Title: Seven Days in Paradise 2

Author: Karen

Fandom: Alias Smith & Jones

Paring: Heyes/Curry, Curry/Other

Rating: R

Status: New, in progress

Archive: Yes, please archive this.

Disclaimers: Universal Studios own them; no copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: A week in a resort hotel uncovers all sorts of problems...

Note: The prelude to this was posted as "Paradise"

Notes: This follows my "End of the Trail" and precedes "Edge of the Abyss" but it can stand alone.

Warnings: Off-stage death (not of a major character), on-stage infidelity

Curry leaned against the padded back of the coach's seat and looked out the window. They weren't moving fast, but then, even if the grade hadn't been steep for making horses trot, he wouldn't have wanted them to. No wonder the transportation up to the Paradise hotel was so rigidly scheduled; he doubted two wagons could have passed safely anywhere along the road. He wasn't sure two horsemen could have, some places.

But the view was spectacular. Mountains as far as he could see, snow on some of the higher peaks already, green trees and slashes of grey rock, an achingly blue sky... this was going to be a good week. Even if he had had to practically shanghai Heyes to get him to come along. He glanced at Heyes, drowsing in the corner opposite, his flat-crowned black Stetson pulled over his face and his arms crossed over his new black broadcloth suit. He'd have nudged him awake to look at the view if they'd been alone, but they weren't. They were sharing the coach with two English people, who'd been waiting when they arrived at the station and had apparently been waiting for a while.

And who'd been a little surprised not to be told to wait yet longer, for the next coach up the mountain. "Plenty of room," Heyes had said, looking at the coach, which would take six. They'd looked at each other, and then at Curry, who'd stood there holding the door for the woman, and finally gotten in, taking up as little space as possible.

Curry had gathered that the pair, a man named Carter and a woman called Porter-just Porter-worked for some of their fellow guests at the hotel. Curry had hoped that this late in the season, two weeks before it closed, they'd have the hotel to themselves but he supposed it didn't really matter if, as Heyes had said, they weren't the only two lunatics in the state of Colorado.

That was what Heyes had said while they were waiting at the station. It had been mild compared to what he'd said when Curry had first broached the subject. That had been "Have you lost your mind, Kid? How much does a hotel like that cost?"

"Twenty dollars a day for a suite-Heyes, listen. A suite would be perfect. Two bedrooms, a sitting room."

"Twenty dollars? What the hell are they going to give us for that kind of money?"

"Privacy." Curry grinned at him. "Big, soft beds. Good food. Room service. Maid service... C'mon, Heyes, you know we've got the money." And they had, of course, from that bank job in Cheyenne. "We've got

enough for almost two months. I'm only talking about a week. We got the money, we might as well spend it."

"A luxury hotel?"

"Never been in one," Curry said. "I've always wanted to... C'mon, Heyes, nobody's gonna look for us at a resort hotel in Colorado." He didn't add that he thought a long week doing nothing somewhere luxurious and private would be good for Heyes, help him to relax some. Heyes would only say he was fine, that he didn't need to relax. Besides, Curry *had* always wanted to.

Heyes looked at him, his dark eyes unreadable at first then warming into amusement. Sometimes Curry felt like he was a boy again, trying to wheedle something out of his pa. Trouble was, he also usually felt like Heyes didn't know what his role in the game was... But now Heyes chuckled. "Okay, Kid. You win. We'll go. Where?"

"The Paradise, near Aspen. First week in October," Curry said.

Heyes laughed. "You already made the reservations, shug?"

The endearment told Curry Heyes didn't really mind, now that he'd had a chance to get used to it. He grinned back. "You don't have to do anything but show up," he said. "Except..."

"Except what?" Heyes quirked an eyebrow upward, looking amused.

"Well," Curry said, "we might *have* the money, but I guess I don't look like the kind of fella that goes there. So I said I was making the reservations for my boss."

Heyes smiled his slow smile. "A week in a luxury hotel as your boss? It might be Paradise at that."

So now Heyes was dressed in broadcloth and fine linen, with a good woolen coat and a necktie, while Curry was wearing his normal sheepskin coat and working clothes. The English people obviously had marked Heyes down as rich folks, and were respectfully silent around him. Curry they couldn't pigeon-hole so neatly; it seemed to confuse them that Heyes treated him like he did. Curry wondered what their bosses were like. But he wasn't going to have to deal with them, so it didn't really matter. If they were sons of bitches, he could avoid them. That was what they were paying twenty dollars a day for, after all.

He stretched and shifted his legs, carefully avoiding Heyes's. *Mr. Smith's*, he reminded himself. Then he suppressed another grin, remembering Heyes's reaction to that name. "Smith? *Smith*? Kid, you

couldn't think of something besides Smith? What are you, Johnson?"

"Jones, actually."

"Jones. Jones, and Smith... Honestly, Kid. John Smith and Bill Jones, I suppose?"

"Well..." Curry had shrugged. "Lots of people are called that, you know."

"I know. But, Kid... never mind."

"Anyway, it's just J. Smith, and nothing for me."

So Heyes had made it into a joke at the staion. "I've been tempted to change my name any number of times. To just about anything. Except Tree." The clerk had looked curious, so Heyes had said, tapping the tickets, "Joshua."

The clerk had actually smiled at that.

So Curry had to remember to say "Mr. Smith" for the week. He didn't figure it would be that hard; it wouldn't be the first time they'd used fake names. After all, even when the price on them was only $1,000 each, registering someplace as themselves wasn't smart. Now, considering that they'd seen posters in Aspen with the price on their head put up all the way to ten times that... Curry had hardly been able to believe it. *Ten thousand dollars*. That was way much more than they'd ever stolen, way much more than he could conceive of having. Especially since for the two of them it was... Dear Lord, twenty thousand dollars.

Man. He might have been tempted himself, if he could have figured out how to get away with it.

He looked out the window again. The hotel had just come into sight. He leaned forward and jiggled Heyes's elbow. "Mr. Smith? We're here."

Heyes came awake at once, the way he did. He straightened and looked out the window. Then he leaned back and looked at Curry, smiling slightly. "Very nice."

Nice didn't cover it. Curry looked out the window at the hotel. It was a huge white building, four stories and two wings, and a steeply pitched roof with lots of chimneys. Windows faced out onto what was going to be a spectacular view. Curry sighed in satisfaction. As a boy he'd daydreamed about staying in fancy places like this. And he'd always wanted to go to San Francisco, or New York. Not to live, hell no, but to stay in a hotel like this one. Now it looked like he wouldn't have to leave the wide-open spaces and get into a city to do it.

He looked across the coach again, and smiled again. Not just staying in a luxury hotel, but staying there with Heyes. This *was* going to be Paradise.

The coach drew up in front of the hotel. Curry opened the door and jumped out. A couple of young men in dark blue and gold uniforms came out to help the shotgun rider take the luggage down from the top of the coach. Curry picked up the carpet bag that had their gold in it and followed Heyes, who'd already started for the porch. He figured if Heyes hadn't waited for the luggage, he shouldn't either, but nobody was getting their hands on their money. A glance over his shoulder showed Carter and Porter picking up bags along with the hotel employees. He figured that he'd put himself about where they'd figured, out of their class. Well, they were the ones who'd been stand-offish, so he wasn't going to worry about it, though it seemed

kind of odd to him. He hadn't come up here to make new friends, after all, but to spend some private time with an old one.

He followed Heyes into the lobby. It was luxurious. Curry wished he knew a better word for it, but luxurious would have to do. Deep red velvet curtains with tasseled ties, rugs scattered around a polished floor, upholstered chairs in red and gold, leather-bound books and small tables, and two card tables. The view out the front window was spectacular, another inadequate word. Curry pushed his hat back on his head and drank it all in.

"No," he heard Heyes's voice and turned to look. "I'm sorry, but not only does Jones not feel dressed without it, but *I* prefer him to be armed. Jones," Heyes raised one eyebrow. "You promise not to shoot

anybody without provocation, don't you?"

Curry grinned; he couldn't help it. But he said, "Yes, sir, Mr. Smith. I reckon it would be hard to clean up a place like this."

Heyes snorted with amusement; the desk clerk looked only mildly reassured but didn't say anything else.

"Well," a woman's voice drawled. Curry turned to see a man and a woman, both very well dressed, coming down the stairs. There was a strong resemblance between them: they were fair-haired with grey-blue eyes, strong noses and chins, and pale complexions. Oddly, he looked more languid than she did, but neither had the look of someone who'd ever done any work, which made it hard to judge their ages; Curry figured they were four or five years older than him or Heyes. She came across the floor towards him, saying as she did, "Porter, go upstairs and unpack, and lay out my rose for dinner."

