About an hour ago

It certainly wasn't the first time Ezra P. Standish had placed a bet outside the confines of a gambling establishment or, in this case, inside the saloon but outside of what would typically be considered betting hours, and there was little chance of it being the last. Had he been able to anticipate the domino effect of this particular wager, he would certainly have spent more time pondering the odds, both of monetary gain and of personal loss. As things stood, he had six good men mad at him and, based on how they were looking at him, the only reason he hadn't yet been run out of town was the serious concussion that made it impossible for him to stand on his own two feet, let alone sit a horse. How he'd received the severe knock to the head was a missing piece to this game of dominoes, as was the exact reason why everyone was mad at him; he'd only surmised that it was related to that damned bet. The fact was, the only recent events in his muddled memory were the making of the bet – or the first domino that fell – and waking up to six angry faces: the final domino. And make that nine, because as his compatriots looked at him without an ounce of concern but with ire equal to the combined weight of a dozen cannonballs, two for each man, all aimed at his aching head, three other faces looked upon his peacekeeping brethren with equal contempt. As soon as he was able to open his mouth without throwing up – his last two previous awakenings had been close yet still unsuccessful in this regard – he would need to ask the owners of those faces, Mary Travis, Inez Recillos and Gloria Potter, just exactly what had happened here.

Just short of three days ago

"That ain't a bet, that's a death sentence," Buck Wilmington guffawed as the elegant man from The South finished his proposal.

"Mrs. Potter?" J.D. Dunne asked, a confused and perhaps just a little bit disgusted look on his face. Ezra ignored the young man and chose to argue with one of the territory's most renowned ladies' men instead.

"And why would that be, Mistah Wilmington?" Ezra asked as he ate another forkful of the mouthwateringly spicy, rich and smoky egg concoction that Inez had prepared for breakfast this fine morning … or rather, early afternoon.

"Ez, ya only got two nights in the next three days," Vin Tanner suggested helpfully, not wanting his friend to step into something he couldn't wriggle his way out of.

"It ain't even that, Vin. He says he's gonna get all three of 'em to agree. Ha! He'll be lucky to get one," Buck challenged.

"Ah realize that it is a tall order, but you speak as though Ah can not evah attain a date, let alone one with any of these lovely ladies."

"Gloria Potter?" J.D. asked again. Ezra shook his head and scowled at the youngest member of the law of Four Corners.

"I don't know, Ezra. Not sure it makes a whole lotta sense to alienate Mary, Inez and Gloria," Josiah Sanchez offered in the way of fatherly advice. Ezra Standish was clearly not interested in any advice, and certainly not of the fatherly kind. He'd had a father – once – and he wasn't in the market for another one.

"It is merely a meal and time spent in the company of a lovely lady. Ah am not lookin' to bed them," he added. J.D. opened his mouth. "Mistah Dunne, Ah am givin' you fair warnin' to desist with these slights upon a fine woman. From all Ah have heard of your dear mothah, Ah am certain you were raised bettah."

J.D. frowned, thought back on his part in the conversation and had the decency to blush, shame coming to his face. "Sorry," was all that he said.

"Ah should hope so. Now, are there any takers?"

"Just what exactly is the bet?" Chris Larabee asked. He had come in at the end of the discussion. "I think I must've missed something important," he said as he pulled a chair out wide, giving himself plenty of room to stretch out his long legs. "Sounded like Ezra and a date with Gloria?" he queried.

"Oh, no, old pard," Buck jumped in. With a wiggle of his eyebrows he added, "Ezra'd never offer something as simple as a date with just one woman." He leaned close to his oldest friend and offered in his best conspiratorial tone, loud enough for all to hear, "Who's he think he is? Me?" Nathan Jackson walked in as Buck asked the question.

"Who?" the healer asked.

"Ezra," the other five lawmen responded in unison.

"Ezra?" Nathan questioned with a furrowed brow and a smirk.

"Ah take offense at your tone, indeed, your response is a clear disparagement of mah … " Buck cut him off.

"Manliness?" he offered.

