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Dayton, Texas 1887

The orangish-red flames crackled inside the fireplace of the old ranch house that night. The ranch house was built for four people to live in, but only three lived in it at the moment. Everything inside was quiet, except the crackling of the fire and a man with a gray beard at the table.

The man wasn't really old. He was only in his late fifties, but his wife was only in her late forties and his son was only ten. Both mother and son sat across from him at the table as he finished saying the Lord's prayer. It was a tradition, he said it before every meal, and it was supper time.

The man's name was John Holstem. He was a small time cattle-owner and farmer. He was by no way rich, but he wasn't exactly poor either. They made enough money to get by. They certainly made enough money to keep the house maintained through the storm season. And that was a lucky deal, because a big one had just started up at dusk that day.

John finished the prayer and raised his head with a quiet smile. "Amen," he said and started on the venison steak in front of him. His wife and son repeated the word and started on their food as well.

Ten-year-old Tommy was a little nervous. He could hear the wind howl and scream, doing its best to shake the windows. He watched outside the dining room window with apt attention. It was pitch dark, then everything would light-up when a murderous force of lighting would crash.

The last time he saw a storm like this, something his father told him was a twister had come through and tore down a whole row of trees on the back forty. He asked his father what would have happened if it had hit the house. His father told him that they would have got to see his grandma again. Grandma had been dead for the last five years.

His ten-year-old green eyes peeked at his father under his light red bangs. "Hey Pa, ya don't think a twister is gonna come do ya?" Tommy tried to make his voice sound light, but his nervousness betrayed him.

John's voice sounded burly when he spoke, like always. "That's for the good Lord to decide, son,"

"Well... Do ya think he's gonna decide to send one tonight??"

John let out a long hoarse laugh. That's my son. "I don't know, Tommy. Maybe, maybe not. You shouldn't worry about it though. Go on and eat your food." Then he turned his attention to his redheaded wife, it was from her that Tommy got most of his looks. "This is delicious, as always, Claire,"

Claire nodded her head at the comment. She was quiet that evening, not that she wasn't a quiet person most of the time, she was. But on this evening something was worrying her. Her eyes looked sad and dreadful. The man from the Eastern Railroads had come by their place earlier that day. They wanted it. And from the way her six foot, five inch husband was shouting, she guessed that they wanted it pretty bad. John had thrown them off his land.

They had offered them a dollar an acre for their land. John laughed in their face and told them that they could offer him one hundred dollars an acre for his land and still wouldn't be for sale. She could not hear all of the conversation, but apparently the man made a threat at her husband. This caused the usually gentle giant to throw man of his land.

But she had heard, quite clearly, what the man said as he rode off. "We'll be seein' you again, Mr. Holstem."

Claire had heard rumors of Eastern Railroads in town. They were known for hiring people that persuaded a person to sell their land. I just hope John knows what he's doing... Land ain't worth dyin' over. Claire thought with an aggrieved sigh.

"So, what did the letter that Jessica sent say?" John asked, taking in a fork full of food. Claire was their only daughter. She was also in Boston, going to school at the University.

"Said she's missin' her Daddy something awful," Claire said with a smirk. My daughter always was her father's child.

"Guess I'll have to write Cupcake back," John said, using his favorite nickname for his daughter. He always did like being doted on when it came to his children.

"I think you sh..." Claire's words were cut short.

A clash of thunder so loud that it shook the windows sounded off at that moment. Then hail started to tap against the window, almost hard enough to break it, but not quite. The wind was howling and screaming even louder. John looked over at his son, who had gone as pale as a sheet, and gave him a reassuring look.

That storm is brewin' something fearsome. John thought. "It'll be ok Tommy, finish up your supper," he told his child with fatherly clarity that conveyed conviction.

"Boy, I feel sorry for anyone dumb enough to be caught in this storm, Pa," Tommy said with a weak smile, trying to be brave. It was funny he should have said that, because just then, there was a light, but firm, knock on their door.

"Good Lord, who would be out in this?" John asked, laying his fork down and preparing to stand up.

"Keep your seat warm and finish eating Dear, I'll get the door," Claire said before John could stand up.

