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                                                                By Melissa 'Mel' Miller
                                                         Chapter 2: Hide and Seek
This story features original fanfic characters, which are characters of Melissa Miller, andcharacters from Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman, which are trademarks of Sullivan Productions and CBS. This is an unauthorized work and no profit is being made on this work. This work is © of Melissa Miller 2001. If you'd like to archive this story somewhere, let me know first. Thanks.


  Come noon, the early morning outbursts at the Golden Nugget Saloon was the center of relentless chatter and gossip throughout the bustling streets and storefronts of Colorado Springs. Banter ranging from claims that one of Hank Lawson's whores had finally lost their minds and fled, to rumors of theivery and lawless bloodshed, to genral pokes and mockery on behalf of the controversial barkeep spread thoughout the township, the latter of whom's catlike prowess hadn't been seen nor heard from since he'd barreled down town square half-dressed, screaming like a raving maniac at the much smaller fleeing form, ending up with little success in re-capturing the object of his punchline for the morning, 'That Goddamned theivin' rat.'


Of the few places in town that the gossip seemed to illude its unlawful intrusion and vulgar remedy, the livery stable remained the least tainted, its shadey silence a welcome hideaway for Byron Sully. A lone spirit since childhood, Sully had never been much attuned to gossip or the life-shattering rumors it could bring. If anything, beyond simply despising the impossibly harsh effort the townsfolk took in efforts to soil people's good name- though, by all means, Hank Lawson really didn't have any good name to speak of to protect- there were simply too many more importent paths to take that consumed his hard-spent time. Sully's family, their wellbeing, his friends and loved ones and the problems they faced almost daily, along with his skill for carpentry and leatherwork, the money it brought in, and his drive to utilize the god-given skill for the benifit of others always managed, no matter what perspective he tried to place things, to make something as simple and whispered lies appear to be exactly what they were; Ruethless, trivial, and a complete waste of energy.

Byron had alot to make up for in his life; Enough past sins, lies and loveloss for three men combined, many life lessons of which the family he now treasured knew nothing about, and with everything in his power, he fret to sheild them from discovering.

Sully's past was a dark one, one he'd spent years trying to hide from- years wasted in saloons, in the forefront of the bloodshed during the War, and after that, in the backwoods of Colarado, where he finally found some peace through the spiritual essence of the Cheyenne Indian tribe, with the offering of friendship and understanding he was betrothed from his bloodbrother Cloud Dancing. But despite how miraculously the compassion shown from his indian kin and the love he'd later found in the beautiful Micheala Quinn had transformed his life for the better, the dark years he'd spent on the run  proved a move which still managed to curse him at the present. It had tarnished his soul, forever shadowed his peice of mind. The nightmares he still faced, and the possibility of his past being revealed to his present still bore at him continually.

  Truthfully, he lived the good life now. A life he'd have never have seen himself being bestowed as a youth, and a life that he still didn't truelly feel he deserved. But it was a life he loved. His Wife, Micheala, his children, this township that had proven, despite all odds and adversity, to be the one place he could call home, was a life that he treasured, and he would just assume not live at all if he were to lose what he'd finally managed to obtain.

Now, still fighting with a stubborn easetrough, pounding nails into a brittle wood that seemed to be rejecting the hammer-tapped metal pins simply to hassel him, Sully finally set the job asside, whiped his sweat-beaded brow with the sleeve of his buckskin coat, and squinting casually against the sheer bright noontime sun, leaving the silence of the livery for a much-needed break.

With a whistle as a call for Wolf to follow him, Sully smiled at the panting canine, who seemed to mirror the smile lazily back at him, and happily met the self-proclaimed Mountain Man halfway in their shared trek to Grace's Cafe, one male decending from the peaceful, if not wretchedly humid, horse stables, and the other from his four-legged perch beneath the shade of a nearby oak.

Grace E. smiled kindly at Sully as he entered the outdoor Cafe, despite her obvious exaustion from the booming mid-day lunch orders, "Afternoon, Sully, what could I be gettin' you today?"

"A coffe'd be fine," Sully pulled his shoulder-length hair back and off his neck, looking rather tranced as the cool air that hit him did wonders at tiring him, draining him of his usual sure-fire work ethics.

