He'd had enough experience of needing to leave town in a hurry, so Ezra wasn't surprised - a little disappointed, perhaps, considering all they'd done for the town - when he noticed people starting to act oddly around him. Conversations would come to an abrupt end when he walked into Mrs Potter's store, leaving an awkward silence like a vacuum around him, encouraging him to do whatever it was he came to do and leave before the glances between the folks he'd interrupted got too uncomfortable. As far as he was aware, nothing had changed since he'd left for a trip to Eagle Bend, but now something was definitely going on and he had no idea what. That in itself was a travesty that Ezra needed to deal with as soon as humanly possible, if he was to remain in Four Corners. Everything seemed to centre on the store, he figured that out first. Things seemed the same at the saloon, with Inez treating him the way she always did - a combination of knowing looks and smiles that he wouldn't have accepted from anyone else, but tolerated from her for no reason he could quite figure out. Mrs Travis was apparently unchanged, still focussed on her plans for statehood and letting nothing else bother her other than that and her son. Even the Judge seemed unaltered, when he rode into town a few days later to deal with the latest collection of thieves and vagabonds they'd rounded up. But Mrs Potter's store, that was the source of whatever was happening, Ezra was certain of that. --------------- If he put his chair at the right place on the boardwalk outside the sheriff's office, he had a perfect line of sight - Chris raised an eyebrow at Ezra's sudden change of heart when it came to that particular chore, but accepted it without question. That was a relief, since the last thing Ezra wanted to try and do was explain just how the folks of Four Corners were conspiring against him and he needed to know who was responsible; he could imagine just how well that concept would be received. There was an ebb and flow to the movements in town, which was something Ezra already knew. People liked routines, they stuck to them come hell or high water, and it was probably remiss of him that he hadn't previously taken the time to study the folks of Four Corners as he was doing now. Remiss, since nowhere was ever really 'home', and Ezra seemed to have forgotten that in the novelty of being part of something outside of his control - something bigger than himself, not just motivated by money or the desire for advancement. It was enough to make his sainted mother weep, not tears of joy but tears of anguish for how far her son had fallen from her own ideal. He concentrated on the comings and goings from Mrs Potter's store. There was little went on in town that didn't get discussed there, Ezra had realised that from very early on, but there was a sense of urgency and excitement to the discussions that he could pick up even across the expanse that separated him from the store. Since the weather was fine, the door was propped open, goods in boxes spreading out onto the boardwalk, and their customers followed suit. It was that necessity that allowed him to see the way Mr Johannsen in particular reacted to the appearance of Mrs Bowland; the last time Ezra had seen someone move that fast there'd been bullets involved. "Do you...?" Johannsen began, only for Mrs Bowland to cut him off with a look, followed by what she probably thought was a stealthy glance over her shoulder in Ezra's direction. He'd made himself look relaxed, feet up against the post and hat tipped over his eyes a little - enough to fool a casual observer, Ezra hoped, and by the way Mrs Bowland relaxed subsequently it seemed it had worked. "Here." Something changed hands, a wrapped package from her basket passing to Johannsen and then to the inside pocket of his jacket. If he hadn't been watching carefully, Ezra knew he wouldn't have been aware of the exchange. "Usual terms." Johannsen nodded, his face reddening a little as he held out a couple of coins. "Of course," he said. "And thank you." Mrs Bowland's face softened at this, the harsh lines dropping away to reveal a woman much younger than Ezra had thought. She was dressed all in black, as was her usual habit, and the colour didn't do much for her complexion - a recent arrival to town, she'd told everyone she was a widow and both her clothing and the haunted expression on her face had backed up the tale. Another glance over her shoulder to where Ezra sat - really, did the woman have no sense at all? She was making herself more obvious than she clearly wanted - and Mrs Bowland was moving on, into the depths of the store. Outside, Johannsen patted his jacket as if reassuring himself of his purchase, then nodded to himself and headed down the boardwalk. --------------- Now he had identified the ringleader, the rest was simplicity itself. Mrs Bowland had moved into one of the houses on the outskirts of town - small enough for a woman on her own yet sufficiently large to boast a fenced off garden - Ezra had passed it so many times, on his way in and out of town, and yet never really noticed it. It was far enough from his usual haunts - saloon, bath house, livery stable and sheriff's office - to be relatively safe from the latest shenanigans going on in town if unwanted elements came to call. It was also, courtesy of the garden and a couple of well-placed trees, a very private establishment and difficult for Ezra to find a believable reason why he would be calling. He'd met Mrs Bowland, being introduced to her by Mary Travis if he recalled correctly - she had probably even mentioned the other woman's name but it didn't come to mind. Turning up on her doorstep, Ezra surmised, would