"No," Ezra replied hotly, though with a decided lightness of tone. Whereas Buck needed to flaunt his love of women, more a divide and conquer mindset, Ezra saw himself in a much different way. He certainly saw no need to advertise the objects of his desire, even so much that he had any. He was raised a gentleman, and always a gentleman, he preferred to leave the showy acts for his chosen profession, and to leave the question of his manliness, as Buck called it, a private affair. That this choice would bring on more talk rather than less was nothing he had any control over. He hoped that his self-possession, his quiet in the face of Buck's decided unquiet would say what needed to be said. That didn't mean that he could let Nathan's slight sit unchallenged. "Nathan seems quite sure that Ah am incapable of offering these ladies … " Once more, the town Lothario put words in the gambler's mouth.

"A night that they will remember forever? Yeah, hoss, that's because that's my area of expertise."

"Mistah Wilmington, we are not discussin' a roll in the hay, as you might so vulgarly describe it," Ezra said as he fussily adjusted the ruffles on his fancy shirt.

"What exactly is goin' on here?" Nathan asked. So far, based on what he had heard, he was pretty sure he wasn't going to like it.

"Before Buck drags the conversation to heretofore unfathomed depths, allow me to present the wager in proper terms and then you all can decide whether any of you are game."

"I'm lookin' forward to hearing this," Nathan said, though it seemed clear from his tone that he'd already made up his mind.

"Ah assure you that the proposal was originally discussed without consideration of any wagering, at least not until Mistah Tanner suggested otherwise."

"Me?" Vin asked, confused and not a little bit alarmed at the accusation.

"Yes, you," Ezra replied. He laughed wryly and noted, "Look at him. Innocence abounds. Do you not recall what you said when Ah commented that Ah could take each of the lovely ladies out for a nice meal and conversation?"

Vin Tanner resembled an innocent, all right, an innocent caught in the crosshairs of Ezra's rifle. He mumbled something, but nobody could tell what it was.

"What was that you say?" Ezra asked, cupping his ear jokingly to help him hear.

"Nothin'," Vin returned, just slightly better enunciated than his last attempt.

"That ain't it," Buck snorted as he took a long draw on his beer. It was breakfast time for Ezra, but the rest of them had moved on to harder stuff, save for J.D.'s omnipresent mug of milk.

"No, indeed not, Buck. When Ah mentioned spending time with Missus Travis and Potter and Senorita Recillos, what our fine tracker actually said was, 'Not likely'. No, let me try that again. 'Nut lackly'." The Texas twang and the dryly humorous delivery were a perfect, and perfectly affectionate imitation of Vin Tanner by the talented southerner. As his friends all laughed, Vin offered up a put-upon glare and slouched lower in his seat. With his hat tilted down, it was hard to catch the swift change from grimace to grin.

"So, let me get this straight," Chris said as he reached for the shared bottle in the center of the table and poured himself another shot. "You were gonna take each of the ladies for a meal, with or without money wagered on the outcome, but now that Vin and Buck have challenged your … " he paused for effect. He saw Ezra's steely glare, knowing that he had best leave Ezra's machismo – or lack thereof – out of the equation, and continued, " … ability to do so, you've decided to make a bet out of it." Chris seemed a little too familiar with the scenario, at least that was the opinion of one Buck Wilmington.

"You already have dates set up with 'em!" Buck yelled out the accusation. He slapped his hand down on the table, whether in consternation that he'd figured out Ezra's 'secret', or losing out on the fun of it all, was anybody's guess. Ezra gave Chris a dirty look; Chris just returned a satisfied smirk.

"No, Ah do not have dates with any of them."

"Yeah, right," Buck bandied back. He huffed, his nose pointed up in the air, his eyes slits, showing the con man that the tall gunman was on to him.

He wasn't.

"Though Mistah Larabee has relayed the gist of the circumstances before us, his phraseology leaves a lot to be desired," Ezra noted with disdain. Buck and J.D. looked confused. Ezra looked to Chris again, a silent 'thanks for nothing' floating between them. Chris just snorted a laugh and downed his drink. "Allow me to reiterate. Ah do not yet have dates with the ladies in question. The wager is that Ah will have enjoyed the company of each of these beautiful women for a lovely repast and the fine pleasure of their company within three days' time."

