help watch his back.

Seeing that Rafe was not going to be easily blustered, Quinn backed up a step, laughing as he did. "So, we've got ourselves another Injun lover, Wade."

"Looks that way," the larger man agreed. "What we gonna do 'bout it?"

Quinn glanced toward the trees where Blair had disappeared just moments before. Cold eyes turned back to pin Rafe. The younger man forced himself to stand steady in the face of the hatred he saw there. He'd be damned if he'd let this snake rattle him. Quinn's gaze suddenly shifted to the side even as Rafe heard a soft rustle of movement behind him. He didn't spare a glance, unwilling to let Quinn out of his sight just yet.

Unexpectedly, Quinn smiled, though the iciness never left his eyes. "Another time, Wade. When there ain't so many Injun lovers in our way."

Rafe held his position until the two men had retreated, returning the way they had come without so much as a glance back.

"You sure can pick 'em, man."

Rafe finally turned to face the newcomer. Henri was casually leaning against the back wall of the bunkhouse, his arms crossed over his chest. only the deep concern Rafe saw in the man's dark eyes belied his calm façade.

Taking in Henri's bloodshot eyes, hastily donned clothing and bleary expression, Rafe allowed a smile. "Figured nothing short of an earthquake could rouse you before noon."

Henri shrugged half-heartedly. "Earthquake, Quinn…what's the difference?" He straightened, running a hand over his short cropped hair. "Heard those two as they were dressing in the bunkhouse. Couldn't tell exactly what they were planning, but it sounded like something I needed to look into."

"They were going to follow the breed," Rafe filled him in. "Probably should have let 'em." Rafe didn't mean the words, but his pride demanded the bluster, so he obliged.

Henri snorted in disbelief.

Embarrassed by his partner's perception, Rafe turned away and began gathering his shaving kit, stuffing it back into it's leather carrying case.

"So, what're we going to do about it?"

Rafe spared a quick glance over his shoulder. "They gave up. What's to do?"

"You know what I mean, Rafe. You know those two weren't planning a social call on the boy. They were looking for some fun, and you know damn well what their idea of fun is. You stopped 'em this time, but what about the next time, huh? And what happens when one of their little 'accidents' goes too far?"

Rafe spun angrily to face his friend. "You want to sign up as the breed's bodyguard? You want to follow him around protecting him from that bunch of fools? That savage should have known what he was getting into when he tried to force his way into the civilized world where he's not wanted. If he can't handle it, he can leave, go back to his own kind."

Henri shook his head slowly, but didn't react to Rafe's angry outburst. "I know you don't like the kid, Rafe, and I can even halfway understand your reasons. Who's to say I wouldn't feel the same way in your shoes? But you can't judge them all based on what happened to you. For myself, he's kind of growing on me, you know? Doesn't seem to have a mean bone in his body, and even if he did, I don't think he deserves Quinn's abuse."

Rafe wasn't quite ready to let go of his anger. "If he's not a mind to stand up for himself, why should we worry? He could tell Jim or Joel, and they'd put a stop to it."

"And you'd respect him more if he ran whining to the boss?"

Rafe scowled. "It's none of our business!"

"Then why did you stop them?"

"I'd defend any dog that kept getting the shit kicked out of him, no matter how mangy it was." Despite the harshness of his words and tone, Rafe had a feeling his friend saw right through the bluster.

"You're going to be on Quinn's short list for a while," Henri needlessly pointed out.

"I'm not worried about him," Rafe replied.

"You've got friends around here to help you out," Henri observed. "Not like the kid…"

