Beth Dutton woke up with that feeling again: the adrenaline-driven terror, anger, and breathlessness she'd felt that night combined with the pain that seemed to be attacking her body everywhere all at once. Her heart felt like it was galloping inside her chest faster than some of the horses in the barn. She was sweating and felt dizzy, instinctively reaching out to the left of the bed but coming up empty. Her head and chest started hurting worse until she remembered: Rip was all right. It was the first time Kasey or their father had worked at night since they'd gotten Tate safely home; of course, Rip was out with them. In fact, that was why she'd agreed to sleep in her old room, to give both Monica and Kasey a sense of security. They all needed that these days. She knew her family had fought for years for the ranch, but she never remembered such a cataclysm upon the family as her attack and Tate's kidnapping. She knew her father never seemed to sleep anymore and had her suspicions about Kasey doing it. The only way she and Rip seemed able to sleep was if they were together, which gave her reason to sleep at his cabin every night except this one. She'd become used to having his smell around her and, even if he couldn't be there, it calmed her. She tended to be harder on herself about these panic attacks than he was. To her way of thinking, her attackers and the men that financed them were dead, time to move on, no showing fear to anyone, even the family. Rip saw it differently and had told her she was being too hard on herself. She smiled when she remembered her retort, that she was hard on everyone, and his laugh afterwards. God, she loved his laugh.

She was brought out of her thoughts by the sound of crying and vomiting. She made herself presentable and went to check. Being motherly wasn't usually her style, but both her sister in law and nephew were beginning to get to her, whether she wanted to admit it or not. She found Monica was the one throwing up and started to ask if she could do anything when she heard the cry again.

"Tate. Can you? Please?" Monica whispered, obviously not able to stand quite yet.

A look of nervous fear crossed Beth's eyes but she nodded. "All right."

She walked down to the room that her father had decorated for Tate, his only grandchild. While everyone knew John had issues with the boy's conception, from the moment he met Tate, he was wrapped around the boy's finger. The most recent proof was the newest horse the ranch had purchased: John had paid for it, Kasey was training it, and Rip was teaching the boy to care for it. She remembered watching Tate and Rip out by the corral and felt that pressure in her chest combining with the tears brimming her eyes again. Damn it, she was a Dutton. She was too young for a damn heart attack and she was NOT a crier. She could only remember one time since her mother's death she had shed tears.

"Aunt Beth?" Tate questioned when Beth walked into the room.

"Yeah, bud." She sat in the chair near his bed, the one that Kasey had moved there when Tate had returned home. Not a night went by that he, Monica, or John didn't spend time in that chair. "Bad dream again?"

Tate nodded, looking down at his covers. He didn't like talking about his dreams, but they were always the same. The bad men were alive again and either coming for him or for his family because they'd saved him.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Beth smiled a little; her head crooked just slightly. When the boy nodded, she continued. "Me too."

"Yeah?" Tate had never witnessed an adult having bad dreams and, although he suspected his parents, maybe his grandpa, did, no adult ever admitted it.

She nodded. "So…let's go raid the kitchen and watch Grandpa's favorite." She smiled at the boy, holding out her hand.

"John Wayne?" It was the only movie he'd ever seen his grandfather sit down and watch, on a rainy night when he'd first come home from the bad men.

"John Wayne." They walked downstairs together. "Are you hungry?" The boy shrugged and then nodded. "I'll see if I still remember how to make popcorn."

Beth watched the boy snuggle down on the couch, able to smell the scent Kasey and John left behind on the furniture. She wasn't a cook, never had to be, but she remembered making popcorn and hot cocoa as kids. Somehow, she managed to make a presentable batch of both, bringing out some for each of them and Monica too if she felt well enough to come down.

"What's that word?" Tate asked as Beth picked a movie and took it out of the box.

"Hatari. You'll like it. Promise." They both needed laughs and it had been a favorite when she'd been his age. No horses and she'd loved watching the exotic animals.