John let her wife do as she pleased, because, if trouble was going to come, he thought that it would surely wait until the storm was over. He watched his wife go to the living room, her light blue, ankle-length dress swaying. She is a beautiful one, even to this day... His thoughts trailed.

Claire let her eyes sweep over the rustic living room. Then heard the light, but firm, knock again. She could hear the wind and the hail crash into the house, and her husband's question came to her mind as well. Who would be out in this weather?

Her hand curled around the knob of the door, her curiosity was beginning to peak. They lived 20 miles outside of town. Why would anyone be all the way out this way? Then her thoughts went to the Railroad men again. She had vision of a dozen men with rifles on the other side of the door.

These thoughts made her hand pause in turning the knob. But the knock came again. She could feel the vibration of it go to her hand. Claire, quit being an old hen. She chided herself and opened the door. She saw a figure standing a few feet away from it.

The first thing that caught her attention was the ice-chip blue eyes that were staring back at her. They seemed almost glacial. Above the eyes, and blowing freely, was a head of light blonde hair. Those were the first two things that Claire Holstem noticed. The third was his age. He can't be but sixteen if he's a day. She thought, also noticing the knee-length black coat the boy was wearing. That hail was also bouncing off liberally.

Where are your manners, Claire Holstem? "You had best come on inside stranger, before that storm blows you away," Claire said with a warm smile. And she noticed a twinkle of gratitude in those ice-chip blue eyes.

The boy, who was quite handsome Claire thought, walked in holding his coat tight to him. He looked at Claire with a twitch of a smile. "I surely do thank you, ma'am." He said this in a low and warm voice that was in great contrast to the chilling air outside.

"My name is Claire Holstem, and it's no trouble at all... But would you mind telling me what you are doing out in this weather? Come, sit in front of the fire," she said, knowing her husband would be coming in the room soon.

"I was on my way to old Mexico, my horse stumbled and broke her leg about three miles up the trail," the boy said. His eyes were rapidly turning from glacial to warm gratitude.

"Well, you're lucky you made it here. This is the only house I know of for miles around," Claire said, noting that the boy was not taking off his coat. The coat was thick too.

"You wouldn't be able to rent me some space tonight would you?" the boy asked. Tsk, Jason, telling white lies will only keep you friends for only a while. It was true he was heading to Old Mexico, but that wasn't where he was stopping.

"Nonsense, you'll stay here tonight and not pay me a thing," Claire said, as any good Christian would.

God, I do love Texas. Jason thought wryly. But instead, he reached into his deep coat pocket and pulled out three silver dollars. "That's not good business," he stated simply and slid them over to Claire's side of the couch.

"I will not t-" She was cut off.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Holstem, but I won't take charity if I don't have to," Jason said simply again. He knew that three dollars was a little much for one night's stay at a ranch house, but didn't care. He had plenty.

It was at that time that John had walked into the room. Jason stood up and walked around the couch, as well as did Claire, to meet him. "John, this young man's horse broke his leg about three miles north of here. I told him he could stay the night here." Then she looked over at Jason. "I'm sorry, but you know my name and I seem to be at a loss for yours."

"I do apologize Mrs. Holstem. My name is Jason Cross," Jason said and watched the big man known as John step forward.

John stepped forward and stuck out his hand. "My name is John Holstem. And like my wife said, you're welcome to bunk down here tonight. God knows, I wouldn't want anything in this storm." John's voice was deep and full of meaning. It made Jason believe that this was a man that did what he said and said what he meant. "And this little tyke here is our son Tommy,"

"Aww, Pa," Tommy said, he hated to be called a tyke. But he stepped out of his embarrassment and toward Jason. Tommy stuck out his hand, after his father was done shaking hands with the stranger. He thought this might make him look more adult.

"Nice to meet you, Tommy," Jason said with good nature. Then turned back to John. "As well as you Mr. Holstem. And thanks for getting me out of that blasted storm," He added with a shake of the head. I really didn't want to shoot Eris. He thought. Eris was his horse.