Rafe turned away from the words and the point behind them. "If he can't handle it, he can leave."

~~~

Blair opened his eyes and straightened his legs, slowly stretching out the stiffness brought on by sitting in one position for much too long. The small fire before him had burned down to just a few glowing coals. He briefly entertained the idea of rekindling it, but decided against it. It would be dark soon and he knew he should be heading home.

Home. There was that word again. He'd found himself thinking in those terms quite often lately, and yet it never failed to surprise him to find that word rolling around in his thoughts. But to be honest, he liked the idea of using it in connection with Jim's ranch. He hadn't been here long, but he was beginning to…well, to fit in, up to a point. There were still hands who resented his presence, and some who actually seemed to be trying to drive him into leaving -- Dawson Quinn and Wade Rooker, to name two. But many of the men were coming to tolerate and even accept Blair. Some had even become a bit…well, friendly wasn't really the right word, but Blair had actually had a civilized conversation on occasion with someone other than Jim, Joel or Stebbins. He had to admit, it was kind of nice.

Rafe…well, that one was a bit harder to pigeonhole. Rafe wasn't as openly hostile as Quinn, but it was obvious the man still wanted as little to do with him as possible. Blair tried to stay out of Rafe's way, but it was difficult when Jim and Joel kept assigning them to the same jobs. Blair couldn't understand their reasoning. What did it really matter if Rafe changed his opinions toward Blair? As long as Blair kept his distance, it shouldn't be a problem for either of them.

Then there was Simon -- another man Blair couldn't quite figure out. As long as Blair stayed away from Daryl, he seemed content to ignore Blair, and that was fine with Blair. He would have liked to have forged a civil relationship with the man -- for Jim's sake, he told himself -- but it just didn't seem possible. So he settled for a word or two of polite greeting before disappearing. It seemed the best way to avoid tension.

That same strategy seemed to work best with almost everyone. Blair was resolved to doing his job the best he could, keeping his mouth shut, and staying out of everyone's way.

Which was why he spent Sundays here, away from everyone and everything "white". The idea of a day off was still somewhat of a novelty to him. It seemed odd to spend a whole day laying around when there was work to be done. But the white men seemed to accept the idea as a God-given right, so who was Blair to argue?

Blair sighed deeply, standing and stretching more thoroughly. These days away from the stresses and tensions of having to watch everything he said and did were good for his spirit anyway, so he wouldn't argue. Working with Jim was great, and Blair had no regrets whatsoever on that front. It was exciting to watch the Guardian discover and explore his gifts and to know that he was playing a role in that exploration. Blair took his role very seriously, knowing the enormous responsibility that went with it. It was that responsibility that made the tensions of the past few weeks tolerable.

Blair caught himself. No, that wasn't right. Certainly there was an awesome responsibility associated with the Guardian, and certainly Blair did take it seriously, but he liked to think that a large part of what made the past month bearable was Jim. Blair thought there was the beginning of a friendship there. He was sure it went beyond Jim's need for help with his gifts. The relationship seemed to have moved past necessary toleration on both sides.

A friend.

A white friend.

Blair shook his head in amazement, as he kicked dirt over the embers and mounted Mak'ha and turned toward the ranch. If someone had told him this just six months ago, he'd have checked for fever.

~~~

Jim caught Joel's eye across the table, easily reading the bigger man's misgivings, but he didn't let that deter him. Jim had discussed his intentions with his foreman and knew the man wasn't exactly enthusiastic about them, but that wasn't going to deter Jim either. He couldn't explain why it was so necessary for Blair to fit in, not even to himself; he only knew it was damned important to him. He also knew he was taking a mighty big risk with this little…well, manipulation seemed too harsh a word, even if that was what he was doing. It could very well backfire, as Joel had been so quick to point out. Forcing Rafe and Blair to work together around the ranch was one thing -- even Joel had thought that might help the two young men find a common ground, but it wasn't working.

So, despite the silent warning his foreman sent him, Jim cleared his throat and spoke to the young man sitting at the far end of the table. "Rafe…" Jim waited until he looked up. "I've made arrangements with Hanners for you to pick up that herd this weekend. You can leave tomorrow morning."

Rafe nodded, prodding Henri with his elbow. "We'll be ready, Jim."

Jim cleared his throat again. "Henri won't be going with you this time." This drew a startled look from both men. Jim was well aware that Henri always accompanied Rafe to pick up new horses. "Blair is going with you."

All conversation at the table stopped. Jim boldly met the gazes that turned toward him at the words, letting none of his doubts show. Most of the looks he got were curious, some even amused, with the notable exception of Rafe. The glare the young wrangler turned on Jim was anything but amused.

