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Author's note: The story herein, and any following story-arcs, are not considered to be canon. This story takes place sometime after "Witness". "Nemesis" and the final episodes have not taken place yet, and may not if I decide not to use them. (It's my story, I can do whatever I want!).

Thanks: to all the patrons of the Four Corners Saloon for their ideas and support. And also to my husband, Chris, who encouraged me to have fun.

Any feedback, positive or negative (as long as it's constructive), will be appreciated.
E-mail: rcridley1@yahoo.com
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Chris Larabee sat up in bed, his sweat soaked sheets gathered around his legs. He looked around his rented room, but couldn't find anything that might have woken him. He cautiously got out of bed, feeling for his gunbelt on the table next to him. With gun in hand, he peered out of the window onto the moonlit streets of the town below. Nothing stirred, but a tingling sensation crawled up his back to settle at the base of his skull. He recognized the sensation. It meant only one thing: trouble was on the way.

The town of Four Corners wasn't as large and prosperous as she had hoped, but Sarah Martens really didn't care. She was hungry, dirty, and tired of riding in that stupid stagecoach. She didn't have many hopes of Four Corners being the place she finally settle in, but as a resting place, it was a start. In all actuality, she was just glad to get out of Texas. She'd had no idea how big the state was when she moved there from St. Louis, but trying to get out of there had been long and trying. The stage finally came to a halt; Sarah climbed out and looked around. The driver climbed on top and tossed her bags onto the ground beside her, causing a cloud of dirt to billow around her. She threw an angry glance at the driver, but then just sighed and turned away. After all, he was probably just as eager to get rid of her as she was him. How was she to know that she'd be the only passenger from that little town south of Abilene to go this far west? She thought briefly about asking him to stay in case things didn't work out in this town, but remembered her promises that this would be the last stop. At least this town was big enough to have coaches pass through regularly; if she couldn't find what she needed she'd just leave.

Sarah watched the coach pull away and then turned a full circle to look at the town. The coach had let her off in front of the hotel. Most towns had hotels away from the saloons, but the Four Corners Hotel and Saloon actually shared the same building. Maybe she'd find help there. She didn't realize how long she had been standing in the street until a young man came up to her and asked if she needed help with her bags. She thanked him, but declined his offer.

"Actually," she said, "I was wondering if the town had a bath house or if the hotel itself offered private bathing rooms."

The young man grinned. "I don't think the hotel has private bathing rooms, but we do have a private bath house. Well, sort of private, anyway. You'll understand when you see it. Want me to show you where it is?"

Sarah nodded her head in assent, and grabbed her bags as the young man led her around the corner of the hotel to a large building behind it. The stone building with steam streaming from the roof vents was the most beautiful sight that she had seen in a long time. She was acutely aware of how dirty she was, and longed to be clean, wearing clean clothes. She thanked the young man and walked to the entrance without even bothering to see if he'd heard her. Two men, one with a mustache, the other dressed in well-tailored clothes, exited the building and stood to one side to let her by. Sarah gave them a brief glance, but kept on into the building intent on being clean again.

The two men watched her enter the bath house before turning back to the street.
"You know, Ezra," the mustached man said. "If fine women like that one keep turning up, I may be persuaded to stay in Four Corners forever."

Ezra Standish straightened the sleeves of his red jacket. "Indeed, my observant Mr. Wilmington. I'd given some consideration to pursuing my monetary interests elsewhere, but I concur with your declaration of tarrying in our quaint hamlet. Shall we continue our discussions over a libation?"

Buck Wilmington stared at Ezra, not quite sure what the other man had just said.

"Let's go to the saloon, and have a drink," Ezra explained.

Buck's face split into a huge grin. "Well, why didn't you say so?" He turned and headed for the saloon. Ezra followed after a slight hesitation.

"I just did."

Sarah Martens looked around the building she had just entered. The bathhouse was smaller than what she was used to, having only two actual bathing rooms separated from each other for the comfort of each sex. The main room had the water pumps and stoves to heat the water for each bathtub. The shelves of the room were full of an assortment of toiletries for both men and women. A small, matronly woman smiled at Sarah and prepared a bath for her in one of the rooms. The woman offered her an assortment of scented soaps for her body and hair, which Sarah gratefully accepted. Then, after leaving plenty of towels, the woman departed telling Sarah to "just call me if you need anything, dearie."