"We're just glad we could help. Please, have a seat again. How long have you been on the trail?" John asked as he walked over to his chair. It was the only thing he sat in when he was in the living room.

Before he could answer, Tommy asked something. "Hey Mister, can I take your coat for ya?" the boy asked. He knew that his father would be pleased with his manners.

Jason stood still for a moment. Apprehension covered his tanned features and his ice-chip blue eyes. Well, I guess I'll have to take it off sometime... I just hope he don't throw me out. "Sure, Tommy," he said in a calm voice.

John wondered in puzzlement as to why Jason took on that look of apprehension. Then he watched as the kid took of his jacket. Under the jacket he was wearing a dark blue, long-sleeved button-up shirt. But that was not what caught John's attention the most. What caught his attention the most were the things on his hips.

On the kid's hips were two.45 caliber Colt revolvers. Even though John was a peace-loving man, he knew a gunfighter when he saw one. And this kid known as Jason was just that. John could tell by the way he wore the guns. One hung low on his right hip, and the bottom of the holster was tied down with a peace of leather string to Jason's thigh. John knew that it was tied down so it wouldn't move if the kid had to draw fast.

The second holster was tied down across Jason's middle at a little more than a forty-five-degree angle. It was like that because he sometimes had to draw sideways in a fight. Both guns had shiny white ivory handles. The fire and the lantern light seemed to reflect on them. And the belts that were holding them up had places to put spare bullets, and they were all full.

"Wow," Tommy said as he took Jason's coat. He's a gunfighter... Wait, Pa said that not all people that carry guns fight with them... But I still bet this one does, though. Tommy thought. "I'll put your coat on that rack over there, Mister," Tommy said, nodding his head toward the coat rack on the wall.

Jason looked over at John, gauging him. He saw the quizzical and wondering look on John's face. Then he saw a touch of worry on Claire's face. Jason knew that he had better say something. "I ain't wanted," At least not in the States. He thought wryly. "The things on my hips are for surprises I might run into... You'd be surprised what you can run into if you stay out long enough," Jason said in a low voice. "If you want me to leave, I will," He added.

John could tell by his eyes that the boy was telling the truth on not being on the run... And on leaving. "Nonsense, have a seat Jason. I was just a little surprised to see them, that's all," John said, a warm smile appearing.

"Thank you," Jason said, taking a seat and mentally wiping his brow. He took it better than I thought...

That was when Claire decided to speak up. She trusted her husband's judgement on being safe from the gunslinger before them, she just had one question that was bothering her. She waited until Jason got settled into his seat to ask. "If you don't mind me asking, Jason, if you're not on the run, why are you going to Old Mexico?"

John took on an expectant look as well to that question. He watched as the boy's eyes turned from gratitude to coldness. That much coldness in a sixteen- year-old boy he had never seen before. But he knew it was not directed at them.

Might as well tell the truth... "I am headed towards Old Mexico, but that is not where I was stopping. I was planning on going down to Brazil," Jason said in an even tone.

John was curious as to why. But he didn't want to push the boy to answer. His wife on the other hand... Had no problems with pushing. "Why would you want to go to that place? It's in South America, isn't it?" Claire asked.

The cold-look in Jason's eyes seemed to intensify. "Yes, Ma'am. As to why I'm going there... I have to see a man on business," That is a little of an understatement, huh? No use in tellin' them I'm gonna put a bullet in him, right? Right.

John didn't think he wanted to know what kind of business. Especially after seeing the look in Jason's eyes just from him thinking about it. "So, where are you coming from Jason?" he asked, wanting to change the subject.

"From Arizona. Chaplen to be exact," Jason replied, thankful that John didn't want to interrogate him further about South America. But the thought of Arizona made his heart ache. Kristy... I'm sorry. I should have been there. But I swear by my soul that I'll nail the son-of-a-bitch that was behind your death to the wall. He thought tiredly. And he was tired. He had been on the move for weeks. It had been three days since he slept last.

When John had first met the boy, he had thought that the boy looked as sturdy as an oak. But then, as he looked at the boy's face more carefully... He saw signs of tiredness in those blue eyes that he had only seen one other time in his life. In the War.