Jim forced himself to meet the gaze, resisting the temptation to glance at Blair seated beside him. The ever present heartbeat that played at the edges of Jim's hearing had become a percussion symphony which demanded attention, but Jim ignored it, knowing the kid wouldn't protest his decision in public. In fact, Jim doubted Blair would protest at all. The kid might question the logic of Jim's decision, but he'd do whatever Jim asked of him. Jim stamped down a flare of guilt, knowing he was taking advantage of that unquestioning deference. Instead, he turned all of his attention to the fight he expected from his head wrangler.

"That won't be necessary." There was steel in the Rafe's tone. "There's only the six of 'em. If Henri can't come along, I can handle 'em by myself."

Jim shook his head, not breaking eye contact with the young man. "The stallion is going to be a handful. It'll take the both of you to deal with him."

"Jim--" Rafe started, clearly ready to argue further.

"It's been decided," Jim stated firmly. "I paid a lot for that stallion, and I'm not willing to risk anything happening to him. You and Blair are the two best wranglers on the ranch, and last time I checked, I was still the boss."

Rafe held the eye contact a moment longer, visibly biting back a reply. Finally, he noisily pushed back his chair and rose. He headed for the door, stopping halfway there to call over his shoulder, "I'll be leaving at daylight, breed…don't make me have to wait!"

Jim let out a sigh, that had gone pretty much as he'd expected, which was not well at all. He risked a glance to his left, where Blair was sitting silently. Well, silently all but for the thundering heartbeat. Blair was paying a lot more attention to the stew on his plate than it warranted, seemingly making a concentrated effort to make himself invisible.

Shaking his head in frustration, Jim turned his attention to his own food, though his appetite was long gone. Either the two young men were going to come back at the end of this trip with a new found understanding, perhaps even tolerance, for one another…or one or the other of them would most likely be riding out for good.

~~~

His nervousness demanding action, Blair unnecessarily checked and rechecked the cinch on the gelding he'd chosen for the trip -- he'd decided against bringing Mak'ha, afraid Rafe would think he was showing off his success at breaking her. God knows, this was going to be difficult enough without any added pressures. Blair wasn't exactly looking forward to this trip, knowing it would be awkward and uncomfortable at the very least. Rafe had made his feelings known last night, and Blair…well, Blair didn't exactly return the animosity Rafe had shown him, but neither did he have warm feelings in regard to him.

The approach of a horse behind him drew Blair from his thoughts, and he felt his apprehension grow. Damn Jim, anyhow. But just as quickly as the curse crossed his mind, Blair pushed it away. He understood Jim's reasons for forcing the two of them together on this trip, even if he didn't agree with them. Blair just prayed they wouldn't end up killing one another before they could make it back to the ranch with the horses. Once they returned, they go back to ignoring one another.

"Let's get this over with, breed," Rafe spit out. Without waiting for a reply, he swung his horse around and spurred him to a gallop.

Blair let out a sigh as he climbed into the saddle of his own horse and urged him to follow.

~~~

It was close to sunset when the two finally stopped to make camp. The total silence of the day extended to the laying of the temporary camp. Twice, as Rafe settled the horses for the night, he caught himself about to speak, nothing important or necessary, just casual comments made in the name of conversation. Twice, he stopped himself just short, remembering at the last minute just who it was he was traveling with.

He threw a covert glance over his shoulder at his unwelcomed traveling companion. Blair was busy setting a fire. Anger and resentment flowed through Rafe in equal portions, but he forced them back down. Tomorrow, they would pick up the herd from Hanners, and in three days they would be back at the ranch. Surely, he could survive the savage's presence for that long.

He'd prove to Mr. High-and-Mighty-Jim-Ellison-boss-man that they could survive his little scheme without killing one another -- or becoming best friends.

Rafe's lips curled slightly at the thought of throwing this whole charade back in his boss' face. He'd show the man he wasn't so easily manipulated. They could all be damned for all he cared. There were plenty of jobs out there for men who knew their way around horses like he did. He didn't have to stay with Jim Ellison and let the man humiliate him at every turn. And if Henri preferred to stay with Jim…well, who the hell needed him anyway? Maybe it was time he found a new partner to ride with.