Sarah sighed as she sank into the hot water. The hot water helped to soak away the weariness as she scrubbed away the dirt. She spent a long time washing her waist-length, copper-colored hair, but reveled in the feeling of it being clean. She soaked for awhile longer and finally climbed out when the water started getting cold. She toweled off and dressed in a clean shift and stockings. Sarah had a hard time deciding which dress to put on, as they were all dresses from before she left Texas. She finally chose a blue dress that properly covered her and attacked the tangles in her hair. Before, Sarah had always worn her hair in a bun, but she really didn't feel like going through all of that trouble right now. She enjoyed the feeling of her hair hanging loose down her back, so drying her hair as best she could, she pulled the large mass of curls off her face and fastened it with a blue barrette. When she was finished with her hair, Sarah gathered her belongings, paid and thanked the woman for her services, and headed back for the hotel. Hopefully, the hotel personnel would know if there were any job opportunities to be had here in Four Corners. If not, at least she would get a good night's sleep before heading back out of town.

The hotel lobby was small, but attractive and comfortable. Sarah approached the slight man behind the counter and inquired about any employment openings in town, as well as a vacant room. The man ran a hand through his thinning hair and checked his room listings.

"Well, ma'am, we have a room that I s'pose you can use. The only problem is that since the owner left town, we don't have any one really runnin' this place. I'm only s'pose to make sure the guests who are here already have ev'rythin' they need. I'm not sure about taking in any more people." The man looked at her nervously, and wrung his hands.

"Well, what about you? Surely, you've some experience in managing a hotel?" she asked.

"Oh, no, ma'am. I don't know anythin' about runnin' a hotel. I just check to see how many rooms we have open and which needs more hand towels and the like. I don't know nothin' about the money and stuff."

Sarah smiled. This was too good to be true; this was exactly the kind of job she was looking for. "Well, I guess we're both in luck, then. I used to help run hotels before coming out here. Whom do I need to see about taking over this place?"

"Well, it's more than just a hotel, ma'am. We've got a saloon and an eatin' room right next door."

"So much the better. Now, to whom do I need to speak?"

The man scratched his head, looking embarrassed and confused at the same time. "Well, ma'am, if you're all set on this, I s'pose you need to speak to either Mister Larabee or Missus Travis. You can find Missus Travis in the newspaper office down the street. If Mister Larabee is in town, he'll probably be in the saloon." He pointed to a set of closed double doors off to one side.

Sarah had noticed the doors when she entered the lobby. "All right, we'll just have to see if Mr. Larabee is available." She glanced at her bags and hesitated, not knowing what to do with them.

"But...," Sarah looked up to see an astonished look on the man's face. "You can't go into the saloon!".

"Why not?" Sarah asked. "You just said that I needed to talk to Mr. Larabee and that he might be found in the saloon."

"Ladies, like you, don't go into saloons, ma'am!"

Sarah sighed. She was used to this reaction. "Well, I'm not like other ladies, uh...."

"Henry, ma'am".

"Okay, Henry. Now, I need employment and you need someone to manage the building, right?"

Henry stammered. "Yes, ma'am".

"Then I should probably go talk to Mr. Larabee, shouldn't I?"

Henry looked even more confused than before. "Yes, I guess so."

"So why don't you take my bags up to any empty room you have, and I'll sign for it after I've talked to Mr. Larabee. Will that be acceptable?"

Henry nervously shuffled his feet. He didn't quite know what to do. Finally, he walked around the counter and picked up Sarah's bags. "I'll take your bags up to Room 7, ma'am."

"Thank you, Henry. That is very kind of you." Sarah watched as Henry took her bags and headed up the stairs. She turned and stared at the closed doors. Now that she was listening she could hear muted noises from the other side. She wondered briefly about what she would find; took a deep breath, strode confidently to the doors and pulled them open.