"I'm in," Josiah said. He handed over three dollars to the gambler. "It'll be the easiest money I ever made."

Ezra pulled his notebook out and registered the bet. "Your confidence in mah abilities is underwhelming."

"I'll take that bet, too, Ezra. You've got two patrols in the next three days. And you told me yourself that banker from St. Louis is passing through on business. He sent a telegraph ahead makin' sure you'd be around for a game," Chris said. "I think it'll be easier money than you think, Josiah."

"Mistah Jackson?" Ezra asked. With his poker face still proudly displaying little concern, Ezra had to admit that he'd forgotten that Angus Guilfoyle was coming to town. Damn.

Nathan Jackson remained silent.

"Yay or nay," Ezra encouraged.

"I ain't gonna say what I really think of this," Nathan responded huffily. Everyone else looked to Ezra, all of them hoping that this didn't grow into another of the healer's mean-spirited lectures against their seventh's chosen profession and his southern heritage.

"Come now," Ezra countered. "This country fit a war, a prime outcome of which assured your physical freedom, and with that freedom was guaranteed your right to speak freely."

"No thanks to you." Ezra conceded the point with silence of his own. This wasn't really the time to go into that old canard. Besides, what Nathan thought he knew about the southerner – Ezra's thoughts on the war, slavery, so many things – and the truth of the matter were near polar opposites. No, that discussion was for another time, maybe that day in the future when Nathan was ready to ask about the truth of it all rather than to live with his assumptions.

"Besides, I was a free man during the war."

"Even still, Nathan, certainly the … late unpleasantness dictates that you be allowed your say. In any event, it has never been true for you to allow the proverbial cat to capture your tongue. At least not in mah experience," Ezra added dryly. He had been at the receiving end of more than one pious lecture from the Negro healer. "Do tell us what you think."

"I just don't think it's right to bet on people."

"Mistah Jackson, all wagers, in the end, are almost always about people. How they will react, what actions taken now will precipitate other actions later."

"That may be true, but it just seems different to bet on people rather than the outcome of a card game or a horse race."

"Come on, Nate. It's just a friendly bet," J.D. insisted.

"Easy money, brother," Josiah suggested.

"Ain't nobody gonna get hurt with a bet like this," Vin said. "Worse that could happen is all three of them poor ladies have to spend some time with Ezra." Ezra punched the tracker hard on his arm. "Ow!"

"No. The worst is that those poor ladies have to spend some time with Ezra and we lose our money," Buck corrected.

"Make your decision, Nathan. We got work to do," Chris advised.

At what sounded like a sure bet, Nathan couldn't help himself and all of the regulators ended up with a wager against Ezra Standish. A few other folks in the saloon got in on the bet, too. Ezra happily took all of their money and wrote each bet down in his book.

"Well, gentlemen, as Mistah Larabee has so helpfully reminded me, Ah do have patrol of our small burg in a few hours' time. Ah would like to get started on this endeavor."

"Good luck, Ez," Buck called as the con man headed towards his room. "You're gonna need it."

"Watch and learn, gentlemen. Watch and learn," Ezra said as he left the company of his peacekeeping partners.

"You don't think he can do it, do ya?" J.D. asked no one in particular. "He sure seems confident."

"It's a sure bet, kid," Buck said.

"Don't know," Vin added. "Not like Ezra to make a wager like that if the odds aren't in his favor."

"I think maybe he forgot he had a busy weekend planned," Nathan said, though even as he said it he recognized how wrong it sounded.

"Guess we'll just have to wait and see, brothers." Josiah said as he headed to the back of the saloon.

Three days less one hour ago

"What the hell happened?" Chris Larabee demanded.

"Vin thinks he fell, just about cracked his head open," Buck said worriedly as he helped Nathan strip the blood-smeared jacket from the unconscious gambler.

Chris scowled as he turned to Vin for an explanation.

"Looks like he'd gone out to the privy and headed back in at a good clip. Grabbed the banister …" Vin didn't need to finish.

"Ah … damn it! Josiah!" Chris yelled.

"Quiet," Nathan demanded. "Take it outta here. Don't need all ya in here. Buck, you can stay." Nathan glared at Josiah, who was the first one out of Ezra's room.

