Summary:  A sequel to ‘Blood and Bread’. Nearly a year after Little Joe was kidnapped by Wade Bosh a new threat arises born of an old pain. Can the Cartwrights survive being drawn into the tangled web woven by the choices Rosey O’Rourke made long ago?

Rating:  T  (69,970 words)

Blood and Bread Series:  

Blood and Bread
Keep Your Eyes on the Sun
Thirty-Six Ways to Get Out of Trouble
An Unspeakable Dawn

 

Keep Your Eyes on the Sun

Prologue

“Is he still in there?”

Nineteen-year-old Hoss Cartwright glanced at the bedroom door and then at his older brother.  Adam’s face was carved out of the same rock as his – a granite-worry that, so far, nothin’ had been able to chip away at.

“You know how he is,” his brother answered, his voice breaking with the strain of the last two days.  “With something like this…..  Well, all the wild horses on the Ponderosa couldn’t drag him away from that bedside.”

“Doc said it’s pretty bad, huh?”

Adam had been the last one to talk to their family physician.  It had been about an hour before the older man had left to return to town to make his rounds.  Doc Martin had come out of the sick room and down to the great room ten shades paler.

His older brother ran a hand over his stubbled face.  “Actually, Paul said it was hopeless.”

It was as if a bolt of lightnin’ had struck him.  The big teen stumbled.  He saw the floor comin’ up and felt himself goin’ down.  A minute before he would have hit the carpet, Hoss felt his brother’s strong grip on his arm.  A second later he was seated in the chair they had positioned in the upper hall just outside of the sickroom.

“Breathe deep, Hoss.  Come on, I need you here with me.”

Adam didn’t plead.  Heck, Adam didn’t admit he needed help.  The fact that he was doin’ both scared him witless.

Swallowing over that fear, he asked, “Do you think he’s really…gonna die?”  Hoss drew in a breath that was dangerously close to a sob.  “What’ll we do if he does, Adam?”

He sounded like a kid who needed his Pa’s shoulder to cry on.

He was.

Adam’s squeezed his arm.  His voice choked too.  “You know what Pa always says, ‘Keep your eyes on the sun and you won’t see the shadows.’ ”

Hoss’s eyes went to the bedroom door.   He didn’t see any sun.  All he saw was a door that looked way too much like a stone standin’ stark naked over a freshly dug grave.

He drew in a breath.  “You think we oughta go in?  It’s been a good half hour.  I mean, somethin’ might of…happened….”

Adam rose and turned toward the door.  “No.  He would have come to get us.  But I think you’re right.  It’s probably best we get him back to his own bed.”

Hoss squared his shoulders as he stood.  “That’s right.  We gotta think about him.  He’s still sick hisself.  Ain’t no tellin’, I mean, with that fever he could still….”

Older brother had his hand on the latch.  He pivoted to look at him.  “Keep your eyes on the sun, Hoss.”

Easy to say.

Hard to do.

The door opened onto cavernous darkness.  Doc Martin had told them to shut out the light so his patient could rest, so even though outside it was a bright and unusually warm spring day, inside it was black as a tomb.

Hoss winced.

Bad choice of words.

As he and his brother moved into the sick room, the seated figure by the bed didn’t stir.   His tear-streaked face and glazed eyes were trained on the bed that held all that was dear in the world to him.

He and Adam exchanged a look.  Older brother cleared his throat.

They waited.

It took a few heartbeats.  Finally, that tear-streaked face turned toward them.  The eyes it held were glazed with their own pain.  He shouldn’t have been out of bed, he was still sick as a dog hisself – but that didn’t mean nothin’.  They both knew he’d die sittin’ there.  Doc  had told them before he left that if somethin’ didn’t change soon, he was goin’ to sedate him since he wouldn’t listen.

‘I don’t need two Cartwrights dying on me,’ he’d growled.

It had been close.

Still was.

Adam moved first, like he always did, takin’ things in hand.  Hoss watched his twenty-five-year old brother walk over to the side of the bed.  He placed both hands on those saggin’ shoulders and gently lifted up.

“Come on.  You’re not well enough to be here.  It’s time you got some rest,” Adam said softly.   “One of us will stay.”