"You sure?" Grace prodded kindly, "I've got fresh cobbler, apple or cherry if you'd like?" The black woman's genuinely kind smile faded into a slight hint of worry as her favorite customer shook his head at the menu, looking rather worse for wear from hours of pounding away at the hopeless new shipment of lumber at the livery. Grace frowned, her kind, dark eyes prodding him in question, "Robert E isn't workin' you too awful hard, now, is he, Sully? I know he's worried about getting repairs to the stables done b'fore winter n' all, but still--"

The man shook his head again in denial, nearly diving at the cup of coffee she poored.

"Uh-huh," Grace tsk-tsked and shook her head at the thought of her forever busy husband, "I'm going to have a talk with him about that, y'hear? You do enough work 'round here as it is, no need wearin' you thread-bear doin it."

"Naw, its fine, Grace," Sully smiled up at her, half heartedly, "Really."

"Like hell," Grace patted him on the shoulder, "You mind me now, I'll be talkin' to him any way. Now, here," her smiled broadened as she placed a heafty slice of cherry cobbler in front of him, "Your favorite, on the house."

"Grace, you don't--"

Grace was turned and walking away whistfully before Sully could protest, calling after him, "Nonesense, Sully. You have a nice day, get some rest, and tell Michaela I sent my hello, y'hear?"

"Yes Ma'am," Sully quiped bemusedly. He stared reproachfully at his free desert for only a moment before shaking his head, grinning at the kind gesture from the heart of a family-friend, and dug into the pie with his fork, enjoying every bite of the bitter-sweet pastry.

It wasn't until some time after his conversation with Grace, after the pie slice was long gone, at rest rather comfortably in his stomach, the crust fed to the sleepy pet wolf that had wrapped himself around the legs of his chair, when he was leaned back, fitfully catnapping in the light breeze that had suddenly picked up through the town square, that he was approached with another feirce reminder of the day's Town Gossip that seemed completely impossible to avoid.

That reminder came, rather unexpectedly, in the form of the ever-controversial Gold Nugget Barkeep himself. Sully was startled quite abruptly out of his placid doze with the keen awareness of another being in very close proximity of his own, and managed to look quite befuddled when he opened his eyes to find the lanky Hank Larson haunched over him awkwardly, in the midst of a query as to just how to go about waking the dozing mountain man.

"Well, if it ain't Union Jack hisself," Sully quipped at the man who had managed to clomber down the townsquare like a raving lunitic in little more then his over-worn red Union Suit and disheveled trousers just hours before. Quick to avoid pushing the seething, mean-faced barkeep any further then the threatening glare he was recieving, Sully took on a more civil approach, "What can I do you for, Hank?"

"What," Hank mocked rather acridly, "Ain't you gonna hassel me too, 'bout that little theivin'--"

"The ever-popular Rat Theif?" Sully cut him off, raising an eyebrow, "Not unless thats why you decided to bother walkin' all the way over here an' lookin' for me," He baited.

Hank seemed to inwardly battle for a moment on whether or not he should even bother with his innitial intentions at all. Finally, though, with a rugged sigh, he slumped down into the chair across the table at which Sully sat, lighting a cigarillo and taking a drag, "Was wonderin' if I could borrow that wolf of yours fer a few hours."

Sully blinked stupidly at the odd request, "Dare I ask why?"

Hank motioned to the prone wolf with his smoke, "Y' said he's good at scent trackin', right?" Sully glared at him with a placid Yes, "Well, I need t' be trackin' down Anna right quick b'for she's clear outta Colorado," the barkeep bit, cynically, "And I ain't much for trail sniffin' on my own."

"Anna?" Sully was suddenly at interest, realizing, with a bit of a start, that the other end of the town's gossip chain was, in fact, of the female variety, "So thats your 'Theifin' Rat', I take it?"

"'Xactly," Hank puffed rings of smoke into the air, "Girl owes me a weeks work, and I intend to take her up on it."

Sully, despite the placid look he maintained as he looked the barkeep over, was rather suprised that Hank Lawson, of all people, was so concerned about waisting his time hunting down a she-theif for something as trivial as this.

Truth be told, he knew Lawson better then that. Knew he was up to no good, in some form or another. Hank was a businessman above all else, and time meant money. Time of which he'd be wasting one hell of alot of chasing this mystery girl down to Lord only knew where. There was something more behind his request for Wolf's aid then a week's worth of pay. There had to be strings attached somewhere, and something in it for Lawson in the end, and despite Sully's biting curiosity, he didn't ask why. He was a businassman himself, and, now finished with his noontime break and fit with a needed, if not far too short nap, Hank Lawson was wasting his own valuble time.

