Chapter Twenty-Five

Numb.

Craig was, quite simply, numb.

But he knew that his best friend was worried sick about him so he plastered the best smile he could on his face and assured the man he was okay.

Wyatt's gaze went skyward, his hands went to his hips and his glare was one for the record books. 'You're not fine.'

Craig sighed and looked out from the porch of the line shack that Zachariah and Wyatt had made their home. "You're right. I'm not. Hell, I loved him, Wyatt."

Wyatt put a hand on Craig's shoulder. 'Did you tell him that?'

Craig opened his mouth to say yes but then clamped it shut. No. No, he hadn't. He had thought that Ezekiel would simply know that he loved him.... He had assumed that it was understood.

'Of course you didn't,' Wyatt mouthed in what Craig knew would be a mutter if the man could speak.

"You're right. I could have fought harder to keep him," Craig grumbled. "But he could have fought harder too."

The two friends sat there in silence together for a long while before Wyatt finally slapped Craig on the back, nearly dislodging his lung.

Craig turned a pained expression his way. 'Let's go on a trip. A few days of riding, sleeping under the stars, playing poker. It'll be like the old days.'

A genuine smile curved Craig's lips at his best friend's offer. "Are you sure Zachariah would let you out of his sight for a few days?"

Wyatt shrugged. 'Sure.' His thick brows waggled. 'He can miss me a while.'

Craig nodded. "I think I'd enjoy a few days under the sky. Thanks, Wyatt."

Wyatt wrapped him in a warm hug and pulled away with that bright smile on his face that always seemed contagious. 'What are best friends for?'

"I was only gone an hour and you've already replaced me." Zachariah's deep, gruff voice accused as the man came around the side of the cabin. "You just can't find a good man these days."

Wyatt rolled his eyes before stepping to the banister and putting his arms around Zachariah's neck. Craig couldn't see what Wyatt said but it had the grizzled Indian blushing beneath his scars.

Wyatt pulled away and glanced at Craig. 'Craig and I are going away for a couple of days.'

"Where the hell are you going?" Zachariah demanded, clearly not happy with the news.

Wyatt sighed. 'To get some fresh air.'

Zachariah was quiet a moment. It was impossible to tell what the man was thinking and Craig wondered if he'd kill him. Zachariah had never been real fond of him and, while they hadn't had any issues since Craig's return, this was sure to spark some.

Zachariah's gray eyes were angry. "Fresh air?"

Wyatt nodded in earnest as he put his hand on the tall man's chest. 'My best friend needs me.'

"I need you," Zachariah growled. He threw a glance at Craig and then tugged Wyatt into his body possessively. "I don't know why I have to suffer and be lonely because Craig can't handle his own life."

Craig opened his mouth to defend himself but was silenced when Wyatt punched Zachariah in the chest an glared up at the man.

Zachariah's expression was nearly comical as he rubbed at his chest and stared down at the much smaller yet very angry man glaring up at him. 'Stop being an asshole,' Wyatt snapped. 'Craig and I are going and that's that.'

Zachariah scratched at his scarred cheek before crossing his arms over his chest. "Well alright then. How long?"

Wyatt glanced at Craig but Craig simply shrugged. "It's up to you, Wyatt."

Wyatt tapped his chin. 'About three days.'

Zachariah's jaw popped. "So my man is leaving me for three days to do what?"

'Ride around. Play poker.' Wyatt smiled at Craig. 'Just like old times.'

Zachariah grunted. "Except back in the old times Craig preferred skirts and split tails."

Craig was surprised when a laugh rumbled from his chest. "Don't worry, Zachariah. You're safe. Wyatt's not my type."

Wyatt scoffed. 'What's wrong with me?'

Instead of responding, Craig fell silent. Good humor left him. Wyatt wasn't Ezekiel. No one was Ezekiel. Craig figured he never would find another person in the world that made him feel what that tall, thick-muscled, dark-skinned, outlaw-turned-ranch foreman had made him feel.

"Alright, take the damn sad puppy dog looking jackass out for three days," Zachariah muttered. He pulled Wyatt closer. "But let me tell you something, outlaw. You're gonna owe me a thing or two when you get back home."

Craig turned his back to the lovebirds, both to give them a bit of privacy and save himself from the sight of them. He was happy for all those who had found love but he couldn't pretend he wasn't jealous and bitter at the same time.

He didn't realize their affection had ended until Wyatt tapped his shoulder. 'We'll need to get some supplies. You want to come into town with me?'

Craig was quick to shake his head. "Why don't you and Zachariah go? I'll pack up what we'll need from around here and meet you at Jeb's."

Wyatt appeared ready to push but decided to relent. He motioned for Zachariah.

Craig avoided town. He didn't want to see Susannah. She paraded around town like the queen of Sheba, telling everyone who would listen that she was having Craig's child and charging credit after credit at every store in town—in Craig's name, of course.