At first it seemed his words went unheard.   Hoss knew they hadn’t.  He saw that lean body beneath Adam’s hands go rigid.

The words were hushed, grief-struck, and filled with rage.   “It’s all my…fault.  I should be lying there, not him.  Not him!  It should be me dying!”

Hoss ventured closer.  “You know he wouldn’t want that.  You ain’t thinkin’ clearly.”

“I am thinking clearly!”  Anger shot him up and out of the chair and away from Adam’s grasp.  He crossed the room to the door and stood there shakin’, still hurtin’ from his own wounds and battlin’ a deadly fever that was tryin’ its best to carry him away.  “You don’t know.  You weren’t there.”  The bluster went out of him, like a sail without wind.  Tears fell.  “I was!  God….I was….”

The big teen exchanged a look with his older brother as the Doc’s prediction shuddered through them both.  Before them stood a vision straight out of some tale of the knight’s of old – the righteous avenger, seekin’ justice even at the cost of his own life.   Hoss didn’t know what to say or how to stop the rumbles that shook the ground under their feet, threatenin’ to loose an avalanche of trouble.

Adam looked sick too.  He was headin’ toward the door and the forlorn figure standin’ there when he stopped abruptly and turned back.

Hoss pivoted toward the bed.  He’d heard it too.  Two words.  Just two words.

“Joseph…why….”

The big man heard a sharp intake of breath, a sob, and then the door slammed.

And Little Joe was gone.

 

 

PART ONE

One week earlier

 

Adam Cartwright drew a deep breath and fought to contain his irritation.  At twenty-five years of age he’d long since moved past childish perceptions and expectations, and though he was of an age where he could have had his own children, there were times when he wondered if he ever would.  Order was an ephemeral thing, hard to grasp and even harder to hold.  He craved it like a man who was dying of thirst in the desert craved water.   He needed it, for without order there could be no control and without control you had chaos.

The definition of which would be Joseph Francis Cartwright.

The black-haired man let his exasperation out in a sigh.  He’d actually begged – begged, mind you – his middle brother to come to town with Joe this afternoon instead of him.  In fact, he’d offered to do Hoss’ chores for a week if he would.  A package had come in on the stage for him a few days back and he had a stack of new books at home to peruse.  All he’d wanted to do was stay there and read them.  But no, Pa decided they needed new tools to take to the mining camp when they went on Monday and so, here he was, at the mercantile instead.

“The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men, gang aft a-gley,” he muttered.

Sometimes he wondered which he was.

It seemed to him that there was a major conspiracy afoot to keep him from reading those books.  Pa was elbow-deep in paperwork, which he said would take all day.  The older man had growled like a grizzly when he suggested he save some of it for later and go into town with Little Joe and enjoy himself.  Hop Sing was busy cooking in order to supply them with several days food for the trip he and his brothers would be taking, and his middle brother swore with his hand on the Bible that Pa’d ordered him to ride up to the timber camp today to check on the progress in felling trees for the job at the Manning ranch.  Joshua Manning was a friend of theirs from the early days.  He’d come through a recent bout of the flu, but had been left debilitated.  Josh’s eldest son was away at school and his other son was only half Joe’s age.  In between there were a bevy of bright-eyed blonde beauties who were, for the most part, useless.

Adam scowled.  That was unkind.

It was unfortunately also true.

Turning to the right, Adam cast his eyes toward the supply wagon anchored in the street outside the mercantile.  There, framed by the great glass window with its painted words proudly proclaiming that the store carried the finest European wares, was his little brother.  He’d left Joe in the wagon hoping to avoid trouble.  At first he thought he’d succeeded.  The first time he’d looked out, Joe had been lazing on the wagon seat, his arms locked behind his head and his black hat tipped forward over his eyes.  After handing the store’s proprietor his list, he’d looked again to find Joe chatting with a pretty young filly.  She was vaguely familiar from church and seemed to pose no immediate threat.

Then again, this was Joseph Francis Cartwright he was talking about.

The third time – and it was always the charm, wasn’t it? – he’d glanced out the window to find Joe standing upright in the wagon, his fists planted firmly on his tapered hips and his jaw thrust forward.  It was what he thought of as the boy’s banty rooster stance and it meant trouble.  Little Joe was facing down an older boy who, with his boots still firmly anchored on Eagle Station’s dusty street, was nearly as tall as Joe in the wagon.  He easily outweighed Joe by fifty pounds.  Adam wracked his brain for a name.  He knew the kid, but hadn’t seen him around for a while.  Bruno?  Brad?