By the time she was settled into a chair, Monica came down to check on them, looking worse for wear but trying to hide it. "What are you two watching?"

"A John Wayne of Dad's. Hatari." Beth smiled when she saw Tate gasp in awe at the sight of the African animals. "I made you some popcorn."

Monica thanked her, taking a little of the popcorn, hoping it was bland enough to coat her stomach, but she allowed Tate to have her cocoa. "I've never seen this one."

Beth filled her in briefly on the story without too many spoilers and observed silently how tired her sister-in-law looked. She waited until Tate was absorbed in the story to whisper, "I can stay with him if you need to sleep."

"Really?" John volunteered from time to time but otherwise it had been her and Kasey taking turns or, some nights, letting Tate sleep between them in their bed.

"Yeah, I'm up anyway," came Beth's caustic reply, hoping Monica couldn't read her as well as John and sometimes Kasey could.

"Sorry about that." Monica answered, although she had observed quietly to Kasey from time to time that she'd suspected Beth had night terrors as well. The whole family seemed to be having them lately, when they were able to sleep at all.

"Get some rest. Kasey will carry him up when they get home or he can spend the night with Dad." It was no secret that John Dutton didn't sleep these days. When he wasn't in the chair beside Tate's bed, he usually stretched out on the couch, unwilling to leave his family unguarded and wanting Kasey to have backup, just in case.

Monica nodded, covering the boy with the blanket laying nearby, kissing his forehead. He was almost too enthralled with the leopard on the screen to notice. "Good night, Mom."

"Night, buddy. Night, Beth." Monica paused, her voice trembling a bit as she said, "Thank you." Her sister in law nodded and she went back upstairs.

*****

John and Kasey Dutton came into the house with Rip Wheeler about midnight, all three men exhausted and frustrated that it had taken so long. Some days it seemed impossible to split time between the ranch duties they needed to accomplish and being with their family, especially these days. All three men stopped short, frustration falling to the wayside, as they saw the scene before them. The end of Hatari could be heard on the tv, Beth was asleep in the chair, Tate asleep on the couch, each holding the other's hand.

Kasey was amazed. He long since suspected his sister to have a softer side, even caught a glimpse of it from time to time, but he'd never seen it like this. He reached out to take his son and, as soon as Beth felt Tate's hand leave hers, she woke, immediately defensive before she realized it was Kasey. "God!" She hissed, trying not to wake Tate up.

"Sorry," Kasey whispered, immediately meaning it. He remembered after his time overseas, the feeling when he woke up, panic and adrenaline coursing through his veins. He could see some of that in his sister now. That plus the kitchen knife coming at his arm when she thought he was someone poised to hurt her or Tate told more of a story than words ever could.

"It's okay, babe," Rip whispered, his hand on her shoulder, not restraining, but comforting. "He's okay."

Beth slowly nodded. "Sorry, Kase. I…" She couldn't finish that sentence, but a Beth Dutton apology, a real one, was worth it's weight in gold.

"You thought someone was taking my kid and you were gonna stop them, Beth. Nothing to be sorry about." He realized he didn't have to worry anymore, not near as much anyway, about Monica and Tate's protection when he was gone. "Is Monica okay?"

"She was sick again tonight. I told her I'd watch him. We must have fallen asleep watching the movie." Beth sounded more like herself again as she began to gather in her surroundings. Giving John the knife to put away, she put her hand over Rip's.

"Thank you." Kasey was beginning to worry about Monica. He wasn't sure if it was the stress of what had happened to their son, which seemed to have everyone unnerved, or if something else was going on, but she had been getting sick a lot. He lifted his son into his arms to take him upstairs.