"Yes, milady," Porter said.

"Well," the blonde repeated, looking up at Curry from an arm's length, "my very first gunman. That is the term, isn't it?"

Curry wasn't sure what her tone meant, but he thought she was flirting with him, so he smiled down at her-she wasn't all that short, but she was still shorter than him-and said, "Shootist is the term, ma'am, but I'm not, really."

"Oh, too bad," she said.

She *was* flirting with him.

"So what are you, if you're not a shootist?"

"Just a hired hand, ma'am," he said, smiling. "Payroll guard, that sort of thing."

"I see..." She smiled back, then asked, her tone faintly superior, "Your employer is a merchant, then?"

He laughed before he could think if that was a good idea to foster, so it was too late.

Heyes had been watching; now he entered the conversation. "No, ma'am, I'm a landowner. Joshua Smith."

"Land, eh?" said the man. "Lord Edward Ransdale, m'sister Clarissa... How many acres?"

Heyes shrugged as if it didn't particularly interest him. "A hundred thousand, give or take. In Wyoming. You?"

The man, the lord-Curry's first lord, not that impressive-blinked in startlement, then said, "Not that many. But we've had it since the 12th century."

Heyes smiled, one of those smiles that didn't make it to his eyes, that fooled people who didn't know him like Curry did. "Honors even."

Lord Edward laughed. "I s'pose so."

The woman, the Lady Curry reminded himself, smiled at Heyes and said, "It was awf'ly kind of you to make room for our servants."

Heyes raised that eyebrow at her and said, "Not at all; the coach wasn't half full. No point in making them wait."

"It would have inconvenienced Clarissa," Lord Edward drawled.

Her eyes flashed; Curry intervened to keep the mood pleasant. "A pretty lady like you shouldn't ever be inconvenienced."

She turned her back on the others and gave him a brilliant, if practiced smile. "Why, thank you, Mr. Jones."

The desk clerk interrupted to hand Heyes two room keys. He tossed one to Curry and said, "I'm going up, Jones."

Curry touched his hatbrim. "Yes, sir. I'll look around first; you want to take this?"

Heyes took the carpet bag from him. "No hurry," he said, a flash of humor in his dark eyes. "We don't eat till eight." He went up the stairs.

"Shall I show you the ground floor?" offered Lady Clarissa. "The dining room is through here, and the music room is across the hall."

"Well, that would be kind of you, Lady Clarissa," he said. "I was figuring to walk around the outside, but I can do that afterwards."

She put her hand on his arm so she could hold out one foot and gaze pensively at the neat but impractical shoe on it. She managed to give him a good look at a trim ankle while she did so. By the time he remembered her brother, the man had already vanished. "I daresay I shouldn't try walking all the way around the hotel," she admitted, "though the front lawn is rather nice for such a new place. But why on earth are you going to walk all that way, Mr. Jones? Do you expect Red Indians?"

"No, ma'am," he said. "It's just sort of a habit."

"Hmmm," she said, not letting go of his arm.

He could tell she wasn't wearing a corset; he wondered if that was usual in England. He took a step back; no point in getting in deeper than he wanted. Though once this would have been a dream come true, it wasn't now. "Pays to be careful, that's all," he said.

"Are you good with this?" She put her hand on the ivory butt of his Colt.

He disengaged her, carefully. "I wish you wouldn't, Lady Clarissa," he said. "It's loaded."

"I see..." She looked up at him consideringly. "Your Mr. Smith couldn't have brought a payroll with him, or a herd of cattle. One forgets just how rough America is, still... you must be his bodyguard."

"Well, in a manner of speaking," Curry said. It couldn't hurt.

"Well, well... how intriguing." She touched the tip of her tongue to her lips, a flash of pink. "And who guards your body, Mr. Jones?"

"I'd better take that turn around the property," he said. He touched his hat and, frankly, escaped.

*

Heyes stood in front of the mirror and tied his tie, taking a moment to admire the subtle brocade of his new vest. He would never have thought of coming to a place like this, but he did appreciate the chance to buy new clothes and wear them, and he had to smile remembering the expression on the Kid's face as he'd looked around the lobby. This suite, too: when Curry finally got up here he was going to be like a kid turned loose in a candy store.

If he got up here before dinner. Flirting with a real Duke's daughter might keep him occupied a while. Heyes would have preferred an empty hotel, but it was just possible that English nobility would be the icing on the cake for Curry. Too bad he hadn't thought to put on a suit before going to make the reservations, but-Heyes settled his tie to his satisfaction and left the mirror to look out the window- the Kid was happier in range clothes and this way, if that harpy (which she was or Heyes had lost his ability to read people) got to be too much for a polite man like Curry, he could order him to do something. Might have to think about what, he admitted, resting his hands on the window sill and breathing deep.

He wasn't worried about it, so he didn't think about it. A mountain jay cackled in a pine tree and Heyes smiled at it. He preferred the blue jays of his childhood, but he hadn't seen one in the Rockies. It was kind of funny, he supposed, that he liked the flashy brilliant jays of the east, instead of the drabber ones here in the mountains, but he did. Probably because these birds were so tame. Curry liked to get them to come right up to him and eat out of his hand. Heyes smiled to himself. They weren't the only things that would eat out of Curry's hand.

He turned around and looked at the bed. Big, feather mattress, brass and mahogany headboard, six pillows... This could easily turn out to be one of Curry's best ideas ever. The meal should be good, and

Ransdale had followed him up the stairs, delicately sounding him out about a game of whist afterwards. The trouble with whist for money, of course, was that you were somewhat at the mercy of your partner. And whist wasn't exactly his game; he hadn't played in a long time. Still, if they were either too not good enough, or too good, he could beg out of the game. And if they weren't, he could pick up some pocket change. Or more.

The door to the sitting room, between the two bedrooms of the suite, opened. Heyes went for the Colt lying on the bureau. "Which room are you in?" Curry's voice called.

"The right," he answered, reholstering the Colt.

Curry pushed open that door and grinned at him. "Heyes," he said, "we aren't paying twenty dollars a day for you to shoot a maid."

"I wouldn't shoot a maid," Heyes said, "because at twenty dollars a day they'd better be knocking at the door before they come in, or at the very least announcing themselves."

"I guess you're right, at that," Curry said. "My oh my, you look nice."

"Just dressing for dinner," Heyes said.

"You do look good enough to eat," the other man allowed. Heyes felt a slight shiver run down his spine. "I don't have to, do I?"

Heyes laughed. "Did you even bring a suit?"

"Nope," Curry admitted cheerfully.

<p>

"I didn't think so. No... Lady Clarissa would be awfully disappointed if you showed up in one."

Curry's expressive face reflected regret.

"Bothering you, is she?" Heyes said.

"Nothing I can't handle," Curry said. "She's kinda forward, though. I'd've thought a lady would be more, well, lady-like."

"Kid," Heyes said, "she's rich, she's titled, and she's not at home. She doesn't have to act like a lady."

"I suppose not," Curry said. He leaned on the edge of the bed and almost lost his balance in the deep comforter and mattress. "Oh, yeah," he said contentedly, "I told you this would be worth the price, didn't I?"

"I admit it, Kid, you were right." Heyes leaned against the dresser and looked at Curry, who had pushed himself up to lie on his back on the bed, his knees bent at the edge of the mattress and his arms outflung. His eyes were inviting Heyes to join him, but Heyes knew better. If he did, while Curry would certainly be able to make him glad he had, he'd regret it when he got hungry. Because they wouldn't make it to dinner. And he hadn't eaten lunch. So he resisted Curry's eyes and said, "You going down to dinner in what you've been travelling in?"

Curry sighed, but he sat up. "Nope," he said. "I'll change."

"Don't strain yourself, Kid," Heyes grinned.

Curry made a rude gesture, then stripped off his brown shirt and reached for his new carpetbag.

"They're in the dresser," Heyes said. "No, don't look at me. One of the maids did it."

"Twenty dollars a day buys a lot, huh?" Curry pulled out a blue shirt and tossed it on the bed.