"God damn it," Chris said as he closed the door. He stormed down the steps to where he'd seen the pool of blood earlier and turned to see Vin and Josiah right behind him. "Josiah, how many times … " Chris started, but Josiah cut him off.

"I know. I said I'd get it done. But I never expected this."

"Knew it was dangerous," Vin said.

"Ya think?" Chris asked angrily.

"Any one of us could o' fixed it," Vin explained, trying to diffuse a decidedly combustible Chris Larabee.

"I said I'd do it. It's my fault," Josiah admitted.

"Shit." Chris looked from Josiah over to the tracker. "What'd ya see?" he asked, looking to know what Vin's observation skills, fine-tuned through years of tracking, could tell him. He'd get more detail from Nathan later.

"Could tell by the boot marks in the dust that he was moving fast. Grabbed the post to help speed up his turn up the stairs." It was the stride of a happy man, Vin thought.

"He knew it was a problem," Chris said. Vin nodded his head.

"When yer mind's on a dozen things, other stuff falls off," the tracker said.

"Probably thought I'd fixed it already," Josiah suggested.

"Mebbe. The wood disintegrated like dust. Momentum sent him crashing into the wall. Hit his head on that curly-q part of the lamp at the corner of the landing. Think that knocked him out, hit his head right here," he said, pointing to a spot on the left-center of his forehead, "then he fell straight down, hit his head again, closer to his ear," Vin continued, pointing to the left side of his face. "Think he fell on his hand in between steps; could be trouble there."

"Fuck." Just what they needed, Chris thought. Ezra was miserable enough when he was recuperating from an injury, but he was always especially touchy with anything having to do with his hands. Chris had learned that it wasn't all about his ability to manhandle a deck of cards, either. His hands were his life, to defend his own and to watch the backs of others. If he ever permanently lost the use of his hands, Chris figured they'd wake one day to find Ezra Standish long gone.

The leader of the Seven looked over to Josiah. "Fix it now," he ordered, and then he took the stairs two at a time back up to the gambler's room.

"Let me help ya, Josiah."

"Shit, Vin. I never … "

"I know. So does Ezra. And so does Chris." Vin had seen Josiah steaming mad and stinking drunk, but this forlorn Josiah Sanchez rated right up there with those other ways Vin never wanted to see the preacher again. "Come on." Josiah looked up the stairs and heard Ezra's door open and then close.

"Yeah." They walked out to gather the supplies they needed.

Upstairs, Buck looked at Chris as he entered. "How is he?"

"Still out," Nathan answered.

"Hasn't moved. Between the two of us, we got all his gear and clothes off and got him into a nightshirt and he didn't move once," Buck said.

"Nightshirt?" Chris asked as the frown he'd worn since he heard about Ezra's fall tore deeper into his forehead.

Nathan looked up at Chris as he finished cleaning both head wounds. "He ain't goin' anywhere for a while. Might as well be comfortable."

"He wouldn't appreciate pukin' on one of his nice, pretty shirts," Buck said with a sad smile.

"And there's gonna be pukin'," Nathan assured.

"Vin says you should check his left hand. Said he would've fallen hard on it." Nathan got to work on that as the other two watched. He felt along the upper and lower parts of the hand, moving it to feel if there were any breaks. Each finger, each knuckle received the same careful attention. He checked the wrist as well; to Chris, it resembled more of a massage than an examination. A 'tsk' here and there was all Nathan offered for several minutes, and that was evidence enough that it was no massage, though they all knew that, with the way Ezra worried over his hands, and his hedonistic tendencies in general, an occasional gentle manipulation of his hands would not be turned down. Chris couldn't help but grin at the thought. Finally, Nathan looked to the two worried men.

"Looks like a sprain. A bad one, but I don't feel any broken bones. Stay here with him while I go get my kit. That cut in the center of his hard head needs to be stitched up."

"I'll stay," Chris and Buck said in tandem. They all three let out nervous laughs. "Guess this means the bet is off," Buck added.

"I wouldn't count on it," Nathan said.