Knowing Byron was stalling, Hank interjected, "I'll pay yah whatever yah need," He reached for the pouch of silver dollars he kept at his belt, "I just need the furball for a couple of hours, no harm done."

"Naw," Sully shook his head and waved off the notion of pay, standing to leave, "He's yours if yah need 'im. Just have him back at the homestead by dark," Sully motioned for Wolf to sit when the big grey animal rose to follow him out of the Cafe, "Stay boy."

The two men nodded in an unspoken agreeance, and Sully turned to leave, "And Hank?" He called over his shoulder and deadpanned, "He gets hurt, I withhold the right to kill you."

Hank grunted and grinned at the quip and tipped his hat, "Much abliged."

************************************

  It seemed Adrian Anna Leigh was a girl with quite a few more Aces up her sleeve then Hank had innitially realized. Hours into his search, tired, hot headed, and hitting the rock-bottom of his whiskey flask, Lawson discovered that, of all things, the girl had had the sense to cover her tracks through the woods, despite the rapid pace that she had fled. As it was, Anna had made it a point to weave around the forestway on a potential goosechase of a trail as well, in case the need should arise to deture potential trackers. All of these traits were the likes of which Hank had never seen in any fronteir woman, let alone one as young as Anna, outside of the resident Cheyenne and Ute indians.

Despite the hours he found himself on the back of his sturdy thuroughbred stallion in the balmy cool humidity of the deep woods, stairing upp the ass-end of the relentlessly sniffing Wolf, Hank was begrudgedly thankful that Sully had lent the eery-eyed animal out, reckoning it could have taken him days to find what the fast-paced Wolf could find in a matter of three tensely awaited hours.

Deep within the backwoods, just west of Colorado Springs, the seemingly endless scent trail of the infamous Theif Rat finally came to an end near the base of a tree-lined spring-fed brook. Innitially stumped, as he was faced with a dead end and absolutely no sign of the petite young she-theif whatsoever, Hank Lawson sat upon his horse, removing his black hat, whiping the sweat from his brow with a bit of a sneer. Wolf glared at him, in placid, childlike honesty, and he glared back into the animal's intense grey eyes with the sudden temptation to kick the sweet-faced animal square in the rump.

"Ok," Hank leveled with the animal's paw-shuffle and tailwag, "So where is she?"

Like a beakoned answer, the sound of a shuffle and splash put Lawson into an abrupt silence. Suddenly aware of the presence of another, peeling down off of his horse with a stealth unnatural to a man of his size, the barkeep unbrandished his colt and, Wolf sharply at his heals, crouched down and foward in the direction of the faint call of life beyond the camoflauged hedge in front of him.

Pushing away thorned bush and overgrowth, Hank was startled into a near-choke at the sudden and surprisingly close sight of Anna's haunched frame as the falltime-reddened greenery cleared way, and he hit the ground in record time, shuffling silently back to hide under a leafy overhang, pulling a startled Wolf down and back with him.

"Damn, you ARE good," Hank leveled with the wolf, skratching it behind the ear in a guarded movement, as Wolf seemed to lick his snout in a cheery-eyed response.

Turning back to the clearing in front of him, pushing a branch out of his line of site with the barrel of his Colt, Hank was surpassingly amazed at the perimitive, yet skilfully complex nature of the surrounding camping spot.

The entire emediate area had been cleared by hand, the forest floor unnaturally bare of any leaf litter or twigs, the fire pit at its center large enough to cook and retain heat, but far too small to catch fire beyond the clearing around it. Other small firepits lined the perimeter surrounding the clearing, their presence clearly meant to ward off late-night preditors, or, he noted, to threaten any scavangers whom had caught onto the scent of the sun-drying pelt that lie upon nearby rocks.