"Twenty dollars a day makes people expect tips," Heyes replied, deriving more than a little pleasure from the sight of Curry washing up and brushing his hair. Long-limbed and lithe, Curry was, like a catamount, which is what he irresistibly reminded Heyes of. Especially when he was lazing around, peaceable and contented, with the potential to explode into deadly violence all tucked away as long he was let be. That Curry gentled that strength and cuddled into Heyes's arms after loving, drowsed off to sleep, was a never-ending source of wonder to him, as much as the fact that Curry loved him at all. Loved him, wanted him, trusted him... that most of all. Heyes thought Curry would walk trustingly into a jail cell if Heyes told him to. It scared him. It exhilarated him. It kept him humble...

"Cynic," Curry said, buttoning up his shirt.

Heyes had to think to remember what he'd said. He shrugged. "Realist."

"Well," Curry said, picking up his brown leather vest and shrugging into it, "it's worth a good tip." He tucked in his shirt tails; he always did it like that, Heyes didn't know why. He settled his Colt in its holster and looked at Heyes. "You glad we came?"

"Oh, yes," Heyes said. "It was a good idea, Kid. A very good idea."

Curry smiled, the bright smile that made him look all young and innocent and eager.

*ell,*Heyes thought, *o wonder Lady Clarissa is hot after him. But someone ought to tell her that in vain is the net spread in sight of the bird...*

"What are you smiling at?" Curry asked.

"You wearing that to dinner?"

Curry grinned again, his teeth flashing. "You're the one said I never took it off," he pointed out. "And I'd purely hate to disappoint the English... I just wish we could come up with a Red Indian or two."

Heyes laughed. "That's like looking for Vikings or painted Picts in England," he said, shaking his head. "I hate the arrogance of Europeans."

Curry hiked an eyebrow at him but didn't ask.

So Heyes told him. "Ran into some Germans a few years ago. Just before you showed up, in fact. Still reliving the Teutoburger Wald," as soon as he'd said it he knew he needed to explain it, which he could do easily enough. "Like beating Publius Varus and stopping the Romans in Germany was better than the British Celts doing the same thing in Scotland, or Wales, and like any of it matters now, eighteen hundred and seventy years later." He shrugged. "Your country is so young yet, Herr Heyes," he said.

"Well, hell," said Curry, "isn't Germany only about ten years old?"

"Well, yes, but these were Prussians."

"I guess young is better than rough," Curry said, evidently quoting someone himself, and then he grinned again. "But either's better than worn out."

Heyes laughed in spite of himself. "Save it for after dinner conversation, Kid," he suggested. "Maybe that way they'll leave us alone."

Curry laughed gaily, opening the door and sweeping his arm out for Heyes. "After you, Mr. Smith," he said.

Heyes shook his head and headed for the hallway.

At dinner they met the rest of the Ransdale party, who were the only others at the Paradise this week: Marcus Horne, who was the Ransdale's cousin-"my mother, Lady Elinor" featured prominently in his conversation but he himself was a plain Mr.- and his wife, Isobel, and Raines (no first name supplied), who was Lord Edward's secretary and who occupied an uncomfortable-seeming position halfway between friend and servant. Carter and Porter were nowhere to be seen.

Raines showed a slight tendency to want to talk to Curry, who he probably estimated to be in his class, but Curry was monopolized for most of the dinner by Lady Clarissa, who sat on his other side. Heyes himself had Horne on one side and Mrs. Horne, a shy girl, on the other. Lord Edward had grabbed the head of the table and addressed most of his conversation across Mrs. Horne to Heyes, who managed to remember that Joshua Smith, Wyoming land baron, would probably have been able to eat them all for breakfast unless he felt like marrying a title to impress somebody and was therefore only mildly rude, dropping quotations and Latin and twice correcting someone else, an attitude they seemed to accept as proof of his social standing. At the end of the meal, Lord Edward proposed whist.

"Oh, do you play, Mr. Smith?" Lady Clarissa positively caroled at him.

"I do, a bit," he said.

"How absolutely marvelous," she said. "I'm so exhausted from trying to play with these *men*, when I've no head for cards at all, and am always forgetting what's trumps and what's already been played. Oh, *do* say you'll play with them, Mr. Smith. Darling Isobel and I can just retire to the music room and perhaps Mr. Jones will consent to keep us company?"

Heyes managed not to laugh at the expression in Curry's eyes as he agreed. He took pity on him, though, adding, "But I daresay I won't be making a long night of it. Too much travelling today. A few hands."

"Fine, fine," Horne said. "Clare never has managed to master the game."

"Not whist, at any rate," Lord Edward said with a chuckle.

Heyes went up to bed after an hour and half forty five dollars richer. If they played again, he'd make a point to get Raines as his partner for the whole evening; the man was steady and more than willing to let Heyes make the bidding, and if he was going to skin somebody he'd much rather it was the Ransdales than the secretary. He might recoup the whole of their bill, considering how poorly Lord Edward remembered what had already been played.

He unlocked the door and, opening it to see light flickering under the right-hand door, said, "Jones?" as he shut it behind him and locked it, throwing the deadbolt.

"Yeah," Curry's voice came. "You're back sooner'n I expected."

Heyes walked into the bedroom and reflexively locked that door behind him, too. Curry, wearing his Levi's and cotton undershirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, was sitting at the desk, cleaning his Colt. The lamplight, the only illumination in the room, burnished his hair to a rich gold it never had in sunlight, and threw deep comforting shadows around bedroom. Heyes leaned up against the door and watched Curry's strong, long-fingered hands manipulate the gun and the cloth. He didn't say anything, just looked. After a few moments, Curry glanced over at him and said, "You lose a lot?"

"Won some," Heyes said.

"Good," Curry grinned.

"Thought you'd be listening to music," Heyes teased gently.

Curry snorted. "Poor dear Isobel had a monstrous headache, and went up to bed. I slid out myself as soon as I could. I was hoping you wouldn't stay long." His voice softened remarkably on the last phrase.

"I was hoping you'd be hoping that," Heyes said and pushed away from the door to take off his jacket. Curry was about five or six minutes from finishing, and having his Colt in pieces was probably the only thing that would keep him from reacting to a provocative statement like that. Heyes smiled to himself. His own holster was hanging on the back of Curry's chair, easy to hand. *And he calls me paranoid.*

He hung his jacket up and brushed at the front of it. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and took off his boots. After setting them down, he began unbuttoning his vest. The mattress moved under him, and he

realized Curry had finished with his Colt. His partner's hands came around to begin unbuttoning his shirt, and he felt a kiss on the back of his neck. He canted his head to the side and leaned backwards slightly, feeling Curry's warmth beginning to soak through his skin. "Your hands better be clean," he said softly.

Curry's chuckle against the back of his neck shivered his spine. Shamelessly he turned his head further, offering Curry his throat, an offer the other man took him up on at once, pausing only to ask, artlessly, "What? Is this shirt new, too?"

"You know it is, shug," Heyes said, "you were with me when I bought it."

"Now, Heyes," Curry said between kisses along the shoulder he was baring as he finished unbuttoning the linen shirt and pulling it off, "you know I can't tell your shirts apart. Not the good ones, anyhow." He tugged a little forcefully on the sleeves, not having unbuttoned the cuffs, and then tossed the shirt onto the

floor. "Anyway, they're clean..."

At that particular moment, Heyes didn't care if they were or not. If his new shirt had just been turned into a cleaning rag, it was fine with him. Something about the way Curry had pulled him back into his arms and was kissing him, deeply and passionately, drove anything else out of his mind. Heyes turned, sliding his hands along Curry's firmly muscled back, returning the kiss. He could feel Curry's fire kindling in him, just as he could feel the physical desire for the taste of his partner's skin, the feel of his body against Heyes's own, growing inside himself. As Curry's hands moved downward along his body, he felt the familiar loss of the detachment that was with him the rest of the time. No one but Curry could break through to him like this, ground him so completely in the sensate-the*sensual*-this way. No one else had ever made him feel so completely entangled in the moment. It had scared him at first; now he reveled in it: hard as it was to get to that point, he loved it when he was there.

But, he knew even as he surrendered to the fire, as he pulled Curry's lean, hard body down against his and used his own mouth to inflame his partner even more, that it was only with Curry that he would ever dare drop his guard so much. He could trust Curry, with his life, with his heart... with his soul, assuming he had one. If he did, Curry had possibly given it to him, certainly saved it...

He rolled Curry over, sinking them both deep into the feather mattress, and lost himself in love.