"If anyone can pull this one off in an unconscious state, it's Ezra," Chris agreed as he shared a smile with Buck. He could see that Nathan was far too worried to manage a smile just then, and that reaction alone had the gunslinger's own smile faltering.

"I'll be right back," the healer said as he left the two old friends to watch over Ezra.

Presently

Ezra looked around the room. Josiah had left; apparently it was his turn for patrol. So now eight people in the room looked angry. His fuzzy brain told him that he couldn't have been the one they were mad at. If he remembered correctly, and indeed, there was no guarantee of that, he'd not been altogether with it, and for far, far longer than he wanted to admit, he hadn't done anything to incur anyone's wrath, though the way his head hurt he could not discount a bad hangover, and who knew what he'd got up to if he'd been that drunk. His clothing told him things had not gone well for him of late, even if his throbbing head, somewhat blurred vision and disgusting vomit breath didn't. Before he could get to the question at hand, that last point needed to be addressed.

"Could Ah get a drink of water?" he eked out, the silky tones they had all grown used to nearly non-existent. All three women jumped up as one, easily besting Nathan. With the coordination that could have put the tactical maneuvers of General Robert E. Lee's army to shame, one grabbed the pitcher as another held the glass, and then Mary, being closest to the injured man, helped Ezra sit up and take a drink. He took small sips, fully cognizant that it hadn't been all that long since his last bout of sickness. As he finished, he raised his eyes to Nathan, a warm 'thank you' evident in the somewhat-duller-than-normal green eyes for the hint of mint that had been steeping in the cool, clear liquid.

"Thank you, dear ladies," Ezra finally said, his voice little more than a croak still. He cleared his throat and asked, "What happened?"

"You don't remember?" Chris asked.

"To explain why Ah am in mah bedclothes in front of three beautiful women? No," he admitted, lowering his head as he felt the blush rush up his face. Buck rolled his eyes as all three women smiled warmly as they seemed incapable of taking their eyes away from the man in the bed, clearly charmed by the unusual display of vulnerability. Buck himself was pretty sure that he was the next one who was going to be sick.

"What do you remember?" Nathan asked.

"Ah remember that all you fine gentlemen … " he started, but then thought better of it. The dulcet southern-accented voice was back, however weak, but he was loathe to use it, knowing what he would be forced to expose of his latest gambit. "Ah am sorry, ladies, but this might be an opportune time for you to take your leave," the con man suggested, his meaning vague, his manner, as always when in the company of the fairer sex, elegant.

"We know about the bet, Ezra," Mary said.

"Wh … What?" he asked, flabbergasted and indeed, speechless. He coughed and Mary handed him the glass once more. He reached with his left hand, but realized with the tight bandage he wouldn't be able to manage it. He took the glass in his right, frowning at his hand as he listened to Inez.

"The bet," she said. Ezra took a tentative sip of water. "The one where you bet them that you would 'enjoy a lovely repast and the fine pleasure of our company'." Ezra's eyes grew wide, he choked on the water and started coughing. He brought his wrapped hand up to cover his mouth as he turned away from the ladies. Splashes of the liquid, resembling nothing if not a sputtering fountain, landed as though purposefully aimed … directly on Buck's face and chest. He blinked, glared at the man still gasping for air, and then wiped Ezra's spittle from his face.

"Mah … " Ezra coughed more, " … apologies," he finally said after Nathan helped him to sit up more. He eased back into the newly fluffed pillows – Gloria Potter's doing – and let out an involuntary grunt.

"Your head hurtin' more?" the healer asked. He looked over to Mary, who positioned a mug in front of the gambler. Ezra hadn't remembered the glass being removed from his hand, but he no longer held it, and he no longer cared. His head was pounding.

"Drink this," Mary said softly, encouragingly. This time Chris rolled his eyes. Ezra drank it down without protest, which put even more sympathetic looks on the faces of Mary, Inez and Gloria. Now, even Vin and J.D. had to shake their heads. These women were putty in Ezra's hands, and he was so out of it that he didn't even have the first clue that it was so.