That was the kind of tiredness that sleeping would only temporarily solve. It was the kind of tiredness that he and his fellow soldiers got after being under fire for three weeks. And most of all... It was the kind of tiredness a person acquired, after seeing too much death.

He's way too young to look that tired. John thought sadly. "We've got a spare bed if you want to bunk down. You look like you could use a rest," John said, knowing he was right.

Claire had seen the change in the boy as well, after he said where he was from. Oh, John, I think that boy needs more than rest. He needs a home. For some reason Claire knew, knew, that Jason had no home. That he had no plans after whatever business he had in South America. And for some reason, she wanted to help this blonde-haired stranger with the tired eyes. She couldn't understand why though.

"John's right, you look like you could use the rest," she said with a touch of a smile.

Well, I guess that answer's the question of 'Do I look as tired as I feel?'. Jason thought wryly. "I'd appreciate it. If you'd point me to the bed, I'd be much obliged," he said, standing back up.

Claire gave him a heartfelt smile. She felt more than a little sorry for the boy. She just did not understand why. It's almost like he went to hell and came back to tell the tale. She thought without humor, standing up. "Follow me," was all she said though.

John stood up as his wife did. "You have a good night's rest, ya here?" He said in a somewhat fatherly tone.

It amused Jason a little that he sounded like that. "I'll try my best Mr. Holstem. That is, after I get my saddle bags off your porch," Jason said with an appreciative nod.

Claire looked a little amused at this. "Why would you leave your saddle bags on the porch?"

"I didn't know if you'd let me ride out this storm after you saw that I was wearing guns," Jason said, heading for the door.

But Tommy, who had been being quiet and just listening, piped up. "I'll get them for you Mister," he said with an expectant look. It sounded like an answer, but it was a question.

"That's right nice of ya, Tommy," Jason said. He is a good kid. What am I saying? I sound old. Hell, it was only six years ago that I was his age. He thought with a shrug.

"Why didn't you just leave the guns outside?" Claire asked, a little confused.

John watched as Jason gave his wife a look that said: I don't know. I do. He thought. It's because you never take them off. That kid has got more baggage in his head than them saddle bags. He thought. And watched his son bring in Jason's saddle bags. There were two sets of them.

"Here ya go, Mister," Tommy said with a grin, handing over the saddle bags.

"Thanks Tommy."

"Follow me, Mr. Cross." It felt a little odd to her to be calling a teenager that.

"Call me Jason," he said with a rakish grin.

"Only if you call me Claire. Now, come on, scoot your feet," She replied with a chuckle.

Jason gave a light smile at her use of words, then did as asked. He followed her to a room that was on the other side of the house. When they made it to the room, he knew that it had to be a girl's room.

It has pink covers! He thought wildly, looking at the bed. It was quite a large bed, and looked comfortable. Jason looked around the room and noticed that there were stuffed animals on the dresser and one was even in the middle of the bed. He looked out the window that was there and could see the lightning flash, and the hail tap against the glass.

"This is our daughter's room. She's away at school in Boston, though. So I don't think she'll mind," Claire said, walking over to the bed and removing a stuffed bear. "Sorry," she said, with another laugh.

Jason walked over to the corner and laid his saddle bags there. "Boston, huh?"

"Have you ever been there?"

"A few times," he said truthfully.

"Well, goodnight Jason. I hope you sleep well,"

"Thank you, Claire. For your hospitality and kindness," Jason said meaningfully.

"You're very welcome Jason," I just wish I could do more. Her thoughts added as she walked out of the room.

Jason walked over to the bed and sat down on it. Ohhh, yeah, a lot better than the ground. He thought. Jason kicked off his worn black boots and took off his shirt. Those were the only things he took off. He left the guns on.

An unfortunate incident in Tombstone made him learn that lesson. He woke up and found the barrel of his own gun pointed at him. His hands, being quicker than quick, allowed him to get out of the situation. But he thought it best that he slept with his guns on his person from that point on.

Jason had found out that he did a lot of things differently than most people. And he learned that he had done more stuff in his short life than most people do in a lifetime. Jason was most certainly no stranger to steel. He had acquired his first gun at the tender age of twelve.