No, Butch.  It was Butch McTavish.

Adam ran a hand over his eyes.

Of course, it was.

“You gonna rescue that little brother of yours?” John Peck, the store owner asked.  “Butch’s a mean one.  I hear tell he near killed a boy a few years back.  Served near a year in some kind of school for wayward boys from what I hear.  Today’s his first day back in Eagle Station.”

The black-haired man pursed his lips.  He happened to know that Butch had been at the institution for about six weeks and that his uncle was the one who ran the school.  The other boy in question had been badly bruised, but come nowhere near being killed.

So, what to do?

His pa and Hoss would have rushed out and intervened, angering and shaming Joe in order to prevent any…damage.   He, on the other hand, thought the kid needed to toughen up.  Little Joe was slight now and gave every indication of being slight when full grown.  He and Hoss had talked about it and agreed and he’d been showing Joe a few tricks lately to use his small size to his advantage.  Adam gnawed his lip as he watched the boys trade verbal spars.  Joe was going to have to learn to defend himself against brutes and bullies and big men if he wanted to prevent being taken advantage of like what happened last year with….

Adam took in a sudden breath as the memory of what had occurred punched him in the gut.

What was he thinking?

Concerned hazel eyes flicked from Butch to Joe.  Joe’s nostrils were flared and that jaw jutted forward now like a rocky bluff.  His brother’s fingers were clenched into tight fists and all one hundred and five pounds of him had gone rigid.  To the casual observer Ben Cartwright’s youngest son would have looked like he was rip-roaring and ready for a fight.

He knew better.

Joe was scared.

“Don’t you care what happens to your brother?” John asked quietly.

Oh, he cared.  He cared very much.  As he watched Butch beckon Joe out of the wagon, time slowed.  Each breath was an hour of time to curse himself.

Nine months back Joe had been kidnapped and abused by a brute of a man named Wade Bosh.

Bosh’s abuse had left his brother terrified.  For months Joe had been afraid to leave the Ponderosa.

Every time one of the hands came around who was near or as big as Hoss, Joe would flee.

This was his ornery, in-your-face, determined and fearless little brother.

Or it had been.

Adam looked again.  Joe must have made his mind up that this was the time he wouldn’t back down.  Maybe he thought he could take Butch, since he too was a boy.  Maybe Joe was just too embarrassed in front of the filly to back down – or maybe it was the circle of his school friends, including several very pretty girls, who had gathered to watch.

Whatever it was, Joe was getting out of the wagon.

Adam’s hand was on the door now, pushing it open.  Was it worth the kid taking a licking, he wondered,  to show him that he could fight back and win – that he didn’t have to be afraid anymore?  After all, Butch was a boy – a big boy, mind you – but a boy.  Would it help restore some of Joe’s lost confidence if he let his brother wallop him?

On the other hand, would Pa let him come home if he did?

Joe and Butch were squaring off.  Adam scowled with uncertainty as he watched the boys begin the familiar dance preparatory to throwing punches.

No.  He just couldn’t do it to him.  He just couldn’t embarrass Joe.  At thirteen his brother was fighting hard to be a man, and lately, he‘d been doing a good job of it.  They’d been up to the timber camp a number of times since Mr. Manning fell ill and each time Joe had been cooperative and really helpful in getting the work done.

Was the way to repay him by shaming him in front of his schoolmates?

John Peck had followed him onto the porch.  As the store owner spoke again, Adam waved him off and walked to the edge.  Joe was still physically under par from his ordeal with Bosh.  His muscle tone was not what it had been and his eyes were weak.  Still, he had good form and looked like he could go a round or two with Butch without being…maimed.  Leaning against one of the porch columns, Adam watched and waited.  It only took a second for Joe to spot him.  His brother looked alternately guilty, frightened, puzzled, and then, pleased.

You go get him, boy!  Adam projected.  Remember what I’ve taught you about taking on a man bigger than you.

