Ezra schooled his face into an impassive mask as his green-eyed gaze swept over the three men who were sitting across the table from him.
"I'm afraid, gentlemen, I must be calling it an evening..." He leaned forward to rake the pot in his direction.
A sudden blurring motion caught his attention and one of the men slammed a knifepoint into the wooden tabletop missing Ezra's arm by mere fractions of an inch, pinning his jacket sleeve to the worn tabletop.
"Not so fast fancy man. Ya cheated us," the man growled as his friends pushed to their feet to stand beside him.
"Yeah, ya cheated us," one of them chimed in, glaring at the well-dressed southerner.
Ezra swallowed hard as he attempted to loosen his arm. The knife blade had slid between the mechanism of his derringer rigging leaving no way to activate the device or pull free of the knife buried a good inch or two into the wood. It seemed he would have to talk his way out of this fix after all.
"Gentleman, I assure you I didn't cheat you out of your hard earned money. However, to prevent any further ill feelings I am prepared to return your funds." It went against his nature to give in to ruffians but under the circumstances the gambler saw no other way out of this situation. The expressions on the other men's faces left no doubt it was better to lose a few dollars than his life.
Standish sighed inwardly. All he had wanted was a nice quiet game of chance, a way to forget the job and the men of Larabee's team. He had agreed to work for the man but hadn't been prepared to take on the other five members of the elite team and was now questioning not only that decision but his own sanity as well.
Being the last member to join, the others had already known each other for several months and had teamed up with partners leaving Ezra the odd man out. The seventh wheel as it were. Granted while he was used to always being the outsider, with these men it bothered him more than he was willing to admit.
Ezra had never had true friends. Associates and business acquaintances yes but not friends. Not in the sense these men were friends and as much as he wanted to...the gambler wasn't sure how to fit in. He had watched as they laughed and joked and made their plans together. Of course they went through the motions of inviting him to join them but he suspected their hearts were not in the asking. He was used to looking for the con games people played and knew it was nothing more than a gesture...a way to appease their own minds.
Just once he wished one of them would show him something other than a meaningless gesture. As it was, the con man was giving serious consideration to bailing out. Ezra didn't really need this kind of job. Hell, he could make more money gambling in a weekend than the Judge was paying a month. As for that second chance he had foolishly hoped for...well the hell with it!
The harsh words of the man who had wielded the knife drew his attention back to his present predicament. "...Ain't gettin' off so easy, ya cheatin' bastard. We want it all..." The man demanded, daring Ezra to deny them the pile of money lying on the table.
The con man nodded, "Gentlemen, if it will make you happy, by all means take it." Subtly trying to free his right arm, he used his left hand to shove the bills back to the center of the table. "What's money amongst friends I always say."
The gambler wondered what in the hell had possessed him to seek out the sleazy bar in the worst section of town in which to find solitude. Had he needed a reminder of what he'd worked so hard to leave behind or where he truly belonged? He certainly didn't need a reason to appreciate his possessions.
If he was going to be honest with himself, he was hiding.
In truth, he'd needed a chance to think. Time to consider what he really wanted from the blond Hoosier and his team.
"Friends?" one of the men jeered. "Ya ain't no friend a ours." Whipping his hand up, he held a wicked looking knife with a finely honed blade. Grinning widely, he lunged for the gambler.
Attempting to free himself, Ezra gave his arm a mighty jerk. He heard the fine tweed material of his jacket rip but the knife still held the rig pinned to the table. As he tried to pull away, the table flipped up towards him, sending the three men falling backwards with howls of anger. Swearing under his breath, realizing he was still stuck, he struggled to free himself.
"Ya need some help there, Pard?"
Tugging frantically at the knife handle, he froze at the softly drawled Texas accent. Spinning about as far as his sleeve would permit, he was stunned to see a familiar lanky figure slouched against the wall behind him.
"Mr. Tanner?" he managed to form the man's name as his green eyes widened in disbelief.
"Better watch that one," the long haired man jerked his chin toward one of three who had gained his feet and was moving for Ezra, knife in hand.
As the southerner jumped sideways to avoid the blade, he saw a blur of motion beside him and heard a howl of pain as the Texan neatly body flipped the man, sending him crashing down on the nearby table where the man remained, trying desperately to draw air into his lungs. The man's friends froze staring at the gun that suddenly appeared in the ex-bounty hunter's hand.
Finally realizing his sudden movement had freed him, Ezra turned to face the young man beside him. "Wh-what are you doing here?" he demanded.
Vin shrugged. "Lookin' out fer a friend."
Standish frowned in puzzlement as he looked around the empty barroom. Other than his three gambling companions and the bored barkeep there was no one else present in the room and had been no other patrons all evening that he could recall.