******

The next day Curry slipped out of the bed carefully, letting Heyes sleep in. He stood beside the bed in the dimness-Heyes always had the curtains drawn, and these kept the light out magnificently well-for a few moments, looking at his partner. Heyes was sleeping soundly, silently as usual. Unusually, he was stretched his full length on his stomach, his face still and dark on the white pillow. Curry was prey to conflicting urges, but the one that said, *let him sleep, he needs it* won out. Resisting the impulse to stroke the dark hair, knowing that would waken him, Curry grabbed his gunbelt and went into the other bedroom to dress.

He worried about Heyes. He claimed to thrive on tension, but Curry disagreed with that. Heyes didn't get enough sleep, in his opinion; he couldn't think when was the last time his partner had slept this late. Now, with the price on the up so high, it was just going to get worse. No matter where they went, no matter how little one state talked to another, or whether they were even wanted there, somebody would be looking to cash in... Maybe they should make a big strike, move to Mexico... How hard could it be to learn Spanish? Mexican babies did it all the time. But, whatever, something was going to give, and Curry just hoped it wasn't Heyes.

This week was going to be just what Heyes needed.

Curry belted on his holster and carried his hat downstairs. Breakfast was laid out in the dining room and no one was there, so he grabbed a quick bite while he was alone and then went outside. He had a hankering to wander around in the woods some, look at birds and stuff. Heyes would sleep a while, and then curl himself up in a chair and read; he'd brought three of that French author's books with him, the moon one and one about under the sea and another about going to the center of the earth. That Frenchman got around, Curry thought amusedly. Curry wasn't a reader, himself, though he liked a good newspaper, but Heyes loved it. Up here he'd have hours for it. It'd be good for him. Relax him.

Then he could eat another good dinner. And then he could win some more money at cards, which would put him a really good mood. And then Curry could cash in.

He grinned and went into the woods. After a while he thought perhaps he'd have done better staying at the hotel. True, in the hotel, Lady Clarissa would probably have bothered him, but in person she was, well, annoying. Not there, she was suddenly a lot more appealing, when she came to mind, which she did a couple or three times. A flash of yellow from some bird, a chattering squirrel, even-for some reason he didn't care to think about very much-a buzzard drifting in circles in the sky, and he thought of Lady Clarissa. And wished he hadn't, and turned his mind to something else each time, but. The fact was, she was crossing his mind. And he didn't know why.

It wasn't like he wanted her to. Or like he was sitting on the rocks looking at the view and trying to think about her, the way he had when he was fifteen and Jenny Rawlings was driving him crazy. Not that there'd been any rocks to sit on, or any view, for that matter, not back in Kansas. But he'd spent a lot of time conjuring Jenny up, and enjoying it. He didn't *want* to think about Lady Clarissa, and he sure as hell didn't want to enjoy it when he did.

"So why am I?" he asked the jays, and they screeched at him, which was about as sensible an answer as he could come up with. So he just kept pushing her, and the way her wanting him made him feel, back underneath whatever part of his mind she kept coming up at him out of. Eventually he won out and didn't think about her any more.

Until dinner, when she was undeniably there, in the undeniably attractive flesh even when she was being so condescending and so, well, obvious at the same time. Sitting between her and Raines, again, with her at the end of the table catty-cornered from him, Curry found himself torn between wishing they'd ordered room service, and watching himself react to her presence.

When the two women left the men sitting at the table drinking and talking, Curry thanked God and tried to pull himself together. The conversation was about Otto Bismarck and his politics, particularly his attacks on liberals and Catholics. Curry couldn't have cared less about Germany or what happened there, though he did think Lord Edward and Raines might not ever have actually met a Catholic. None of the ones Curry knew were much like the ones they talked about. But he left it to Heyes to uphold the American end of the conversation. He had other things to think about.

Like Lady Clarissa. And sex.

Like, why had he thought about her on and off all day? Why did he keep thinking about what it would be like to fuck her brains out? It sure as hell wasn't because he liked her, or even, he thought, wanted to. Not really. But he'd kept running into that thought...

And like how it had felt when she'd suddenly run her foot up the inside of his leg at supper. "Dinner" she'd called it; apparently "supper" was a light meal you ate at midnight. At least in England... He was trying to ignore her strictures on the way people spoke; Heyes, on the other hand, had carefully explained to her

that "dinner" was one's main meal, whenever one ate it, and "supper" was a light meal in the evening while "lunch" was a light meal in the afternoon... he knew she'd want to speak correctly now that she was in the US ... Curry didn't think she liked Heyes.

He wished she didn't like him. He wished he hadn't flirted with her that first afternoon, before he understood what she was like. Flirting was usually fun, and safe. It had rules, and you could enjoy it... But Lady Clarissa didn't seem to understand those rules. Hell, he thought wryly, maybe people didn't flirt in England.

He sure hadn't enjoyed dinner ... not looking across and down the table at Heyes, his dark head turned attentively to Lord Edward, and hoping he wouldn't turn and look at Curry with those eyes that missed so little. Because what those eyes wouldn't have been missing was the way Curry was, in a way, enjoying-a way he had resented even while it was arousing him-the feel of that stockinged foot rubbing against

him. Heyes would be the one who reaped the benefits of that arousal, but Curry didn't need someone else to get him ready for Heyes... and he hated the way his body had just jumped to attention for her.

It was making him think things he didn't want to be thinking. Like, mainly, what it meant to be male. Some woman made eyes at you and you went off the edge? Maybe so... God knew, God knew, he'd always liked

the ladies. And the only man he wanted was Heyes. It was Heyes he loved, not the body Heyes was inside... though he did love that body. *God,* he took another drink of wine, *I'm confusing myself all to hell.*

He looked down the table again, at Heyes talking to the Englishmen, and wondered exactly what it meant to be a man who loved another man. It wasn't the same as being with a woman. Being male was being in control... taking. God knew, too, that there were times he had to work really hard to keep from just pinning Heyes down and taking him. Mostly it wasn't much of a temptation. After all, the point was not to hurt someone you loved. Real men didn't rape women... but real men took. They... were in charge in bed, weren't they? Even when it was a hooker and she was doing the work, in the end it was you. With another man, well... Curry sighed and finished his wine. He loved pleasuring Heyes, and maybe that was part of why that act (he couldn't put that insult to what he and Heyes did in bed; maybe Heyes knew a fancy word for it) was so pleasurable? Because he was in control of Heyes, could make it take as long as he wanted?

He didn't know. He just didn't know.

All he knew was, he loved Heyes. Heyes was all he wanted. But Lady Clarissa had got him hot and bothered in nothing flat.

And he'd let her.

*What the hell is wrong with you, Curry?* he thought disgustedly. And with a trace of fear.

Eventually the men went out into the lobby, and while Heyes and the three Englishmen played cards, Curry found himself cornered by Lady Clarissa. As usual, Mrs. Horne was nowhere to be seen... why did *she* have to be the delicate one? Of course, in the lobby, where she was in plain sight, Lady Clarissa couldn't do anything but talk, but she did do that. She got more vivacious and chatty and he got less so, watching Heyes watching him, dark and sardonic. If Heyes had been a woman, he could have been hanging around her. Except she wouldn't have been playing poker... not that Heyes was playing poker, though money was changing hands after each round. But maybe she would have been playing cards, or the piano, or something, and Curry could have ditched Lady Clarissa for her and nobody would have wondered.

But, he brought himself up short, he didn't want Heyes to be a woman. For one thing, he'd never have met him. Her. Whatever. For another, no woman could have been like Heyes, women were just, just *different*. Besides, he loved Heyes like he was, all the ways he was. And his being a man was certainly a big part of it.

Wishing him to be a woman was just wishing for a way to ditch Lady Clarissa. Which he could do on his own. "Pardon me," he said abruptly, standing up. "I've got to take a turn around the hotel."

"Why, Mr. Jones," she said to him, "one might think you were an employee of the Paradise."

"One might wish it," he said. "My boss is lot more demanding." He left her and walked over to the card table.

"My sister managed to get you to fix her door?" Lord Edward asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"No," Curry said shortly; he wasn't in the mood to be polite to the man. "Gonna take a turn around the grounds, then go up."

"Fine," Heyes said, his dark eyes hiding a smile. "I'll be up soon, myself."

As Curry left, he heard Heyes saying, in a tone of casual information, "He will do some shooting, I expect; he practices daily, you know."