His decision made, Rafe turned back to camp, only to realize the breed was nowhere to be seen. "Probably out looking for a baby to scalp," he muttered irrationally under his breath. He retrieved the canteens from the saddle packs and shook them. Both were nearly empty. He took a step toward the nearby creek, then stopped and tossed one of the canteens back toward the fire. Let the savage fetch his own water.

Drawing an odd kind of comfort from the familiar warmth of anger building in his chest, Rafe made his way silently through the last vestiges of daylight toward the creek. It wasn't until he found himself at his destination that he realized he wasn't alone. A dozen or so yards upstream, kneeling by the water's edge, was the savage. Stripped to the waist, the kid was washing the dust of the day's ride from his arms and neck. A shaft of waning sunlight played across the tanned skin of the breed's back, revealing a crisscross of ragged white tracks that reached from high on the muscled shoulders to below the waistband of the dusty dungarees.

Not quite certain why the sight unsettled him, Rafe moved silently back into the trees and returned to camp. He tossed the canteen aside and dropped down to sit beside the campfire. It didn't take much imagination to fill in the blanks. Few things could have caused scars like he'd seen on the breed's back. They were obviously old, which, given the kid's age, meant he'd most likely gained them as a child. A child…Damn savages! Probably part of some perverted "coming of age" ritual. He'd heard tales of such heathen rituals. Chilling tales. Damn bloodthirsty sons-of-bitches.

Not that he cared. The breed was one of them. Probably asked for it, even welcomed it. None of his business.

Still…

~~~

Simon sat up, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed as the unrelenting cough from the other bedroom began to worry him. He lit the lantern on the bedside table and made his way carefully down the darkened hallway to his son's room.

Daryl was sitting up in the bed, one hand pushed firmly against his chest as he leaned forward to cough. Simon sat down on the edge of the bed and gently rubbed the boy's back until the fit passed.

"Better?"

Daryl nodded, settling back down on the pillow. "Yeah, I think so." His voice was raspy, hoarse.

Simon reached over to lay the back of his hand against the boy's cheek. Damn! A spike of fear wedged in the vicinity of Simon's heart at the heat he felt there. He immediately quashed the fear, dismissing the voice that whispered a warning in the back of his mind. It was probably just a cold. The weather was changing, and Daryl always got a cold when the weather changed. Always. That's all it was.

But the voice got louder, whispering reminders of the recent influenza outbreak up in Motte Creek. No, Simon argued back, there was no way it could have stretched this far south. No way.

Angrily, Simon gave the disturbing thoughts a final shove, sending them back to the dark recesses of his mind. "Be right back," he told his son, and with a gentle pat on the arm, he made his way back to his room, retrieved his own pillow and took it back to Daryl's room. "Here, son, lean up for a moment." Daryl pushed himself up on an elbow, and Simon placed the additional pillow behind the boy's back to prop him up higher. "That should help."

"Thanks, Dad."

Simon settled himself back on the edge of the bed. "Go on back to sleep, son. I'll stay with you for a bit."

Daryl nodded and let his eyes close. Simon watched him until his face finally relaxed into sleep, silently praying all the while that the voice was mistaken. He was just about to head back to bed himself when another coughing fit hit the boy. Simon gently pulled the boy up against his chest and held him, rubbing his back, until the fit passed.

"Dad?" Daryl's voice was soft against Simon's shoulder, scarcely more than a whisper, "I don't feel so good."

Grim determination gripped the large man. He'd lost the boy's mother; he wouldn't lose his son, too. He laid Daryl down, pulling the blankets up close. "It's all right, son. Try to get some sleep. I'm going to send for the doctor, and he'll have you fixed up in no time."

~~~

A light drizzle settled the dust of the trail, neither heavy enough nor cold enough to be much more than a nuisance. Blair shrugged deeper into his slicker and pulled the brim of his hat a bit lower before throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to check the progress of the small herd of horses behind him.

They had left Hanners' place only a few hours before, but already the animals had settled into the drive, the stallion taking up position behind and to the left of Blair's lead. His reluctant traveling companion brought up the rear, urging the herd forward. As Blair turned, he caught Rafe's gaze on him. Their eyes locked briefly, then the older man turned away, a scowl darkening his face.