"Thank you," he said as he closed his eyes. Even his peacekeeping brothers felt bad for him now. Ezra had been unconscious for fifteen long hours. His first three attempts at wakefulness were met with violent bouts of sickness, followed by another of miserable dry heaves. It had been just ten hours ago that he'd shown any signs that he knew who he was and who they were. More sickness followed. And finally, he'd managed to stay awake for longer than ten minute stretches over the course of the last few hours. Then the ladies had shown up and that was when everyone who had bet against Ezra knew they were going to lose their money. However, it wasn't part of Buck's make-up to give up; he would not be going down easy.

"I think it's time we let Ezra get some rest," he said. "You ladies can head on out now. Ol' Nathan'll look after Ez now," he added in an attempt to usher the three objects of the bet out of the con man's room.

"When is the bet over?" Inez asked.

"What?" Ezra queried lazily as he opened his eyes in surprise. He didn't understand much of what was going on, what had happened. He sure didn't understand this question.

"Don't worry yourself, young man," Gloria said as she stood, walked up to the bed, sat down on the edge of it next to the gambler and felt his forehead. "Boys?" she asked of anyone else in the room. "Please answer Miss Inez's question."

"Um, in about two hours, ma'am" J.D. offered cautiously.

Gloria looked Ezra in the eyes. "Could you take some food?" she asked kindly. Ezra looked to Nathan.

"If you're hungry, you should try something," the healer responded, prepared for the ire of some of those on the other side of the bet.

"Nathan!" Buck ground out.

"Something light," he said with a glower toward the ladies' man. "And not too spicy," he directed to Inez.

"I will fix you some scrambled eggs," the Mexican beauty said. She knew it was one of Ezra's favorites, but also something that his dodgy stomach could take after a long night of too much imbibing – or in times of illness. She rose from her seat and stood at the bed. She looked first to Mary, then to Gloria, and then finally to Ezra. She threw him a wink and a smile, gave him a flirtatious kiss on the cheek, though Ezra would swear later that lip touched lip, and then whirled around, her skirts rustling as she left the room.

"I'll be back in a few minutes with some of those scones you like so much. Made a fresh batch this morning just for you, dear," Gloria said as she put her hand once more on Ezra's forehead, and then slid her hand down to his cheek. She patted it with motherly affectionately, then stood and followed Inez out the door.

Ezra blinked in confusion. "What … " he started.

"Hush, Ezra. Close your eyes," Mary said. "I'll wake you when Inez and Gloria return." Ezra blinked some more, fighting weariness and … tears? The kindness … the community he felt from these women. Dare he say … the love? He had no words, at least not words enough to properly express how he felt. God forbid his mother should ever hear of this. He blinked rapidly to quell the tears and offered a genuinely heartfelt smile.

"Ah defer to your wise advice, fair lady," he said as he closed his eyes. He heard a snort from the direction of where Vin leaned on the wall near the window. He opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow to his friend. While doing so he saw Chris shaking his head, his lips forming a resigned grin. Their leader stood up from Ezra's comfortable rocking chair and headed for the door.

"Glad you're feeling better, Ezra," he said. Ezra yawned and nodded his head in reply. Vin took a step to follow Chris. He patted the healing man's leg through the quilt as he whispered, "well played" to him. The tracker grinned a warm smile with twinkling blue eyes at the newspaper publisher. "Mary," he said as he tipped his hat to her. He looked to Ezra once more and saw that he was already asleep.

"Vin," she smiled back.

"Wait. Fellas," Buck pleaded.

"Forget it, Buck," J.D. implored. "Let him rest," he added as he got in line to leave.

"Naw, come on!" Buck said loudly but to no one in particular.

"Sssh," Nathan admonished. He spoke softly, his warm baritone rang with clear warning. "He needs rest and he needs to eat. Now let's go."

Buck watched as Nathan waited for him at the door. He turned to see Ezra snoozing comfortably, with Mary sitting watch in one of the extra chairs that had been brought in just for Ezra's three angels. He sighed, conceding the lost bet, but he had to know.

"You ain't mad at him?" he asked the pretty blonde. Nathan rolled his eyes, shook his head, and closed the door behind him as he exited the room.

Mary smiled. "First of all, all three of us are grateful to have our attention taken up with something so pleasant. Time spent with Ezra is always … stimulating." Buck raised his eyebrows. "Not like that. You know what I mean," she added, daring him to say that he didn't.