Hank noticed other signs of a mind well-accustomed to the harsh life of a deep forest nomad or, he reasoned knowingly, the skills aquired by a lady on the run, as well- a rough but sturdy lean-too built with hydes, pelts and lumber. Hand made tools and clothing that hung at ready access over the lean-too's small enterence shown brightly in the patches of sunlight that peeked through the veil of the forest trees overhead. The entire hideaway itself was camoflauged to an excentricity that left Hank in aw. Even with his own years of experience in hunting and survival needed to live and prosper in the Colorado Territory, he'd not had a clue he was literally walking into the clearence- it had been hidden so well- until he had nearlly blown his cover.

His admiration in the theif girl's survival skills waned quickly though, his attention snagged immediately when Adrian re-amerged from the lean-to enterenceway. Hank watched her carefully, a firey glint in his clear blue eyes, noticing her clear lack of sleep, and the look of grief in her own tired, lifeless grey eyes. Anna's appearence was disasterously disheveled, blocking what he sensed was a natural beauty, her face reddened, and the heinous knot on her forehead aquired from the punch he'd thrown had lessened in size, but still proved an ugly reminder of her own wretched mistake.

Anna was moving around at a frantic pace, her knapsack in tow, a large brown pelt folded and slung over one shoulder, and a hand-crafted basket full of dried grasses and herbs in-arm as she padded quickly from the lean-to to the base of the babbling riverbank. Pulling a warped tin from her knapsack she, haunched over the crystal blue rippling waters, filled the tin, and fell limp for a moment, her calloused hands submerged in the water's crisp cool comfort, seemingly near exhaustion, trying to catch her breathe.

All the while, Hank was at his feet, Colt drawn from his holster, Wolf at his heals, the both of them stealthily sneaking closer and closer to the girl's prone form.

It was the cauking of his handgun that proved to be an unwarrented mistake. Any other time, in the midst of almost any other person, the calls and bustle of the wildlife within the forest would have been enough to block its threatening clicks, but with attuned ears to the degree of Adrian's, Hank might as well have fired a shot at her to get her attention.

Adrian reeled  around like a whip, and Hank's stomache lurched in shock to find himself faced with the sudden intrusion of a hand-made bone knife at his chest, its keen point threatening well enough to plunge its way though his heart.

"You," Adrians eyes shot daggers, a mask that hid her wave of shock and undelying fear. She'd never expected to have to face this man again. Thought she'd ridden herself of his sleazy life, blackened heart and beautiful presence for good. The fact that he'd simply had the skill enough needed to find her clear out in the backwoods made her discreetly ill.

The two glared eachother down, each prone form's weapons brandished in a threat to gorge into the heart of the other. The relentless threat shared between them spanned for a long, biting moment.

Her tension suddenly... unexplainably, easing , Adrian's eyes averted away from the barkeeps, as if hearing something beyond the threat from the much larger man in front of her, and she, in turn, lowered her blade.

"'S more like it," Hank readjusted his line of fire for her skull, his cold blue eyes needling her slyly, "You owe me, girl, we had a deal."

"Figured you'd know better then to wager your luck with a theif," Anna bit coolly. She gazed back up at him in a ruethless squint, "I'm not leaving here, Lawson. I can't," her eyes sparked with remorse before hardening once more, "and I won't," she dared to take a step back, in a stab at Lawson's pre-emphasized dominence, "But you can, and I suggest you do just that," Anna's voice wavered a bit, and Hank barely caught the hate in her eyes at the fear she had mistakenly let surface, "Leave."

"Ain't happenin'," Hank shot back and shot out, making a grab for her arm.

"No!" Anna swiped at the offending limb with her blade.

The Barkeep reeled away from the knife's beveled edge, "Jesus, woman!"

"Leave," Adrian repeated sternly, as if addressing a small, disobediant child.

"Will do," Hank snapped cynically, "And I'm takin' you with me, girl, now MOVE!" He nearlly flew at her this time, a move she saw coming, and dodged. Hank stumbled and swore, stopping himself just inches short of taking a plundge into the icey spring water brook. His patience waning, Hank yelled, "Don't think I won't shoot you, Anna. You know damned well I w--"

"No," Anna repeated, her voice seething, as she took ridgid steps backwards, "And I'm warning you now, Lawson. Don't touch me."

Hank's temper finally snapped. Face reddened, eyes steel, the lanky barkeep, tawny-blonde locks flying, made a final snare at the girl who'd had the gull to threaten him--

-- And stopped dead still just short of his intended target in complete horror at the sudden flash of movement around him, his angry heart suddenly learching with fear....
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