It was cold outside. The night sky was clear, blazing with stars. Curry stood for a while watching the Milky Way and picking out planets-Mars, Jupiter, Venus. He wished you could see that new one, Neptune, but somehow just knowing it was out there, and probably even one more, Heyes said, that nobody knew anything at all about except that it might be there, that was a good feeling. Not the kind of thing you could tell just anybody, he reflected. He'd told Heyes and he hadn't said anything. But he'd put his arm around Curry's shoulder and pulled him close and sat star-gazing with him for most of the night. And two months later he'd woken Curry to look at the Perseids... Curry hadn't known their name though he'd seen them

before. And he hadn't known about the Italian astronomer, or the comet, though he remembered its name because it sounded like Swift Turtle. As they'd sat on the roof of the cabin watching the falling stars, sixty or seventy an hour, Heyes had said, "It's a great time to be alive, Kid, isn't it? New planets, new comets, new

everything..."

He thought about that now. Wasn't that what love was? Being able to tell the other person something deep inside you, something even you might not understand, and have them accept it as important to them, because it was to you?

They'd watched the Perseids again this year, and ended up making love under them. Good thing they came in August, he thought with a smile. You could freeze here even in early October. He thought about the nice big bed in the room with the big fireplace. With a nice warm body next to his, even if Heyes did have cold hands and feet... He smiled.

He picked out a target and did a little shooting-no need to make Heyes a liar, and anyway, he did have to keep in practice. Three shots, reload, three shots... he'd have to drag Heyes out tomorrow so he could empty his gun. That could be fun, too. He reloaded once more and then headed back into the hotel. Heyes was already gone from the lobby, so Curry took the stairs and, after a quick, possibly over-careful, glance down the hallway, went into their suite.

Heyes was reading something, but when Curry came in he put the book down. "You look frozen," he said.

"It's kind of cold," he acknowledged.

"Maybe we can warm you up," Heyes smiled and started locking up.

"For once, I'm in complete agreement with your policy, Heyes. Lock all the doors. And shove the couch in front, too."

Heyes laughed, that silver sound Curry loved so much. "She's definitely after you."

"I get the feeling she'd like to take me back to London, show me off to all her friends. Look at what I found! A real Wild West cowboy!" He threw himself down on the bed, wishing Heyes would hurry up and make him lose those images in his mind.

But the dark-haired man didn't seem to feel any particular urgency, going through his usual routine. He grinned at Curry as he hung up his jacket. "You know, Kid," he said, crossing to sit on the bed and pull off his boots. Curry scrambled off to do that for his partner, partly to get his hands on him a little bit sooner, partly to forestall him noticing any scuffs and taking time to fool with them, but mostly for the reward of hearing, "Why, thank you, Kid."

"You're welcome," he said, then, looking up at Heyes, "I know what?"

Heyes blinked then said, "Oh. If this is Paradise, I think you found the Serpent."

Curry snorted. "Or she found me." He set the second boot beside the first and then joined Heyes on the bed. His partner was untying his necktie. Curry reached over and pulled on one end; the strip of cloth slid around Heyes's neck and through his fingers.

"The woman tempted me?" Heyes said softly, with that smile that went straight to Curry's groin.

"She sure 'nough tried," Curry said, pulling Heyes to him for a deep kiss. They fell sideways onto the bed, Heyes's hands in Curry's hair. After a few delirious minutes Curry rolled over on top of his partner and pulled a little away, far enough to look down into the deep brown eyes. "But you notice where I wound up."

"Ummm," Heyes said intelligently, pulling him down for another kiss.

Curry undressed him slowly, the way he liked. He was extra careful with the buttons, which made Heyes laugh, that low chuckle that always made Curry feel a little more crazy than usual. He restrained himself-it was too early get passionate-and pulled off the linen shirt, throwing it on the floor. He'd learned how to use his hands and mouth to bring Heyes to fever pitch, burning as hot as he was himself, that beautiful body as demanding, that fine mind focused on one thing only with an intensity that was almost scary. Almost.

Tonight Curry did everything he could to make Heyes crazy, and then he pinned him down, kneeling over him and taking as long as he could. Heyes whimpered with need under Curry's teasing, one hand tangled in

Curry's hair and the other, Curry saw when he glanced up, white-knuckled on the bedpost. When he came, Heyes actually cried out softly, a first.

Curry moved quickly to forestall Heyes's usual reciprocation. Instead, he gathered his still-shuddering body in his arms and held him tightly, pressing up against Heyes's back. He had the will to resist the urge to truly take Heyes, to assert his own maleness. He retained the sense to know he didn't, he really didn't, want to do

that at the expense of Heyes's, and certainly had no desire to force or injure Heyes. But he had a need, bonedeep, to be male, to take... he pushed between Heyes's thighs, thrusting until he found his release.

He came with a shudder, crying out against Heyes's scarred shoulder, his mind filled with falling stars and leaping flames. He rolled over onto his back after a moment, trembling; Heyes turned over inside the circle of his arms and soothed him with gentle hands and lips and a wordless croon of love. Curry came back to the world slowly, sure only of the reality in his arms, wondering at his need to dominate it.

He tightened his hold almost without thinking as Heyes moved to get out of bed. "Love," he said, "we're not paying twenty dollars a night for someone to kick in the door. And if they do, it's a different room. Don't move..."

Heyes hesitated a few seconds, then yielded. "All right, shug," he said softly. "Here..." He yawned, resuming his gentle stroking of Curry's ribs. "I don't know what's gotten into you tonight..."

Curry tensed.

"Shhh," Heyes said, kissing his throat. "That wasn't a complaint... I couldn't possibly have any complaints."

Curry relaxed, sliding one hand into Heyes's dark brown hair and holding him close. "I love you, Heyes."

"Ummmm... I could tell," Heyes said. "I love you, too. Don't worry. I won't leave you."

Curry wanted to say he knew that, but he felt himself falling asleep, and wasn't sure if he'd managed to...

He woke once in the night, from a dream of Lady Clarissa. As he gasped for air, wondering what in *hell* was wrong with him, Heyes pulled him close. "Shug?" he said sleepily; it was so dark Curry couldn't see his face, but he didn't have to: the tone was enough to bring up the image. "Bad dream?"

"It's nothing, love," he said, burrowing into Heyes's shoulder, the one with the scar from the bank job in Fremont, the one that had driven him away from Heyes because he couldn't stand seeing him hurt and that had brought them together because Heyes wouldn't let him go. And now Heyes wrapped his arms around him and soothed him, not even asking what the problem was.

Curry lay in his partner's arms, unwilling to close his eyes again for fear of what, who, he might see. And hated himself

*

Of course, he slept. When he woke up, he was alone in the bed. That wasn't unusual; Heyes slept less than he did and, for all his occasionally luxury-loving ways, he didn't lounge around in bed. Even on vacation. But today Curry was a bit worried when his hand found emptiness next to him.

He was used to talk in his sleep. His brothers had ribbed him about it, but thank God he'd just been a kid so he'd never really embarrassed himself. Somehow embarrassing himself hadn't been a worry with Heyes, even in the beginning, but Heyes had told him it was a dangerous habit, and he'd pretty much broken him of it. Curry had been bruised for months before his mouth had caught on. But it wasn't a hundred-per-cent cure; every now and then he still woke Heyes up babbling about something... not that it was necessarily a bad thing. Heyes might have believed that *it's time to move on* cock-and-bull story he'd tried to sell him back when he'd tried to leave if he hadn't walked in on Curry begging him not to beat him up in his dreams...

No, not a bad thing. Not at all a bad thing. Because once Heyes got on the track of something, he didn't quit, and Curry had had to tell him about his feelings toward the other man. And then Heyes hadn't left. Heyes had stayed.

Heyes had loved him.

Hannibal Heyes, the finest mind-hell, the finest *man*-he'd ever known, had loved him. Loved him with his whole heart and mind and soul... and it hadn't taken Curry long to realize he was the first person Heyes ever *had* loved. Not that he'd ever asked him, not that he ever would, but it hadn't been that hard to tell once he'd thought about it. He'd known Heyes was too, well, fastidious for whores, just like he'd demand clean linens in hotels and not care if he had to pay extra. But he'd never thought Heyes's women friends were just friends... The discovery had scared the piss out of Curry. Still did, sometimes. Who the hell was he to be the one Heyes gave himself to like that? Nobody special. God knew, he loved Heyes right back, but sometimes the depth of the emotion he saw in those dark brown eyes just shook him to the bone.

Sometimes he didn't know if he was up to it.

And sometimes he knew he'd die if he lost it. Times like now, hoping like hell he hadn't said something in his sleep that had driven Heyes into the other room. Out of the hotel. Away.