"Friend? Who?"
Tanner ignored the softly spoken question, not taking his eyes off the men who intended to harm the gambler. "Ya might gather up them winnin's so we can get the hell outta here."
Still frowning, Ezra started to bend down to gather the money scattered across the floor. He hesitated, realizing he'd have to turn his back to fish the bills from under the overturned furniture.
"S'okay, Ez. I got ya covered." The sharpshooter spoke softly, a slight smile on his handsome face.
Quickly gathering the currency, Ezra pushed to his feet and with Vin at his back, they exited the bar.
*******
Chris Larabee strolled through the silent office, a feeling of uneasiness settling over him. He'd been out of town for a week and now faced the same old nagging questions. Questions for which he still didn't have any answers.
The ex-Navy SEAL had received a new lease on life when Travis had offered him this job, heading up an elite law enforcement task force. Larabee had worked hard to pull in the best men for the job but had begun to doubt his last choice.
He'd hoped, like himself, this job would be a second chance for Standish, but prior to Larabee's trip, the man hadn't made any attempt to step into the circle. On the contrary, he'd done everything short of holding them at gunpoint to keep them from piercing the walls he'd built around himself.
Chris was certain it had to be hard on the con man and knew without the Judge pointing it out if Standish didn't fit in, he was going to have to cut him loose.
That very thought bothered Larabee immensely. He'd actually come to like the southerner...even if the man had a way of driving Chris to the point of insanity with his smart mouth and sarcastic wit. He definitely had his own way and style of doing things. Despite his self proclamations otherwise, there was a goodness about the man...If it could just be tapped.
He sighed heavily. The prospects didn't look good. The team had to work as a cohesive unit trusting each other unconditionally. They all trusted the gambler to do his job, certain he would watch their backs; he'd already proven that on their first two assignments. The problem was Ezra didn't trust them.
If only there was some way to reach the man...but he had such damn high walls. With the attempts they'd made over the last few weeks Chris knew there was little hope of that. The team leader knew Travis would soon be calling him in to discuss the southerner again, offering a suggestion Larabee find someone else. The final decision would be up to Chris, himself, and he would give the man every chance possible but...
He'd stopped by the office to check for messages and pick up a file before heading home. Chris glanced around the room as he walked down the center aisle separating the men's desks. No one was expecting him back until tomorrow and the office was deserted at this late hour.
A quick peek at Wilmington's area proved the pilot had straightened it up slightly, mainly by dumping most of his files in JD's IN basket. He shook his head with a small smile. There was no hope for those two.
Josiah and Nathan's desks were neat and uncluttered, little touches giving their workspace a homey feel.
Larabee didn't bother looking at Vin's...It was impossible to see anything under the mounds of snack cake wrappers and carry out coffee cups.
His hazel eyes traveled to the lone desk across the aisle from Tanner's. Sitting closest to the windows the desk was plain and other than the computer gave no sign of use. Unlike the other men's desks the wood surface was bare, with nothing to indicate the personality of the occupant.
Continuing toward his office, his steps slowed and Larabee glanced toward the desk again, freezing in his tracks. He stood staring at the southerner's desk as if seeing it for the first time.
Chris blinked, not really sure of what he was seeing. Moving closer, his knee pushing at the leather desk chair he rubbed his eyes certain jet lag was causing him to hallucinate. Carefully as if it would vanish, he reached out to touch the cause of his consternation. It was soft and moved slightly at this tentative finger poke.
"What the hell...?" He muttered aloud, looking around as if searching for a hidden video camera or the men gathered about, ready to laugh at him.
But there was no camera and no sign of his men in the deserted office, just the little six inch tall stuffed golden bear.
"Pooh?" He realized he'd spoken the name aloud, recognizing the creature from one of Adam's favorite books.
"Pooh?" Larabee repeated, wondering what in the hell Milne's bear was doing on Standish's desk. What had happened during his absence to bring this about? On JD's desk, Buck's, hell even on Vin's he could believe it but Ezra's?
Puzzled, absently rubbing his fingers over the soft furry animal, he looked around once more before crossing to Vin's desk with firm steps.
No, there was nothing different on the cluttered desk. He turned to leave when his gaze fell on an item framed on the wall behind Tanner's chair. Something he knew hadn't been there before and he stepped closer to examine the object. It appeared to be a card of some kind, in a plain black frame.
It was a drawing by E. H. Shepard of Pooh and Piglet, hand in hand walking toward a sunset. A smile graced his face but the words below made his eyes burn with hot tears as he read the five little lines:
Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind.
"Pooh?" he whispered.
"Yes Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw.
"I just wanted to be sure of you."
Chris nodded, rereading the words, knowing now beyond any shadow of a doubt his team was going to be seven men strong.
THE END