All activity stopped when she stepped into the room. Sarah took in the room quickly: the room had two levels with card tables on the lower level. The bar counter was against the far wall with a piano nearby. The upper level had more tables and a doorway that led away from the room. Sarah supposed that was where the kitchen area was located. No one was at the upper tables, but several men sat at the lower tables playing cards or watching the games. A well-dressed man stood behind the bar counter pouring shot glasses. With the exception of one man sitting at the counter, all of the men stared at her in silence.

Sarah blushed slightly under the scrutiny. She cleared her throat. "Excuse me, I'm looking for a . . . Mr. Larabee."

No one spoke for a few moments. But the men glanced at each other, and back to her, some of them with suggestive leers on their faces. Finally, a mustached man, who had been playing cards at one of the tables, spoke up. "I'm Mr. Larabee."

Sarah thought he looked familiar and realized she had seen him coming from the bath house. She took one step toward him, but stopped when another man spoke up.

"No, I'm Mr. Larabee."

Sarah turned to that voice, but soon more men were speaking up.

"I'm Larabee"

"No, here I am"

"Sweetie, there's only one Mr. Larabee and I'm the one"

"You're not Larabee, I am"

Sarah looked around the room, her face flushing with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. The man behind the bar counter joined the mustached one at one of the tables; he had a huge grin on his face. All of the other men were laughing at her and trying to get her attention, some with rather lewd suggestions She was about to turn around and walk out of the saloon, when she noticed that the solitary man sitting at the counter was the only one not saying anything. He wasn't even looking in her direction. In fact, he hadn't even responded when she walked into the room. Taking a deep breath, and praying she wasn't wrong, Sarah walked over to the man and stood at his side. He still had not reacted to her presence, but Sarah noticed that all of the other men had settled down and were watching her intently. She touched him lightly on the sleeve of his black shirt.

"Mr. Larabee?"

The man put the drink he was holding on the counter and glanced at her hand. He raised his eyes; Sarah felt her breath catch in her chest. For a split second she caught something soft and tender cross his face before it hardened. His short blond hair made his features look ever harder, but his blue eyes held a hint of sorrow.

"I'm Larabee," his voice grated in the silence. He turned back to his drink. "How did you guess?"

Sarah breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She glanced around the room; some men went back to their activities, while others still tried to catch her eye. Sarah ignored all of them.

"You were the only one who wasn't desperately trying to get my attention."

Larabee gave a hint of a smile and glanced again at her hand. "What can I do for you?"

"Mr. Larabee, I am in need of employment."

Larabee looked her up and down, his eyes not touching her face. "You don't look like . . . ."

Sarah jerked her hand away. "Not that kind of employment!" Her voice rose in anger. "Henry said that you needed someone to run this place." She gestured to the room and building behind her.

Larabee turned away, relief and embarrassment obvious on his face. "Sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything. We do need someone who can run this place, but I'm not the one with the final say around here."

"Who does then?" Sarah asked, slightly exasperated for having to go through this much trouble just to find a job.

"The person you need to speak to is . . ." he broke off and whirled around as the street doors burst open.

"Mr. Larabee! A word with you please." A regal-looking woman with white-golden hair called from outside of the saloon. Larabee sighed and turned back to the counter, away from the woman.

The woman glanced inside, and then up and down the street. She grimaced before actually stepping inside and crossing the floor with a determined stride. "Mr. Larabee, I will not be ignored! I have asked you time and again to do something about Joe Hawkins, and nothing has been done about him yet. When, prey tell, are you going to take care of the situation?"

Larabee turned back toward the woman. "Mrs. Travis, I'll have a talk with him. Everything will be taken care of."

The woman, Mrs. Travis, started to ask another question, but was interrupted by Larabee. "This lady is interested in taking over the hotel and saloon," he paused. "I'm sorry. You never gave me your name."

Sarah, who had taken a step back when Mrs. Travis came barging in, stepped forward again. "I'm Sarah Martens, ma'am. It's very nice to meet you."