She was a horrible human being and his entire family hated her. So did Craig. But her belly had begun to round slightly and, as long as he thought there might the smallest chance the babe she was carrying was his, Craig would do his best to do what was right by that babe.

He took in a deep breath and steadied himself. A few days out on horseback with his best friend would be just what the doctor ordered to get his mind off things it didn't need to be dwelling on.

"Craig?" Zachariah called, poking his head from the barn.

"Yeah?"

"Wyatt wants to know if you want him to get whiskey."

Craig was quick to shake his head. "No. No whiskey."

He hadn't touched whiskey since leaving town with Susannah a month ago. He had no urge for the stuff that had helped ruin his life. Strange how, at one point, he'd felt whiskey was all he had. Now, he saw the stuff for what it really was.

Watching Wyatt and Ezekiel ride away, Craig sighed. Recovering from drunken whiskey nights had never seemed so hard as recovering from all these sober ones.

***

Ezekiel had no idea how this had happened. He'd come into town hoping to find out where Jeb's ranch might be and had ended up standing toe to toe with an angry, loud group of ignorant men who seemed to have a dislike of dark-skinned folks and a strong love of guns.

Ezekiel was currently staring down the barrels of five guns while those men were staring down the blade of nothing but his knife.

"We don't take no mouth off a negro," the lead trouble maker announced.

"Then you shouldn't have talked to one," Ezekiel replied calmly. He glanced at the bloody face of one of the men and winced. "You should probably go see the doc.. he might be able to set your nose so it don't heal quite so crooked."

Ezekiel had been in town a total of ten minutes. He'd been on his way to the mercantile, figuring that was as good a place as any to start asking questions, when this band of merry idiots had begun to shove him around on the street and insult the color of his skin. He assumed they'd chosen to pick on him because he had no gun and there were five of them.

Damn fools.

Ezekiel had tolerated it a full five seconds before his temper had overridden his other senses and he'd broken one of the bastard's noses. Which had led to the current situation.

"Oh the negro has jokes," ringleader sneered. He spit at Ezekiel's feet. "I don't think I'd be cracking jokes if I was you."

"Then again, you don't think much at all, do you Linus?"

Ezekiel turned to see that someone was approaching them. The man was tall, scarred up, clearly an Indian and roughly the same size as Ezekiel himself.

The ringleader swallowed hard at the sight of the man and all five men lowered their guns. "We don't want no trouble with you, Zachariah."

The Indian shook his head. "Then quit making trouble." He tipped his head to the side. "Now get the hell out of here and leave folks alone."

The men were quick to hightail it away and Ezekiel turned to the man who had helped him. This had to be the Zachariah who was in a relationship with Craig's friend Wyatt. There couldn't be two giant, scarred up, scary Indians living in the same tiny town.

"You must have a death wish, staring down five men with guns when all you're holding is a knife," Zachariah mused.

Ezekiel shook his head. "I've faced worse odds. I actually think you might be able to help me."

Zachariah's brow rose. "I doubt it. What do you want?"

"I'm looking for Jebidiah Crane's ranch." Ezekiel slid his knife back in the holster. "I got some business there."

"You're looking for Jebidiah?"

Ezekiel spun around to see Gilliam Tomlinson standing there with that cocky lawman stance and narrowed eyes. A young scrawny boy with pale skin and glasses stood beside him.

Ezekiel nodded. "I'm looking for his ranch."

Faster than even Ezekiel could react, Gill's fist shot out and caught him hard in the temple. The world spun around him before going black as he hit the dirt.

***

"Damn pa!" Preston exclaimed, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "You just knocked him out cold."

"Watch your language," Gill scolded, shaking his aching fist as he stared down at the unconscious outlaw in the dirt. "Pick him up, Zachariah and we'll take him to my mama's while we try to figure out what to do with him. I don't know why a good for nothing, cold-blooded killer is looking for Jeb but it'll be a cold day in hell before I let that bastard anywhere near him."

Zachariah bristled, clearly unhappy with being given orders, but the large man put his arms under the outlaw's arms and hoisted his body partly off the ground so he could drag him a bit easier.

"What's his name? I don't recognize him and I thought I knew outlaws well. I was a bounty hunter."

"He's protected by a pardon granted to him by a crooked politician," Gill grunted as the trio made their way down the road with their captor. "His name's Ezekiel."

Zachariah stopped in his tracks as realization dawned on them all. Gill shook his head and Preston rolled his eyes. "Looks like Uncle Craig has some explaining to do," he announced. "Papa ain't gonna be happy about this."

Gill groaned at the thought of telling Jeb who his brother had fallen for. "I'm afraid you're right, Preston," he said, putting his hand on the eleven-year old's shoulder. "Papa ain't gonna be happy at all."