As he laid his head back and closed his eyes, old memories came to him

1884

It was in a dirt poor town in Old Mexico, no less. And it was no coincidence that it was on that day that he shot a man for the first time. The gun he picked up was his father's, and he picked it up off his father's corpse not three minutes after he was shot down in a bar.

His father was no saint, that much was for certain, but Jason felt that he didn't deserve to get shot over a card game while he was drunk. Jason watched, shockingly, as one of the Mexicans his father was playing excused himself from the table, walked about five feet, then turn and drew down on his drunk father.

One bullet to the heart was all that it took. His father didn't see what happened. He just slumped down to the dusty floor. Jason knelt over his body in complete shock. He stayed that way for almost a full three minutes. Then the shock was replaced by deep-seated anger. He reached down and pulled his father's gun from its holster.

Almost everyone in that bar was too drunk to notice him. He walked as quietly as he could up behind the Mexican that was laughing at the bar. That's what really made him mad. He was laughing. Jason wasn't but about four feet from him when he stopped. He cocked the hammer of the gun while it was still at his side.

He raised the gun so that it was pointed right at the man's head. "Senor?" Was all that he said, and that was just to get the man to turn and look at his young, hate- filled, ice-chip blue eyes.

"Si?!" The man had shouted, very annoyed. Then he saw the eyes, the gun, and it dawned on him. That was his last thought. Jason pulled the trigger and a bullet drilled right into, and out of, the man's head. Then he ran like hell while everyone was in shock.

It was also on that day, that Jason stole a horse for the first and last time. He never was much for stealing. He and that horse rode out of that town as fast as they could go. The reason he did this was very logical to him. If he wanted to avenge his father, someone might want to avenge the man he killed.

Three days later, Jason found himself in the middle of nowhere. With no water and no food. He was walking in an almost desert. The toll of dehydration was weighing heavily on him. He knew he would probably die, but, oddly, especially for someone his age, death didn't scare him that bad.

His stolen horse had dropped the day before. Jason didn't know any better and rode the poor animal to death. With no horse, Jason was on foot. He walked through the hot Mexican countryside with his feet dragging. There wasn't a town in sight and he had known that it wouldn't take long for him to drop like that horse did. And he was right in that assumption.

Jason fell sometime in the mid-afternoon. He remembered it well because it was the hottest part of the day. He just looked up into the blinding-hot sky, while he lay on the hot, hot ground. Then it happened: Jason saw an angel.

Or at least he thought he did. She had blonde hair and sea-green eyes, and she was looking right down at him. This angel was close to his age, if not exactly his age. "A-A-Angel?" He had croaked out.

The girl had let out a light laugh. "I guess I am today," she had said. "You're lucky... What in the hell are you doin' out here anyway?" she asked as she put a canteen to his lips, letting the water splash into his very dry mouth. "Hey, hey! Slow down, not so fast, you'll get sick," she told him, taking the canteen away for a moment.

Then she helped him sit up. "W-who are you," His voice sounded very raspy to him, still.

The girl put on a mock hurt face. "What? You don't think I'm an angel anymore?" Jason just looked at her, and she gave a beautiful laugh. "They call me Alex," she said, still cradling his upper body so he could sit up straight. "And I call you lucky. Come on, see if you can stand," she said and tried to pull him to his feet. She managed, but barely.

The two twelve-year-olds looked into each other's eyes for a moment as Jason tried to get his legs to quit shaking. Alex's legs were shaking a little too, but that was from holding him up. One of them was carrying a gun, and it wasn't Jason, because he had lost his the day before.

He looked at Alex carefully. She didn't look like any girl he had ever seen before. She was wearing a light, light-blue cotton shirt and a pair of black pants that were covered by riding leathers. Her blonde hair was not like his. It was more of a sandy color.

But what really caught his fancy, was the gun on her side. He had never seen a girl carry a gun. Especially a girl his age. It hung low on her hip and its holster was tied to her thigh with a piece of red leather string. The holster was dusty, as was the rest of Alex's wardrobe.