"Night, grandson," John whispered, kissing Tate's head. He hated when Tate was out of his sight, even if it was with Kasey and Monica, but he felt the same way about his daughter these days. Since the attacks, he'd been torn between rage that either had dared happen to a Dutton, terror that something like that could happen again, and worry about how they were processing. He felt the urge to be everywhere at once: overseeing the ranch, fighting for his job, watching over his daughter, distracting his grandson…it was why he wasn't sleeping. There just never seemed to be the time to do all he wanted to do.

"Night, Dad," Kasey and Beth both said, Beth standing up and turning off the movie. When the remote control was on the table again, she hugged John, the only time she'd let Rip's hand go since waking. "Please try to sleep? For me?"

John nodded, kissing her forehead. He would try, he really would, but it was doubtful that he would succeed. "Night, sweetheart." John watched Rip put his own coat around Beth as Kasey carried Tate upstairs. They were both safe at the moment; he had to make sure they stayed that way.

Rip wrapped his black coat around Beth as they walked outside, his arm around her shoulders. It was only a few steps to her car and they always drove when it was this late at night, but he didn't want her to get sick. Like John and Kasey, he was worried, maybe even more since he knew what to be worried about. Like the others, he had trouble sleeping, not because of Beth's nightmares, but because he always wanted to be awake when she needed him. He could emphasize with her: not about the pain, although it had definitely hurt at the time, but the terror, anger, and breathlessness he'd felt that night had only slightly started going away. When he'd seen them hurting her, not only was he seeing someone hurt his Beth, but he'd also flashed back on the night he'd lost his first family. He'd only loved two women in his life, differently of course, but only two. He'd lost one to an abusive drunk; he'd be damned if he'd lose another one. It was why Beth's reaction had told him he was shot before he ever felt it, like when that bear kept charging before it knew it was hit: adrenaline.

"Rip?" Beth looked concerned at him and he realized he hadn't started the car. When he started it, she scooted over close where she could lay her head against him, reassuring them both she was all right.

He drove home and took his shower, wanting to clean up before they tried to sleep. Morning came early around here and, while he knew that John would understand, something in him still didn't want to be late. He knew the importance of things being done in or at a certain time and, while he loved his time with Beth or horsing around with the hands, the ranch was in his blood as much as if he had been born a Dutton. Working it came first.

When he got out of his shower, Beth was already in bed, dressed in that old black shirt he'd given her. He smiled when he thought of why she'd wanted it, because it smelled like him. Of course, Beth being Beth, she'd picked a time when he'd just gotten in from work when she said it and he'd joked it must smell like a horse. He knew the real reason though: it made her feel safe. He'd do anything, especially these days, to make her feel that way.

"We talking about this one or letting it go?" He referred to the nightmare she must have had earlier that night as he stretched out beside her on their bed.

"Letting it go." He nodded and she lay her head on his chest. "It wasn't terrible. Looking after Tate tonight."

He knew what she meant and, while he always held out hope for someday, he knew better than to put it into words. "Yeah, he's a good kid. Doesn't argue near as much as his old man."

"Kaycee's a Dutton. Tate's only half." She teased, gaining what she'd wanted, a grin from him.

"Yeah, those Duttons sure are stubborn." He kissed her head. "I oughtta know."

"I think you make out okay, cowboy," she teased, relaxing a little with their banter as well as the way he was gently rubbing up and down her back, soothing her without the words that seemed like lies these days. She was so sick of the reassuring 'everything's going to be okay' or 'you're safe' these days she could scream.

"Better than okay," he said seriously, studying her before kissing her soft hair. "Most days." He teased, getting what he'd wanted, a true Beth Dutton smile. Her smile seemed to light up the world, at least his.

They lay close together in the dark, holding each other, her head against his chest, his chin resting on her head. She kept an arm around his chest, careful of where his wound was still healing, and he kept rubbing her back in a slow, soft motion, one he'd learned years ago would calm her. He could almost feel it when she fell asleep, the slower breathing of her chest against his. He nuzzled her gently and kissed her hair one last time.

"I love you, Beth," echoed in the darkness as he fell asleep.