Mrs. Travis started, actually seeing Sarah for the first time. She noticed that Sarah was not dressed like the other "ladies" that frequented the saloon, and quickly reassessed the situation. She tossed a quick grimace at Larabee, but smiled at Sarah. "My name is Mary Travis, but please, just call me Mary. I'm pleased to meet you as well. You ... you are interested in the hotel?"

Sarah shook the offered hand. "Yes, ma'am. Mr. Larabee was explaining . . ." she stopped when she glanced at Larabee. He was staring intently at Sarah, but not really seeing her. His rugged face had gone pale; a haunted look hovered around his blue eyes. His lips parted, but no sound came out.

Mrs. Travis' attention was drawn to Larabee as well. She placed a light hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Larabee, are you well?"

At the touch, Larabee seemed to recover; his face hardened once again. He grabbed his shot glass from the counter, finished it in one swallow and with a brusque "Excuse me", pushed his way past Mrs. Travis and out of the saloon. Sarah watched Larabee leave, then turned to Mrs. Travis. She wondered if she wore the same puzzled expression on her face as well. Mrs. Travis stared at the door a moment longer.

"I apologize for Mr. Larabee's behavior, Miss . . . Martens, was it?" she said, turning to Sarah. "Why don't we go to my office and discuss the hotel."

Mrs. Travis looked as if she'd eaten something unpleasant. "A saloon is really not the proper place for a lady."

Chris Larabee strode with fierce determination to the boarding house where he stayed. Once in his room, he pulled a small box out from under the bed and dumped out the contents. He picked up a small photograph from amidst the other paraphernalia. Although the black and white photo was faded, Chris could see the woman's chestnut-red hair and blue eyes. He glanced out the window to see Mary Travis and Miss Martens leaving the saloon. He stared at the new woman before returning his gaze to the photo. There were differences between the women, to be sure, but there were enough similarities to make his throat constrict and his eyes water. His knees gave out and he sank to the floor, succumbing to his overwhelming grief.

"Oh, Sarah....."

Sarah spent most of the afternoon in the editor's office talking with Mary Travis. Mary talked a little of her deceased husband and Four Corners. She explained how her father-in-law needed someone to keep order in the town, and how Mr. Larabee and his friends decided to help them out.

"They were only supposed to be here for a month. It feels like they've been here forever," Mary paused before continuing. "Mr. Larabee is really a decent man. He has . . . suffered a great loss. I don't think he has ever come to terms with it."

That certainly explains the look in his eyes, Sarah thought

They sat in silence for a few moments. "Well, enough of that," Mary said. "You wanted to talk about the hotel. There's not really much to talk about." She explained to Sarah how the previous owner was in jail, and how the owner's son was desperate for money and sold the entire building to Mary.

"I don't know why I bought it, I have enough hardship running a newspaper without trying to run a hotel. Much less a saloon." She made a face.

Sarah smiled and told Mary about her experiences with running both a hotel and a saloon. "I couldn't afford to buy it right now, but I could manage the building, paying you a little at a time until it's been paid for. Would you be interested in that?"

Mary shifted uneasily in her chair. "I was really hoping that a gentleman would be interested in the building."

Sarah tried not to show Mary her disappointment. "How about a trial period?" she persisted. "A week? Two, even? If you're not satisfied, I'll pack up and move on."

Mary didn't speak for a moment. She had to admire Sarah for her courage, though. Not many women were willing to stand up for themselves. Not in Four Corners anyway. She gave Sarah a slight smile. "A trial period? Okay, how does a month sound?"

Sarah smiled and nodded her head. "Sounds fine to me."

"Good," Mary stood up. "Now, why don't I show you around Four Corners."

Dusk had begun to settle on the western sky, lengthening the shadows of the buildings. As Mary led Sarah around town, Sarah recognized the young man who'd met her at the stagecoach. He was now going from building to building, lighting the street-lamps. He stopped and bowed as the women approached, and introduced himself as J.D. Dunne. Sarah smiled at J.D.'s attempts to flirt with her. His eagerness reminded her of her younger brother, and told him so. Mary hid a smile at J.D.'s crestfallen face and tactfully suggested that she and Sarah move on.