He must have stared too hard at her, because she lowered her gaze and blushed a little. Not that one could tell though. The only reason Jason could tell was because he was so close. She had a dark tan that hid most of the blush. Alex recovered in record time though.

"What's your name? Or ya want me to just call you Lucky?" she asked with a smirk.

Jason's thought's were still a little fuzzy. It took a few seconds for the question to register. If he had stopped to think about it, he probably wouldn't have told her his real name. After all, he might be wanted for murder. But thinking was one of his strong suits at the moment. "Jason Cross."

"Well, Jason Cross, we're gonna see if we can't get you on that horse. I think you are about to croak," she said and slowly moved him to the horse. "I'll tell ya what, if you can get on that horse, I'll give ya another drink of water," she said. That's it Alex, bribe him like a little kid, that'll make him feel better! She thought sarcastically.

"I tell you what, you give me another drink, and I might get on that horse," he said with the first traces of amusement entering his voice. In his childish thoughts, he thought the boy was supposed to be the one who impresses the girls. And if he could get on that horse without help that should impress her. Since he was close to dying from dehydration.

"Is that so?"

"That is surely so," he replied with the smallest of smirks.

"Ok hotshot, here ya go." She used the hand that wasn't helping him stand to hand him the canteen. Now would you look at this happy horseshit! He's trying to be tough on my account. Boys!! She thought in exasperation.

"You can let go now... Not that I mind you holding me," He said with a ghost of a wink.

She let go of him like he was a piece of hot coal. That same blush came back. She got a little irritated after she got over the blush, though. "If ya keeping talking like that I'm gonna leave your merry ass for the buzzards!" she said in a bark.

Jason took a long swig of the canteen. And brought it down from his lips. This time he blushed. He was standing on his own but it was difficult. He lowered his head when he spoke. "Sorry," he said in a voice that was still a little raspy.

Now, Alex felt bad. I'm yelling at a boy that's half dead from dehydration! Hell, he probably doesn't know what he's saying! Good one, Alex. She didn't apologize though, that wasn't her style. "Can ya get on the horse?" was all she asked.

Jason looked over at the monster of an animal. It had to have been the biggest damn horse he had ever seen. "Gee, ya think it's big enough??" he asked with a laugh that hurt his raw throat.

"What's the matter, you don't like that much power between your legs??" She watched the expected blush rise to Jason's cheeks. Ha! You're not the only one that can make people blush pretty-boy. She thought with satisfaction.

She don't even talk like any girl I've met! He thought wildly. "All right, I can do this," he said with a nod. He was trying to shake off the blush.

Alex walked up to the horse first, she had to jump a little to get her boot in the stirrup, but she got on the horse quite easily. "All right, let's see ya do it then. You're riding in front of me," she said, pushing her butt to the rear of the saddle as far as it would go.

All right, Jason. He thought. This is a moment of truth. Should you impress her? Or should you get into that saddle nice and easy? Not to be outdone by a girl, Jason's twelve-year-old mind decided on impressing her.

Jason walked up to the big black animal until he was about five feet away, standing to its side. He cocked his head to the side and took on a look of contemplation. "You want me on that horse?" he asked with a coy look.

Uh-oh. I don't like that look. Kaige looks that way before she splashes me with water. "Uh, yeah," she said with an uncertain nod.

"All right," he said simply. Then with two giant steps he was in the sky. His foot barely brushed against the stirrup, and he landed perfectly in the saddle... Then promptly passed out.

"Wow!" the twelve-year-old girl exclaimed. "That was ama- Ah, shit," she then said when she noticed Jason's back start to lean toward the right, about to fall to the ground. Like my Mom used to say, before she left this shitty world, BOYS! Can't live with 'em, can't multiply without 'em! She thought, slipping an arm around Jason's middle and straightening him up.

"You have no idea of how lucky you are that I'm in a good mood," she muttered, making the now unconscious Jason lean into her upper body.

How the hell did he jump that high? He could barely stand. She thought, still impressed, if not irritated. She kept her horse at a slow gait. "And if you call my horse Thunder an 'it' again, I'm gonna shoot ya," She muttered, patting the horse in question.