be sufficiently out of character for it to cause unwanted suspicion and that was the last thing on Ezra's mind. No, he would need to ambush her in another location entirely, setting up an encounter which could be believed to be casual and accidental. Unfortunately, the only thing that would give Ezra the information he needed to set up that encounter was time; time spent watching the movements of the town, Mrs Bowland in particular, time spent strategising. By the end of the week Ezra had observed similar encounters between Mrs Bowland and three other upstanding members of the community to the one he'd seen between her and Johannsen. He'd also had to fend off Nathan trying to run a hand over his forehead in search of a fever and brush himself down after an unexpected fall backwards onto the boardwalk; Ezra knew he'd dozed off, hat over his eyes, but while Buck swore up and down he hadn't kicked the chair out from under him there was no other explanation that fit. However, he'd also got a good idea of Mrs Bowland's routine, which allowed him to be ready, loitering by the appropriate part of the street when she emerged from her house the following morning. She was heading for the church, not for Mrs Potter's store, which meant she would pass right by where Ezra was waiting. He was a little out of practice, so it was a good thing the item in question was in Mrs Bowland's basket, rather than concealed upon her person. Once, not many years previous, Ezra would have been up to the task of retrieving it regardless, but he was fully aware of just how out of practice he was at picking pockets. --------------- "My deepest apologies," Ezra said, as he took Mrs Bowland's elbow and helped her up from where he'd sent her sprawling. She didn't look convinced that their encounter was an accident, scowling as she dusted herself down - a quick glance into the basket she held, clearly checking that its contents were all present and accounted for, but what could she have said if she'd realised one of their number now rested at the small of Ezra's back beneath his jacket? "Think nothing of it," she said, then looked down at the hold Ezra still had on her arm, her expression pointedly making clear what she thought of the contact. Internally, Ezra grinned at her annoyance, but his victory over her subterfuge made him magnanimous. "I really must be going," Mrs Bowland continued, her gaze dropping once more to Ezra's hand until he let go. When he had tipped his hat to her, Ezra forced himself to walk casually, strolling in the direction of the saloon and his rooms without looking back. He was certain the woman's gaze was burning a hole between his shoulderblades, even if she had no clear proof of anything having happened except an awkward encounter. He took the stairs two at a time in his eagerness to know just what it was that pressed against his back. It had been thin - Ezra had seen at a glance that it was wrapped in plain brown paper that gave no clue to its contents - a pamphlet of some kind, perhaps? Inside his rooms, Ezra took a moment to light the lamp then pulled the spoils of his victory from its resting place. As he'd suspected, nothing of the outer covering gave any clue what was concealed within, but it surely had to be something important otherwise why all the subterfuge? He ran a finger under the glued edge of the paper, letting it fall open on the dresser. What it contained was a well-thumbed pulp novel, just like one of the ones that accursed Jock Steele had written but a little more solid in manufacture; the same slightly blurred linotype illustration and poor quality paper, this one with the words 'Hidden Desires' emblazoned across the middle of the cardboard cover in curlicued lettering. Good lord, had he come between Mrs Bowland and some women's novel? That seemed unlikely, since surely not even the most god-fearing individual in these parts would see literature as requiring plain brown paper? And what would Johannsen be doing, undertaking furtive exchanges at the grocery store as if an honest-to-god novel was something of which to be ashamed? The cover gave no clue to the plot of the novel itself; the linotype stuck to its surface simply showed two men, one seated and one standing. On closer examination, the seated man was tied to the chair on which he sat - a hostage, perhaps? - with the standing one looming over him, an air of menace apparent even in the poorness of the illustration. It could be a woman, the one who was seated, Ezra decided, tilting the picture to the light for a better view. A knock on the door broke his consideration of the artist's abilities, or lack thereof. "Ezra?" It was JD's voice. "Chris wanted to know if you're coming over to the sheriff's office any time soon." Ezra smiled to himself - it was doubtful Chris had put the matter quite so politely, if he knew the other man at all. "On my way," Ezra said, turning down the lamp. --------------- In the end, it wasn't till the following evening that Ezra had the time to look at the book he'd acquired from Mrs Bowland; returning to his rooms, Ezra lit the lamp once more then picked up it and the book, setting the lamp beside his bed as he sat and pulled off his boots. He was tired, tired to the bone, and while he was certain the laundress would be displeased with him for dragging traildust over previously-clean sheets, he was too tired to undress fully. Lying back, Ezra let the novel drop and it fell open of its own accord. He picked it up, just a glance at first then closer scrutiny when he recognised the names of the characters involved, names with which he was more than familiar. "I do declare I don't know what you want from me," Ezra wailed, the gambler's emerald