"I guess I do," Buck acknowledged with his own smile as he looked at his sleeping friend.

"Did you take notice of who Ezra chose to include in this wager, Mr. Wilmington?"

Buck scrunched his forehead and frowned. He looked back to Mary and answered, "Well, of course I did."

"Really? So, what did you think about who Ezra selected?"

"Well, ma'am, I thought he had darned good taste." He looked over to Ezra once more. "Didn't really think he had it in him."

Mary Travis offered another indulgent smile. "I'm sure you're only joking when you say that." Buck nodded that he was. "However, I think that you all really not only underestimated Ezra's effect on the women of this town, but you also failed to acknowledge what a daunting task he set for himself."

Buck looked at her, his frown deeper. "What do you mean?"

"Three women, all business owners. No," she paused, raising her hand to stop the challenge on Buck's lips, "I realize Inez doesn't own the saloon, but for her, it's not a matter of ownership. Her name may not be on the deed, but she runs that business with the pride of an owner, like myself and Gloria. We are busy women. We work weekends. Gloria and I have children that demand our time as well. Did it not cross your minds that this bet, to get the three most independent and busy women in town to sit down to a meal and enjoy a pleasant conversation was as much if not more a challenge to himself as it was a way to easy money?"

"Well … "

"And when have you ever known Ezra Standish to not make the best effort possible, at anything he tried?"

"That may be true, Mary, but he doesn't always win. How 'bout that whole bride scam with the ladies of Wicks Town?"

"That was a long time ago. Ezra's a different man now, surely you know that."

Buck sat down next to Mary and rested his caring blue eyes on the resting southerner. Buck's affection for the man was so clear it nearly took Mary's breath away. "I know he is," Buck agreed softly; his eyes sparked with warmth. She could see what he was thinking, there was no need to say it. These men would never speak it out loud, would never properly share it with one another. But unlike Ezra, who most days could still wield a pretty mean poker face, even with people he cared for, the same could not be said for the Buck Wilmingtons of the world. It warmed her heart to see how these men had grown to care for one another. That fellowship would be a boon to their growing community; they were so lucky to have them here. Mary would have to remember to thank her father-in-law once again for what he'd done for this town that meant so much to her.

She smiled again as she continued to watch Buck. The man definitely wore his heart on his sleeve. She patted Buck's hand, which rested on his knee. "He would have won the bet, Buck," Mary insisted. "He's charming, smart, funny and makes you think … makes you sure that you are the most important person in the world at that moment."

"Hell, I perfected that," Buck insisted.

"No. No you didn't." Buck seemed quickly on the way to bristling at the comment, but Mary explained further. "I'm sure your reputation is well-earned, but what Ezra offers is very different. I'm glad that we have one of you and one of Ezra, and each of you men who care for this town. Your uniqueness is what keeps things around here … " she paused, cocked her head as she decided on just the right descriptive, " … interesting."

"But whatever it is about Ezra's 'uniqueness' is why you're going to make sure that he eats while all three of you are here?" Buck asked.

"Oh, no. We're not enjoying a lovely repast and the fine pleasure of his company because of that."

"Then why?" he asked seriously.

"You bet against Ezra, you bet against Inez, Gloria and me."

"Oh."

"Yes. Not your wisest move," Mary told him. She looked to Ezra; the expression Buck saw in her face wasn't motherly, but it sure wasn't sisterly, either. It sure was aggravating, though.

Buck stood and headed to the door. He turned back and asked, "Any advice for the next time?"

"The next time?" she asked with a fake sternness that, as a mother, she had perfected. Little Billy Travis could sure be a handful these days.

"Well, maybe … "

"Mr. Wilmington, the next time, bet against him in poker," Mary suggested.

Buck laughed. "And why on earth would we do something like that?" The question was in jest; they, Ezra's six partners in law enforcement, to this day, still played poker regularly with the gambling man. They were roundly beaten by him, too; losing to Ezra was most assuredly not a unique experience for any of them, whether they were playing for money or just for fun.

The newspaper woman looked at Buck, her eyes sparkling with humor, a smile on her face, and told him why.

"You have better odds."

The End.