Blair turned back to face the trail before him. He had no idea what was going on with Rafe, and he was trying hard not to care. They'd scarcely shared a handful of words between them since leaving Jim's ranch two days ago. Blair knew Rafe hated him -- that much had been made clear weeks ago. And though Jim insisted there was more to it than simple racial hatred, Blair knew that was enough for most men. He hadn't really expected this trip to be pleasant, and he hadn't been disappointed. Though, to tell the truth, there hadn't been as many barbs and insults as he had anticipated. While Blair had caught the man openly staring at him on several occasions, for the most part Rafe just seemed…preoccupied or something. Whatever mental bone Rafe was chewing, at least it was keeping his attention from Blair. Trouble was, judging by those pointed stares he kept catching, Blair was beginning to suspect it somehow involved him, and that most certainly couldn't be good.

Camp that night was more of the same -- silent and cold. Oh, there was a fire, and the air was warm enough, but the atmosphere was most definitely cold. Blair helped Rafe settle the horses for the night with barely a word spoken between them, then joined him at the fire for a hastily prepared meal.

Twice Blair glanced at his companion to find the man furtively staring at him. The second time, Rafe held his gaze, the familiar scowl making its appearance. Blair felt himself bristling, despite his resolve that he would do nothing on this trip to provoke the man. He knew it was important to Jim that he get along with Rafe, but damn, he was sick of being the only one to make an effort in that direction.

"What?" he heard himself growl.

"What?" Rafe repeated, irritation evident in his tone.

"You got something to say? Or you just staring at me for entertainment?"

"Don't flatter yourself, breed."

Well, at least the man was talking to him, but Blair was getting sick of Rafe's attitude. Why couldn't anyone just accept him for who he was? His anger deflated suddenly and was replaced by a resignation which left him feeling old and very tired.

"Yeah, man, whatever you say." Maybe silence was the best option, after all. He turned his attention back to his food. Several long moments of silence followed before Blair decided to make one last stab at a civilized conversation…for Jim's sake, he reminded himself. "Sure will be glad to get back to Stebbins' cooking."

"I would have thought you'd prefer your meat raw." The words were spoken with vehemence. "Or is it only babies and women you eat without cooking?"

"What in the hell is the matter with you?" Blair shouted, too angered by the ridiculous accusation to stop himself. "What have I ever done to you?"

"You're an Indian!" Rafe yelled back. "And that's damned sure enough, in my book! The whole lot of you are nothing but thievin', murderin' bastards!"

Blair didn't answer. There were no words to fight idiotic statements like that. How could you argue with a lifetime of ingrained prejudice?

"Nothing to say, breed?" Rafe spit the slur like it was the nastiest of curses. And to him, it probably was. "Guess there's not much to defend when the words are true."

"You know nothing about me or my people," Blair stated, his voice low and cold. "You're an ignorant fool."

"I know what I've seen."

Blair was taken aback by the statement. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't judge men by stereotypes or rumors," Rafe responded acidly. "But I know what I've seen."

Blair was curious now. "And what have you seen?"

Rafe's gaze turned inward briefly. By the time he refocused on Blair, the anger had been replaced by something unreadable. "None of your business." The words were softly spoken, with surprisingly little heat.

Matching the tone, Blair said, "When you judge me by it, that makes it my business."

Rafe turned his attention to his hands. "Let's just say I have reason to…to distrust you, and leave it at that."

"That's hardly fair, is it?" Blair waited until Rafe looked up before continuing. "You throw out accusations and insults which are as ridiculous as they are fantastic, and yet you expect me to just take your word for it that you have your reasons?" Blair took a deep breath. "Look, man, we're at least talking, so let's just take this opportunity to clear the air a bit, okay? You obviously have what you think are very good reasons for hating my guts, though you haven't seen fit to share those reasons with me. Personally, I don't care if you hate me, or if you make my life miserable at every turn. As far as I'm concerned, you can hate me till hell freezes over. What's one more white man's hatred? You stay away from me, and I'll stay away from you. Deal?"