eyes widening as Chris loomed over him. "Untie me, Chris, untie me this instant!" Ezra didn't know whether he should weep at being bound or rejoice that it prevented him from making the biggest mistake of his life. After all, Chris could never know how he truly felt! It was wrong, so wrong, the feelings that he had for the black-clad gunslinger. Never had Chris seemed more manly to him than at this moment, his cerulean orbs burning with desire. Desire, for Ezra? Surely that could not be! "When I've finally got you right where I've always wanted you?" Chris laughed. "I've dreamed of this moment, Ezra, and tonight I will make you mine!" The gambler's horrified eyes saw the blue-eyed gunslinger's hands fall to his belt, unbuckling it and letting the heavy gun pull its weight from his hips. The top button of his jeans was next, then the rest of the buttons, until the fabric parted and revealed that which Ezra both desired and feared Ezra slammed the book shut and threw it from him, heedless of where it fell. The direction in which this particular narrative was headed was perfectly clear - while he'd never read anything quite like that before, he was no innocent, and it didn't take a literary genius to know just what plotlines had been laid out for 'the gambler' and 'the gunslinger'. It was utterly ridiculous. The author of this salacious little tale clearly had too much time on their hands and a surfeit of imagination to boot - was it Mrs Bowland herself, or was she merely the purveyor? Of course, it was completely possible that the names were just a coincidence, which was an explanation holding up far better when it came to 'Chris' than his own, particularly when combined with the expression she'd had 'Ezra' use, even if it was more suitable for a caricature of a Southern belle. No, it seemed that coincidence alone wasn't enough to explain the matter, which begged a number of questions: how long had this been going on, how many of the townsfolk were reading this nonsense and what else had 'Chris' and 'Ezra' been up to? It was no good. Ezra sighed, realising the inevitability of his next move. He was going to have to read the rest of the novel, if only for the purpose of figuring out just who was responsible and having a clear idea of just what it was the residents of Four Corners thought their erstwhile lawkeepers got up to when they weren't looking... --------------- While it took a couple of days for him to find the time, what with a cattle stampede and three drunks to deal with, Ezra was finally able to finish the novel. The prose was universally purple, as he'd expected from the piece he'd previously read, and the writer clearly had something of an imagination both when it came to the endowments of the main characters and their respective flexibility. 'Chris' in particular had nothing to be ashamed of, which made his penchant for tight trousers even more puzzling - surely that would be an uncomfortable decision, given their regular need to spend time on horseback? 'Ezra' was more of a conundrum - while he seemed to spend a lot of the time talking about nothing in particular, his primary role in the drama seemed to be to emote all over the place, whether or not the time was right for him to do so. He clearly seemed to have been cast in the role of damsel-in-distress, though 'being rescued' was hardly a description for the act about to take place when he'd first been encountered by the real life Ezra Standish. It was a little aggravating, Ezra decided, to be cast as the swooning maiden. It wasn't clear what he had done to deserve this honour, other than a well-honed dress sense and a reputation for bathing regularly, neither of which made him a woman. The novel itself was a work of fiction, he told himself, regardless of the names. Regardless of the fact that much of the story took place in a town called Four Corners, where our heroes were employed to keep the peace, along with five of their friends (even if they didn't appear in this particular volume). There was sufficient in this novel to make Ezra suspect that it was not the only volume this writer had produced; other stories were hinted at, ones which gave his compatriots their time in the spotlight, even if their role in this one was solely to move along the plot, such as it was. As for the identity of the author, Ezra was no further forward. Nothing in the storyline told him anything that wasn't common knowledge to anyone who'd lived in Four Corners. Which meant that while it was tempting to blame Mrs Bowland, and she was certainly on the hook for the matter of distributing this nonsense, he couldn't be certain of the writer's name. For all he knew, it could even be one of their own, though the idea seemed unlikely. All Ezra knew for certain was that he had no idea why this particular story had come to be written - he'd never thought about any of his fellow peacekeepers that way, even if he wasn't quite as opposed to the idea in principle as some of their number might be. In his time, he'd done things that had made him think a little more flexibly about what might or might not be an experience he'd enjoy, more so than JD for instance could ever even dream of. And if Ezra was ever to find himself in a situation where something of the kind might occur? He didn't expect it ever would, but he had to admit he was curious now about things he hadn't thought about before, the contents of a certain gunslingers pants being one of those matters. He had no intention of getting himself kidnapped first, though, or of being tied to a chair as a passive recipient of whatever sexual favours might be bestowed upon him. That wasn't his style at all.

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