The women finally ended up at the street doors to the saloon. Women's laughter mingled with men's as the sound of music drifted onto the street. The saloon had definitely picked up business since they'd left hours earlier.

"Unfortunately, our peacekeepers spend most of their time here in the saloon," Mary sighed.

"Drunk?" Sarah asked, frowning slightly.

"Well, on occasion I've seen . . ." Mary paused. "They . . . really like to spend their time in here."

"Well, shall we have a look inside?" Sarah asked.

Mary looked slightly uncomfortable. "Ms. Martens, are you sure that this is what you want to do. I mean, saloon's are just not the proper places for ladies to be seen in. Or to be the manager of."

Sarah was about to point out that Mary, herself, had been seen in the saloon that afternoon, not to mention the fact that Mary actually owned the saloon since it was part of the hotel building, but she decided against it. Instead, she looked Mary straight in the eyes and asked, "How long have you been a widow, Mrs. Travis?".

Mary gave her a puzzled look. "About a year. Why?".

"Would you consider yourself to be an independent woman?"

Mary paused. "Well, yes, I suppose so."

"When my brothers were killed, I had to help my father run the hotel and saloon we owned in Vicksburg. When I . . . left Vicksburg, I discovered that I didn't know how to do anything else. Now, don't get me wrong," she interrupted herself. "I'm not a prostitute; I've never sold myself to any man. I've never compromised myself in that way at all."

"But, I learned that I had to stop being a "lady" in order to survive," she continued. "I'm a woman, Mrs. Travis, an independent woman. I've got a good understanding of how to manage hotels and saloons. All I need is a chance to show you."

"But I can't show you if you won't let me."

Indecision crossed Mary's face. "Sometimes I wish . . ." she stopped, and took a deep breath. "Okay, let's go in."

Mary pushed open the doors and they stepped inside. The noise inside the saloon was much louder than expected. Men and women both stood around a small piano. The player was the well-dressed man whom Sarah had see before. Mary gave his name as Ezra Standish, one of Larabee's men and a notorious card player. All around the saloon, Sarah saw men playing cards, drinking whiskey or talking to the women who shared their tables. Henry, from the hotel counter, now stood behind the long bar counter. He noticed Sarah; a look of surprise crossed his face. Several other men noticed them as well, but the scowl on Mary's face kept them from approaching.

"These women . . ," Sarah nodded at a table where several were surrounded by men. "How...."

Mary looked chagrined. "There used to be a town... that "catered" to that kind of activity. But unfortunately, they've moved here instead. They "occupy" a small house on the street behind the saloon."

Sarah gave Mary a speculative look. "I was going to ask how many of them worked here."

"I... I really wouldn't know," Mary answered, uncomfortable about the whole subject.

The women stood in silence for a moment; Mary uncomfortable just being in the saloon, Sarah taking mental notes. Finally, Mary pointed to a table in the far corner of the room where three men sat. Sarah recognized Mr. Larabee as being one of the men. The mustached man from earlier was one of the others.

"That's Buck Wilmington sitting with Mr. Larabee," Mary replied when Sarah asked. "The other gentleman is Josiah Sanchez, our preacher."

"A priest?" Sarah asked, puzzled. She'd never heard of a man of the cloth enforcing any other law but God's.

"Well, he was a priest at one time, I think," Mary paused. "Now he's more of a man who leads us in our Sunday teachings."

At Sarah's urging, the women crossed the entryway to the bar and watched the room's activities from there. Mary pointed to the doorway that lead to the kitchen area. "Rather small, but large enough to feed a night like this."

She then pointed to the doors connecting the saloon to the hotel lobby, which were once again shut. She told Sarah how the doors were built slightly thicker than normal to keep noise to a "dull roar". Finally, Mary turned to Sarah and asked, "Well, what do you think? Is this what you really want?"

"Yes, it is," Sarah smiled, looking around. "Actually, this is much tamer than what I'm used to handling. Besides you promised me a month."

Mary looked surprised at Sarah's remark. She sighed. "You're right. I did promise you a month. When would you like to start?"

"Well, tonight, of course," Sarah laughed. "But you can make it official whenever you wish to!"