But when he opened his eyes to the darkness of the curtain-shrouded room, the first thing he saw was the white of Heyes's shirt sleeves in a slash of sunlight. The other man was curled up in one of the big armchairs, one of the curtains pulled back just enough to spill light across the pages of the book he was reading. Curry sighed in relief.

"Mornin', Kid," Heyes said softly. "You awake at last?"

"Ummm," Curry said.

Heyes smiled, then said, "You spent a stirrin'-around night."

He said things like that every now and then, things that, like 'shug', made Curry certain that wherever he was from, it wasn't Kansas. Not that it mattered, really, where he was from. All that mattered was where he was. Where he was going and who was going with him... Still, Curry kind of wished he'd tell him. He hoped, too, that he hadn't kept waking Heyes up all night. He sat up and realized he was smelling coffee. He said so, feeling that it couldn't be right.

Heyes laughed a little. "You are. I ordered room service breakfast."

"Room service?" Curry demanded. "We can have *room service*?"

"At twenty dollars a day," Heyes said, "we'd damned well better be able to have room service."

"But if we can have room service," Curry said, pouring himself a cup of still-fairly-hot coffee, "we don't have to leave the room. All day!" he finished triumphantly, snuggling back under the blankets.

Heyes grinned. "Gotten over disappointing the English?"

"The English can go to their graves disappointed for all of me," Curry said.

Heyes laughed. "They weren't in my pictures of this vacation," he agreed.

"Less'n you want to play cards with 'em," Curry said.

"No," Heyes shook his dark head. "I don't care for whist, really, and they don't play well. Ransdale owes me fifty dollars... I don't like playing for credit."

That wasn't exactly a stop-the-presses announcement, Curry thought, digging his shoulders into the pillow. He drank some more coffee and looked at Heyes, only to discover that the dark man was looking steadily at him.

"You didn't answer my question, Kid."

Curry was tempted to say, *what question?*, but there wasn't much point to it. Once, years ago, Heyes would have sighed and asked it in so many words but now they both knew Curry knew what he meant. So he shrugged and said, "I dunno. I mean, I had some bad dreams but I don't remember 'em. Nothing to worry about, Heyes. Probably ate something that didn't agree with me."

Heyes regarded him in silence. Curry wasn't sure whether he was glad the room was so dim, because that meant Heyes couldn't see him well, or not, because he couldn't tell for sure if Heyes was buying it. So

he put the coffee cup down and got out of bed. "Gotta go down the hall," he said, pulling on his Levi's. "Is there any food with that coffee?"

Heyes leaned back in his chair. "Sweet rolls," he said. "Some bacon. Eggs are probably cold."

"I hate eggs, anyway," said Curry. When he came back Heyes had pulled the curtains and the room was filled with late morning light. Curry was somewhat surprised to see how late it was. Determined to be as

lazy and decadent as he could, he piled sweet rolls and crisp bacon onto the clean plate, poured himself some more coffee, kicked off his jeans, and crawled right back into bed. "This is the life," he said. "Man, Heyes, I wish I was really rich."

Heyes laughed. "You aren't even fake rich."

"Yeah, but you are. I'd be OK living off you." Again Heyes laughed, and Curry smiled. *Got away with it.* "You still reading about goin' to the moon?"

"No," Heyes said. "Finished that one." He gestured toward the desk with his chin. "It's pretty good, if you want to read it."

Curry laughed. Heyes didn't expect him to. Every now and then Curry read a dime novel, if it was about somebody he knew, but those books of Heyes's? "So where they off to in this one? Under the sea or the

center of the earth?"

"Center of the earth," Heyes said. "Down a volcano in Iceland."

"So how come they don't burn up?" he asked skeptically.

"Maybe they do," was the equable response. "Haven't finished it yet, after all."

Curry took that for the hint it was and shut up, eating and watching Heyes read. He did like that. Hell, he liked watching Heyes do anything. So what was his problem, anyway? Carefully keeping it inside his mind, he sighed. Heyes ought to be all anybody could possibly want. He was... he was smart and handsome and kind, under that acerbic facade, and loyal and loving... God, was he loving. And for months now he had been more than enough, more than Curry had ever dreamed of. And he hadn't changed. So why had Curry?

Or had he always been this way? Had he just wanted Heyes for a while? Or because... Hell. No. He didn't just *want* Heyes. He by-damn *loved* him.

And then, he froze, his mouth full of sugary cinnamon roll and his eyes full of Heyes, sunlit and concentrating on the book he had on his knee in his long-sighted fashion. Was that the problem, then? Did

he love Heyes, but not want him? Or at least not want only him, or somethin' like that? 'Cause he did want him, that was a fact; he wanted him right this minute, wanted to yank him out of that chair and onto this bed and throw that book on the floor and follow it with Heyes's clothes... but he'd wanted to do pretty much the same thing with Lady Clarissa the night before. And Heyes was the only man he'd ever had that urge with.

*Oh, shit*, Curry thought miserably. *One of these days I'm gonna hurt him so bad. And I don't know what to do about it.* He swallowed the bite of roll and sat there for a few minutes. Then he told himself, *But it's not gonna be today, Jedediah. It's not gonna be today.*

*

"Heyes," he said. "Let's go out."

Heyes raised his head and repeated, "Out?"

"Out. You haven't been outside since we got here."

"Kid, it's a *luxury* hotel."

"So?"

"So," a small smile tugged at Heyes's lips, "you don't come to a luxury hotel to go outside. Or at least I don't. I'm not paying twenty dollars a day to camp out."

"Heyes, who's talking about camping out? I'm talking about taking a walk. Getting some fresh air. Sunshine—"

"Freezing to death."

"Wear your coat. Heyes," he said as persuasively as he knew how, "you never saw such a view."

Heyes regarded him for a moment, and then those dark eyes kindled. "Oh, haven't I?" he asked softly. "All right, Kid. Lead on. But it better be worth it." He put his book down, carefully marking his place.

"It will be," Curry promised, reaching for his jeans. "It will be."

Heyes buckled on his gun for this expedition, though if he buttoned up his coat it was hard to get at it. Curry knew that meant Heyes didn't really expect to need it, and counted on his giving him time to get at it if he did. He also knew that two years ago Heyes would have tucked the skirt of his broadcloth coat into the back of the belt to keep his gun handy. He trusted Curry to keep him safe.

*Who guards your body?*

He yanked his shirt down over his head and pushed his doubts away. He guarded his own body. And his body belonged to Heyes. Like he did. That was that.

They didn't meet anyone on their way out, and within minutes they were deep in the woods. Curry lagged behind, letting Heyes pick the direction and the pace, and watched him. He was graceful, and so
quiet in the woods. For all he professed to hate being in the great outdoors, he was at home there in a way Curry, who did like it, wasn't. After a few minutes he realized Heyes was following the same path he had the day before, and that was confirmed when they came to the dead tree whose limbs he'd used for target practice. Heyes began unbuttoning his coat.

"Want to do a little shootin'?"

"Not really," Heyes answered, catching his coat behind his back with his left hand. "But it's been a while. I expect I need to."

"Go ahead," Curry said, grinning and leaning up against a tall fir. "I'll do some when you're done."

Heyes flashed him a quick smile and then began. Curry was pleased to see that he hit pretty much everything he aimed at. Of course, honesty compelled him to note three things: Heyes was taking his
time, the tree wasn't moving, and it definitely wasn't shooting back. Still, this wasn't Heyes's job, shooting. It was his. Heyes did a lot of things better than he did. Thinking, talking, planning, reading... hell, he even rode better. And shot a rifle better, too, like a hunter. But Winchesters or Remingtons were useless in gunfights, or when a posse was after you. Then you needed a Colt, and you needed to be good. Fast, and able to shoot while you were dodging somebody shooting back. And while he sometimes wished Heyes was just a bit better at it, in his secret heart he was glad the dark man wasn't. Because that meant he needed Curry around.

Heyes emptied his gun three times and then quit. Reloading the third time, he looked over at Curry and said, with his joke's-on-me smile, "Ready to show me how it's done now?"

Curry grinned back at him. Something else honesty compelled him to admit: he loved showing off for Heyes. He blasted a branch down to the trunk with four sequential shots and then bracketed it with his next two. While he reloaded, Heyes was picking up branch bits. Curry holstered his Colt and nodded. "When you're ready," he said. Heyes pitched them into the air, quickly, with that sidearm motion he used. Curry drew and fired, all one motion, six shots and each hitting an airborne target. Heyes grinned at him and began scavenging up another set; Curry pushed bullets out of the loops on his belt and reloaded blindly, never taking his eyes off Heyes. And this time Heyes didn't wait to be told, he started pitching as soon as he saw Curry's hand off his Colt. Still Curry got them all before they hit the ground, though Heyes had thrown them in a couple of directions and he had to spin around and even took the last one on one knee.