"Ellison has other ideas."

Blair frowned. "I'll talk to him. I think I can convince him it's a lost cause. I'm not going to be around that much longer anyhow. Surely we're both mature enough to make nice for another month or so. So let's just agree to leave each other alone. Deal?"

There was a long moment of silence before Rafe finally nodded. Blair let out a noisy breath and leaned back against a convenient tree. It wasn't much of a truce, but he'd take it. He'd convince Jim that the two of them had made a working peace, and maybe some of the tension around the ranch would ease up.

"Indians killed my family."

The statement caught Blair off guard. He looked up to find Rafe looking into the fire.

"It was Apaches."

Blair held his breath, hardly believing the man was opening up to him, but relieved nonetheless to finally be getting an explanation for all the animosity.

"I was nine. Saw the whole thing." Rafe looked up suddenly, meeting Blair's eyes. "Do you know what Apaches do to their prisoners?" He didn't wait for Blair to answer. "It's not…" His voice broke, and he took a minute to gather himself before continuing. "It's not very pleasant. My madre and my two older sisters…they…" He dropped his eyes, but not before Blair saw the moisture gathering there.

"I'm sorry, Rafe--" Blair started.

"I was hiding," Rafe interrupted, his focus turning inward. It was as though he were speaking to himself, forgetting Blair was even there. "My padre and I were in the barn when they attacked. He hid me, then went out to fight them. My madre and my sisters were in the house…he was just trying to get to them, to protect them."

There was a long silence. Blair had no words to offer, so he waited, knowing there was more.

"They killed my padre first." Rafe looked up, his gaze narrowing in remembered horror. "Slowly. My padre screamed…the strongest, bravest man I even knew, and he screamed. He screamed and he cried and he begged for mercy…and they laughed. I couldn't see from my hiding place, but I could hear the screams...

"My madre and my sisters were next."

Rafe didn't elaborate, but Blair didn't need him to. He could well imagine what the Apaches had done to the women.

An uneasy stillness filled the air. Each man sat quietly, lost in his thoughts.

"That wasn't me, Rafe," he said after several minutes of silence.

There was no response for a moment, and Blair wondered if the man had even heard him. When Rafe did answer, his voice was low, and he didn't meet Blair's eye. "That doesn't stop me from blaming you."

Blair took the opening, somewhat relieved that they were finally talking like rational adults. "The Apache…they're…well, they aren't representative of all Indians, no more than you or Jim or Quinn are representative of all white men."

"But all Indians are savages. They all have murder in their souls." The words had no heart, no heat behind them. Blair was reminded of Simon's son, Daryl, and the ridiculous notions he'd held. The only difference was that Daryl had been open to having those notions dispelled. He wasn't so sure Rafe was.

"My people aren't like the Apache," Blair argued. "They're a peaceful people. They just want to be left alone to live their lives like they always have."

Rafe stared at him for a long moment. He looked at though he was actually considering the words. But when he spoke, his words caught Blair completely off guard.

"So you say, but I've seen your scars."

Blair was surprised by the statement. He seldom thought of the scars anymore. They were reminders of a past he didn't want to remember. It wasn't like he deliberately tried to hide them, but he did feel it was easier to avoid questions than to answer them. He'd even managed, so far, to keep them from Jim. He couldn't remember any opportunity Rafe would have had to see them.

"It wasn't like I was spying or anything," Rafe defended, as though privy to Blair's thoughts. "But I did see them the other night when you were washing up at the creek. If your people are so peaceful, how do you explain those scars?"

Appalled at the implications of the man's words, Blair could only stare mutely. Rafe misunderstood his silence.

"You can't explain them, can you? I didn't think so." He rose and began rolling out his blankets. "Your people aren't so noble, breed. Deep down, where it matters, you redskins are all the same."

The disgust in Rafe's tone broke Blair from his silence, bringing forth an anger he'd worked hard to bury. "You're so quick with your assumptions, white man! Well, far be it from me to shake your perfect little world with the truth!"

Blair stood, disappearing into the darkness before anymore could be said.

~~~

part 3