Mary gave Sarah a long look. "You are quite unlike any woman I've ever known."

Sarah grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment, Mrs. Travis." She turned to the bar and asked Henry to pour her a shot. Henry looked from Sarah to Mary, and back again.

"You takin' over, Miss?" he asked.

"For now, at least, Henry. That shot, please" Sarah replied.

Henry gave her a big grin. "Yes, ma'am! Want me to tell ev'ryone?"

"We'll let Mrs. Travis, here, make the official announcement, but you can tell them if anyone asks. All right?" Sarah looked over at Mary, who smiled and nodded at Henry.

While continuing to watch the room, Sarah sipped her shot and wondered if there was anything in the saloon that needed changing. She stopped herself from getting too carried away; no need to worry about any of that right now. Everything would work itself out in time. Her gaze wandered to the back of the room where Mr. Larabee sat with his friends. From time to time, she would see him shake his head as if unconvinced of what his companions were saying. She tried not to stare, but found that she just couldn't help it. Mr. Larabee's black shirt seemed to accentuate his ruggedness. Even from across the room, Sarah could see the haunted look that hovered around his face. Here was a man who obviously had many demons to conquer. Her right shoulder blade itched and she was suddenly reminded of her own demons. She fervently prayed that she had made the right decision by staying in Four Corners. It wasn't too late for her to back out and leave. No! She'd never backed out of anything before and she wouldn't start now. Her wandering thoughts were brought back to the saloon when she heard a thump at the counter behind her. She turned to see Henry wiping up spilled brandy.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. The bottle just slipped," he said, giving her a worried look. "I promise I won't be doin' anythin' like that again."

Henry's voice took on a worried tone. "Please, ma'am, don't be takin' away my job. I promise I won't give you any problems."

Sarah gave the man a slight frown, which sent Henry almost begging. What kind of person had the previous manager been? She knew all too well that you got more productivity out of a worker when you treated him well than when you terrorized him.

She smoothed her face into a smile. "Don't worry, Henry. Accidents do happen. Besides, I'm sure we've got plenty more brandy, right?" He nodded. "And please," she continued with a quick glance at Mary. "My name is Sarah Martens. You may call me Sarah, if you like.

Henry gave her a shy smile. "Oh, no. I don't feel comf'table callin' you that," he protested.

"Well, I don't feel comfortable with you calling me by anything else. How about Miss Sarah? In fact, as your new manager, I insist that you call me Miss Sarah."

Henry smiled again. "Thank you, Miss . . .uh, Sarah. That's awf'ly kind of you. If you'll 'scuse me, I've got some customers to tend to." Henry moved away and Sarah turned back to watch the room.

Chris Larabee was not quite drunk, but was quite willing to continue drinking until he was. He'd been there, at that same table, ever since he'd emptied the bottle of whiskey he had hidden up in his room. Buck Wilmington and Josiah Sanchez were trying to talk to him, but he ignored them. He saw Sarah come in with Mary, which sort of surprised him, but he really didn't care. The women were talking to Henry at the bar; Chris reached for the bottle again.

"You can't tell me she doesn't look like her," he growled at Buck, using the bottle to point at Sarah.

Buck glanced over at the bar. Aside from the hair, he really didn't think the women Chris was talking about looked like Chris' dead wife, but he kept his mouth shut. He knew better than to argue when Chris got like this.

Josiah took a long pull from his beer mug. "God works in mysterious way, Chris. Maybe it's time for you to let go."

"Shuddup, preacher," Chris snarled, the whiskey finally catching up to him. "Whaddya know?"

Josiah sat back in his chair, not in the least upset with Chris' behavior. "I know that God works in mysterious ways."

Sarah stood at the bar listening to Mary talk about Four Corners. She tried to pay attention, but she found her eyes once again wandering to the table where Larabee sat. At that moment, he looked in her direction and their eyes locked. Sarah had never seen a man's face filled with so much coldness and anguish at the same time. Without saying a word to his companions, Larabee grabbed the whiskey bottle, stood, and exited the saloon through the hotel doors. The man called Josiah looked around the room, then followed Larabee out the doors. The other man, Buck, sighed deeply, picked up his drink and joined the men at one of the card tables. Sarah had watched Larabee leave the saloon. For a brief moment, she felt that she was the cause for Larabee's discomfort and departure.