"More?" Heyes asked, his voice just the tiniest bit rough.

"No," Curry said, lapping up the sound like a cat in the dairy. "I didn't bring enough ammunition." He wished they were closer to the hotel; despite it being afternoon he bet he could have gotten Heyes inside and in bed. A notion came to him; he examined it and found it good.

Heyes drew a deep breath and said, sounding more normal, "So, where's this view, then?"

"This way," Curry gestured.

Ten minutes later they came abruptly out of the trees onto the rocks, with the mountains stretching away on either side and another range in front of them. The sky was bluer than anything, with a handful of clouds as white as the snow on the mountain peaks, and the evergreens were a dark vibrant contrast to the grey of the rocks. Curry felt like he could have reached up and touched the blue and white moon riding low in the afternoon sky, or heaven itself maybe if he'd stood on his tiptoes. He sat down on a sun-warmed rock and just looked out over the mountains, feeling Heyes sitting next to him. "You ever see anything so purely gorgeous?" he asked after a while.

"Yes," Heyes said. "Though not much, I must admit."

"Me, either." He took off his sheepskin coat and laid it behind them. "What?"

"What—oh. The Blue Ridge. Yours?" Heyes asked.

"The Milky Way," Curry said. "And you."

"Kid," Heyes began. No way to know what he was going to say, because Curry leaned over and kissed the words off his lips. Startlement and then cooperation, and then Heyes pulled away, reluctance in his dark eyes. And in his voice when he said, "Kid, not here."

"Why not?" Curry asked, nuzzling Heyes's throat. "We must be four miles from the hotel and none of that bunch is gonna walk four yards into those woods. You know that." He kissed him again, unbuttoning the broadcloth jacket and sliding his hand inside.

Heyes sighed, opening his mouth to Curry's insistent tongue and not moving away from his hand. When he could—when Curry had to breathe—he said, "Kid, this is kind of open, isn't it?"

Curry laughed softly. "Heyes, ain't nobody here but here. Nobody can see us but God, and I kinda think he can us when we're inside."

Heyes shook his head, but Curry figured that was just his atheism, because he put his hand on the back of Curry's head and pulled him close. "Kid," he husked into his ear, "you're a madman."

"But you like it," Curry responded, pushing Heyes down onto the rock, his dark head pillowed on the sheepskin jacket.

"Ummmmmm," Heyes said into Curry's mouth.

Curry took that as a 'yes'. Straddling his partner, he unbuckled his gun belt and laid it by Heyes's shoulder, in easy reach. Then he pulled Heyes's off and laid it next to his hips, also in reach. And then he began unbuttoning the jacket and the shirt underneath it, baring Heyes's body for his lips and tongue. He could feel Heyes's hands rucking his shirt and undershirt out of his pants, momentarily cold on the skin of his back, and he moaned, grazing Heyes's shoulder with his teeth, wanting him beyond words.

And Heyes was wanting him back. It didn't take much to have him ready, needy... Curry didn't wait this time, moving straight to satisfying his partner with no subtleties. If he'd been in an introspective mood, he might have wondered at the pattern they'd fallen into, how long it had been since Heyes had done him first. He
deliberately wasn't thinking about what he did next; again forestalling Heyes's reciprocation, his loving Curry, he covered the darker man's body with his own, kissing him hungrily while he thrust against him, between his thighs, driving possessively, dominating...

Again he came with a cry, screaming Heyes's name while his mind filled with flames. After a few minutes he opened his eyes, safe in Heyes's arms, Heyes's dark eyes close to his, looking a little worried.

"Kid? You okay?"

He sighed. "More than okay, Heyes. Did I... are you okay?"

Heyes smiled and pulled his head down. "I'm fine, Kid. If you are... you've been a little crazy the last couple of days. I'm just a little worried."

Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God. "I'm fine, Heyes," he said. "Just... I love you. So much."

Heyes ran his hand through Curry's hair. "I know," he said. "I love you. Whatever you need, whatever you want..."

Curry rolled over onto his back, bringing Heyes with him and tightening his hold. "You. You're all I need."

Heyes sighed and nuzzled him. "Well, I'm here. I'm also," he added, stirring in Curry's hold, "freezing to death, Kid."

Curry chuckled a little. "Now you mention it," he said.

When they were dressed again they sat quietly for a while on the rocks, looking out over the mountains. Heyes leaned against Curry, who put his arm around him and once again tried to understand his need to dominate. Thank God Heyes didn't mind, seemed to enjoy it... not that that would last if he got worse.

"We'd better get on back, Kid," Heyes said finally. "We'll be missing dinner otherwise."

"Yeah, you're right." Curry stood and gave Heyes a hand up. He looked at him critically; the broadcloth jacket was a little rumpled, but nothing more than hiking through the woods would have caused. "Let's
go."

*

They walked back, talking inconsequentially about food. Heyes wasn't paying much attention to the conversation; his mind was preoccupied with what had happened earlier. It wasn't like Curry to be so... so importunate. Something was bothering him, and had been for a couple
of days now. Ever since they got to this hotel, as a matter of fact. It wasn't just the Englishwoman, either, though she was a pest, right enough. Curry's problem with her was, he'd been raised to be polite to women. So had Heyes, but he hadn't been raised to let one walk all
over him just because she was a woman. And he wasn't impressed by her title, either, like Kid was, though that might be vanishing. Single-handedly, Clarissa Ransdale was almost certainly removing all the mystique. If Curry ever met a nice little well-behaved viscountess he'd probably despise her on sight.

But that didn't answer the question of what was really bothering the Kid. And he wasn't willing to talk about it, that was certain sure. Heyes had given him opportunity, asked him as outright as he knew how, twice, and gotten evasions. He knew you couldn't push the Kid too hard, it made him stubborn. You had to have some idea what was up, so you could approach the subject properly. And he didn't have the first clue.

Well, no; he did have a clue. He just didn't understand what it was pointing at. But the Kid had gotten very possessive, almost as if he were afraid of losing him. He couldn't think of a single thing he'd done, but... Still, he knew that might not be it at all. Funny, really, how he could read strangers so well and the man he loved so badly, sometimes. He couldn't take a chance on misreading him again, having him run off like he had before. He was just going to have be patient and wait. Sooner or later he'd figure it out.

Meanwhile, he'd just give the Kid his head. It wasn't like he minded, after all.

It was beginning to get dark as they approached the hotel and the air was noticeably colder. Clouds were piling up from the west, obscuring the stars. "Feels like snow," Curry said.

"Don't even suggest it," Heyes said. "Though I suppose we don't have anywhere else to be."

"I could do snowed in," Curry said, grinning, and held the door open. As they went inside, they spotted Ransdale and his secretary talking to a stranger in the front room. Ransdale looked over when the door opened. "There he is now, in point of fact. Smith!"

Heyes walked over to the men. Curry lingered by the stairs, his hand not exactly on his gun.

"Smith, this is Morrison," Ransdale said. "He's come up from Aspen, from the Wells Fargo actually, with cash. Raines, if you'd be so good."

"That could have waited, Lord Edward," Heyes said, accepting the bills Raines held out. "I trusted you to have it."

"I like to pay my debts of honor as soon as I can," Ransdale said.

As opposed to your tradesmen's debts, Heyes figured.

"Besides," Ransdale joked in his heavy-handed fashion, "I should hate to have your man Jones ask me."

"Ha ha," said the Kid, pushing his hat back on his head.

Heyes was mustering a more realistic laugh when Morrison said, "Is that man your friend, Mr. Smith?"

Something raised the short hairs on the back of Heyes's neck. His mind made one of those leaps it frequently did, going from here to there without ever quite negotiating the in-between, and he heard himself saying, rather coldly, as he tucked the money away in his inside jacket pocket, "Jones is my employee, Mr. Morrison, of several months' standing. May I inquire why you ask?"

"Excuse me," Morrison said, stepping sideways and then pulling his gun. "Don't." He was aiming at Curry.

"Sir," Ransdale said, sounding affronted.

Heyes kept his tone cold. "What is this about?"

"Stay out of it, Mr. Smith." Surprisingly, that was Curry.

It was seconded by Morrison. "That's real good advice, Mr. Smith."

"I repeat," Heyes began.

"This man's name isn't Jones. It's Curry." Morrison sounded nervous. "With your left hand, Curry, unbuckle that gun and let it drop."

"I'd rather not *drop* it," Curry said equably. "It's kinda valuable. Mind if I just sorta lie it down?"

"Just take it off."

Heyes's mind was racing. Damn. Wells Fargo. Curry... "What makes you so sure, Morrison?" he asked, moving a couple of steps to the side.

"I've seen him before. It's been a while, but I recognized him right off. Did he have a trail buddy when you hired him?"

Curry relaxed when he heard that question, though Heyes doubted anybody but him could have noticed. He reached for his gunbelt's buckle and tugged the strap through the metal.

"No," Heyes was saying, watching his partner, recognizing that Curry didn't think Morrison knew who Heyes was. He played along with it. "He was alone."

"Who is he, Morrison?" Ransdale asked.

Curry dangled the holster from his hand till it touched the floor, and then he let go of the strap.

"Step away," Morrison said.

Curry did.

Steps halted on the stairs and then resumed. "My, my," Lady Clarissa's voice was silky. "Whatever is going on?"

"I'm arresting this man," Morrison said. "Turn around, Curry, and put your hands behind you."

"Who is he?" Ransdale repeated irritatedly.

"Kid Curry," Morrison said, snapping a pair of handcuffs on the Kid. "He's a dangerous outlaw, sir, ma'am. Worth ten thousand."

"Dollars? Teddie, what is that in real money?"

"Slightly more than two thousand pounds, Lady Clarissa," Raines answered when her brother didn't.

Her eyes widened slightly. "My, my," she said again and swayed up next to Curry. "I was right. You are my first gunman. Shootist, I mean."

Curry didn't answer.

"Stand back, ma'am," said Morrison.

She moved to join her brother. "What sort of name is Kid? Were you named for the pirate?"

When Curry ignored her, Morrison explained, "He got it because he was so young when he started. Just a kid. He's a bad man, ma'am."

"How... exciting." She touched the tip of her tongue to her lips, a flash of pink and of white teeth.

"*Claire*."

She ignored her brother and turned to Heyes. "Did you know, Mr. Smith? That he was a dangerous outlaw?"

Heyes looked at her as he might have a snake. "I knew he was dangerous, Lady Clarissa. That's what made him worth hiring."

Morrison pulled Curry over to the desk while that byplay was going on, and rang. When the desk clerk showed up he said, "I need somewhere to lock this man up till morning."

"Sir?"

Morrison flashed his Wells Fargo badge. "I've arrested him and I need to lock him up."

"I suppose you could put him in a room," the clerk began.

Lady Clarissa shivered theatrically. "Oh, no! Not on the same floor as myself or Isobel! We shouldn't sleep a wink. And not on the upper floor. My maid's there. I can't have her scared to death."

"Well, there's some empty storage rooms in the cellar."

"That'll do."

Heyes cocked his head and said, "You know, Morrison, he hasn't actually been convicted of anything yet. An empty storage room seems a bit much. Or little, if you follow me."

"We can have a bed brought down from the top floor," said the clerk. "Most of the maids are already gone, it being so close to our closing date."

And that's what they did. Morrison took Curry away and Heyes fended off the Ransdales' questions by sticking coldly to his story: he needed a man good with a gun and that's what he'd hired. He picked up the Kid's Colt and took it upstairs with him to change for dinner. Skipping the meal might make Morrison wonder.

*Damn it, Kid,* he thought as he tied his tie. *Where did you run into him without me?* But of course he got no answer.

*

Curry shifted on the narrow bed, trying to get comfortable. For their sake, he hoped the Paradise Hotel's maids were all short. Of course, having his hands cuffed together and to the headboard didn't help any. Damn, but he couldn't wait for the morning. A short, if cold, ride until Heyes figured out a way to spring him... at least he'd be moving.

He hoped that Wells Fargo detective remained convinced that Heyes was too cultured to be, well, Heyes. If they were both locked up it would be a lot harder to get out. He sighed. On the other hand, if they'd both been locked up, he'd at least have had Heyes to look at and talk to. Instead of nothing and no one.

Footsteps outside told him that was about to change. But he hadn't been expecting Lady Clarissa... though at some level he wasn't really surprised to see her.

"So, Mr. Curry," she said, as though she were dropping in on him in an ordinary way. "I've never actually talked with an outlaw before. Criminals, I suppose I have, but an actual outlaw? Never."

"I'm glad to be of some entertainment value," he said.

"Oh, you could be," she said. "You could have been."

"Lady Clarissa," he said, regretting his choice of words, "I don't think your brother would approve of your being down here with me."

"Oh, Teddie," she said dismissively. "We don't interfere in each other's pleasures, Mr. Curry... What is your Christian name? I can't possibly call you 'Kid'."

He didn't tell her. She scared him, and he didn't want her to know his name.

She laughed and swayed over to sit on the bed next to him. "Oh, Mr. Curry," she said. "You Americans are so odd... But you're not much of a threat to me, are you?"

He wasn't sure what to say to that. Besides, the smell of her perfume was doing odd things to him.

"Everyone back home said Americans were so rough," she said. "But you're not, after all. You're cowards, really."

"What do you mean?" That had gotten to him.

"You're interested in me," she said huskily. "But you run away. I wondered, and then I thought, you look at your Mr. Smith as a dog looks at its master. Is that it, Mr. Curry? Do you belong to him?"

"I don't know what you mean," Curry managed.

"Really?" Her accent did something indescribable to that word. "I do know all about that sort of thing; after all, dear Teddie spends enough on stableboys, giving them five pounds to take a bath and lean over a bed for him... but you, for all they call you 'Kid', are rather older than that. And rather more male, I think."

Her choice of words brought back the previous evening, and the memory of her silk-clad toes against his leg; his body began to react. And then she put her hand on him, and there wasn't any doubt what his body wanted.

She laughed, huskily, and bent over him. He opened his mouth to say something, he wasn't quite sure what, and hers closed over it, her tongue taking advantage of its openess to delve deep inside. Her hand pushed against him; he moved—his mind was claiming it was to get away from her—and she stroked him. He'd never had a woman who wasn't a hooker touch him like that, and every part of him was ready to get laid. Every part but his mind, which was fighting a desperate battle, considering it couldn't get his hands free or make his body run away. He could shout, if she ever stopped kissing him, but, God, would that be humiliating...

Not at all male...

He pulled away from her mouth. "Lady Clarissa," he managed to say, "I don't want—"

"Oh, piffle," she said, stroking him again. "Of course you do. Here, this will help."

She filled his mouth again, this time with her silk scarf. Then she straddled him, grinding her hips against his, and leaning forward to lick his throat. He moaned into the scarf, feeling his hips moving. She laughed again, murmured, "I told you," and began unbuttoning his shirt. She nuzzled him, biting gently through the cotton undershirt and said, "God, you smell like a man."

She sat up and unbuttoned her shirtwaist, freeing small breasts Curry, giving up, really wanted to get his hands on. But his frustration was short-lived; she pushed herself down his body and
began unbuttoning his trousers, rubbing her breasts against his stomach and nipping at him. Her hand was urgent on him, and she was repeating obscenities he'd never heard a woman use, except that one friend of Heyes's—no, no, no! Don't think about him!

And then she lowered herself onto him, her hands on her breasts and her head thrown back, and he thrust into her as well as he could, and she rode him until she shuddered and collapsed onto his chest. He rolled over on top of her, and she clenched her hands on his hips, raising her knees and biting his shoulder. He drove into her until he, too, climaxed in a long, shuddering ecstasy. He managed to fall off to her side, and she slid out from under him and lay on his back for a moment. She ran her hand across his buttocks and whispered into his ear, "You're no kid, Curry."

Then she sat up. He turned over almost reluctantly to see her stretching like a cat. Then she buttoned up her shirtwaist and rearranged her skirts. Leaning over, she bit gently at his stomach,
then considerately pulled his trousers up and buttoned them and buckled his belt. "It would have been even nicer if you hadn't run so hard," she said with a throaty laugh. "You don't get to do that often enough, do you?"

Fortunately, the scarf was still in his mouth. She left it there, tugging on a lock of his hair and saying, "I hope you don't end up in jail, Man Curry."

And then she was gone, the door closing behind her with a terrible finality.

And Curry stared into the darkness and wondered why he couldn't just die now.

END PART 8