That's ridiculous, I just got here, she chided herself. Nevertheless, the feeling was a long time fading. She turned her attention to the table where Buck sat. A sly smile appeared on her lips as an idea came to her. She turned to Mary and motioned for her to follow.

They headed toward Buck's table, but before she got there, Sarah turned to Mary. In a loud voice, she said, "I've heard a lot about that Buck Wilmington fellow, Mrs. Travis, I can't wait to meet him. I hear that he's a real looker, too. Are you sure he's in here?"

Nearby men paused in their activities, upon hearing Sarah's words. The men at Buck's table alternated between looking at Buck and looking at Sarah.

Mary gave a small, puzzled smile and pointed in Buck's direction. "He's at that table, Ms. Martens."

Sarah walked to Buck's table and turned to the man at Buck's left. "Excuse me, are you Mr. Wilmington?" The man shook his head and looked at Buck. Sarah turned to the man at Buck's right and asked him the same question. He also shook his head and looked at Buck.

Buck cleared his throat. "Um . . . ma'am, I'm . . ."

Sarah ignored him and looked at the last man at the table. "Then you must be Mr. Wilmington!" she exclaimed.

"No, ma'am, that's . . ."

Sarah turned away before he even finished. She turned toward nearby tables, pretending to be puzzled. "Surely, one of you good-looking men is the Buck Wilmington."

Buck kept trying to attract her attention, but Sarah kept ignoring him, walking around the room asking for Mr. Wilmington. By this time, the entire saloon was watching. Several people were laughing out loud. It was quite amusing to watch Buck follow Sarah around the room trying to talk to her, while she continued to ignore him. Finally, after Sarah had asked every man in the room, including Ezra and J.D., who had entered during the commotion, Sarah stopped and turned to face Buck.

Buck took a deep breath. "Ma'am . . . I'm Buck Wilmington."

Sarah stared at him in seeming disbelief. "You can't fool me. Why just this afternoon you told me you were Mr. Larabee."

Buck's face fell. Several men laughed; they had been in the saloon that afternoon.

"First, you tell me you're Mr. Larabee," Sarah continued. "Now you tell me you're Mr. Wilmington. Pretty soon you'll be trying to convince me that you're the President of the United States!"

"But, ma'am . . ," he tried to interrupt, but Sarah kept talking.

"Is there a doctor anywhere?" she asked, looking around. "This man doesn't seem to know who he is!"

The saloon rocked with laughter. When it quieted down, Buck took another deep breath. "Miss? I'm Buck Wilmington. I'm sorry I played that trick on you this afternoon. But, I am Buck Wilmington."

Sarah stared at him as if in disbelief. "You're Buck Wilmington?"

"Yes, ma'am, I am."

"Are you sure?" Sarah let her face fall in disappointment.

"Yes, ma'am. Didn't you want to meet me?"

Sarah looked him up and down, as if completely unimpressed. She sighed, "My mistake. Sorry." She then turned and walked away to the sound of the saloon laughing.

"I enjoyed that," Sarah said, as Mary joined her at the bar counter.

"So did I," Mary replied, with a genuine smile. "You know, I think that you and I will get along just fine."

They turned to face the room again. Buck was still standing in the middle of the room, his jaw hanging slightly open. After a moment, a slow smile crossed his face and he started chuckling. "Well, I'll be damned," he thought to himself. Shaking his head slightly, Buck returned to his table.

Chris Larabee staggered up the stairs to his room. His thoughts were incoherent; all he knew was that something important was waiting for him. Somehow, he made his way to the door and inside. In the moonlit room, his eyes caught the dim edges of a photo lying on the bed. He reached out to touch it, but stumbled on a loose board on the floor. He crashed into the bed, hitting his head on the railing, which mercifully sent him into darkness. A darkness where even his demons couldn't follow.

Part 3...coming soon!