A second later the fight began in earnest.  Joe did well at the beginning, ducking and deliberately baiting Butch into throwing useless punches, which he easily ducked in order to tire him out.  The maneuver, unfortunately,  also served to make the bully furious, which could go either way – Butch would be so angry he’d do something stupid and open himself up to attack, or he’d be so enraged he’d take Joe’s head off.

Since this debacle was of his making, he was banking on the first.

The crowd, of course, was going wild.  Joe’s male friends – he could see both Seth and Mitch – were rooting loudly for him.  Tory Jennings was there too, Joe’s sometime girlfriend.  She was the filly from church he’d been trying to place.  Tory was yelling for Joe to win.

At that moment Adam knew he was vindicated.  Even if his brother ended up in the hospital and his father disowned him, Joe’s girl knew he was a man.

Adam’s eyes returned to the crowd.  There were a half dozen boys rooting for Butch as well, several of which had been known to bully Joe before.  They’d all been drummed out of school and had matured as only a boy could when placed too soon amidst the rough and tumble men who worked a ranch.  The black-haired man watched them closely.

So long as the fight remained honest and Joe wasn’t hurt badly, he was determined not to interfere.

A second later there was a loud exclamation of surprise and Butch dropped to his knees.  Joe’s knuckles were bleeding, but he’d managed to catch the bigger boy with an uppercut to the jaw that took him down.  Butch fell amidst a chorus of cheers and boos.  The bully landed on his hands and knees, gasping.  Adam grinned.  Joe was standing over him; his battered hands still raised and fists clenched as if ready to take on any newcomers.

A triumphant smile curled the end of his little brother’s split lip.

Then, it happened – too swift for him to react.  One of Butch’s friends came up behind Joe and pinned his arms to his sides.  As Joe wriggled to escape, another smacked him on the side of his head, putting him off-kilter.  Seth and Mitch were on the move, but more of the bullies buddies moved in, ringing Joe, preventing them from reaching him.  Adam stepped off the porch.  As he did, he caught Joe’s eye.

And realized he had made a big mistake.

Like a roaring bull, Butch reared up off of the dusty street and charged, driving his head hard into Joe’s left side right where the ribs met his abdomen.  The air that left his brother’s lungs was audible.  Joe went down and Butch went down on top of him, driving his brother’s slight form into the hard earth and then pummeling him with his fists.

Adam was on the move but the crowd, which by now included adults, was too thick for him to part.  He hesitated only a moment and then he pulled his pistol from its holster and fired once, high into the air.

The street fell silent.

The shot, of course, brought Deputy Roy Coffee out of his office and sent him hustling across the street to break up the fight.

“Ain’t you boys got nothin’ better to do than pound each other like a side of beef!” the lawman shouted, his voice stern.  “I oughta throw the whole lot of you in jail for disturbin’ the peace!”  Reaching down, Roy grabbed Butch by the collar and hauled him back.  A horrified look crossed his face when he looked at Butch’s victim.  “One more year on you, boy, and I’ll be havin’ you up on attempted murder charges for what you done!” he told Joe’s attacker.

Adam swallowed hard, stunned by Roy’s words.

He had yet to get a good look at Joe.

This time the crowd parted as he moved.  The only ones left were Joe’s friends and several of his friends’ parents – including Tory’s mother and father – so it wasn’t difficult to make his way to his brother’s side.  When he got there, Adam fell to his knees and reached out toward the battered form.

With a glance at Roy, who shook his head, he breathed, “Good Lord….”

Joe’s lower lip, the skin over his left cheek, and the ridge above his left eyebrow were all split and bleeding.  His jaw was turning black and blue.  His knuckles were scraped nearly to the bone and both knees were bleeding, the fabric of his light gray pants having split when he fell.  But that wasn’t the worst thing.  The buttons of his brother’s white shirt had been popped.  The bloodied fabric lay open revealing his chest and the heavy bruising that was spreading like a cancer over his brother’s abdomen as he watched.

Adam choked.  “Joe….”

His little brother was half-conscious, but there was enough life and spark left in him for his battered lips to curl into a weary smile. Feebly his brother’s fingers clasped his red shirt.

“Thanks…Adam….” Joe wheezed just before he coughed.

“Thanks?  For what?”

Joe grimaced, then the smile returned.  “For…letting me be a…man….”

That life and spark?  Well, they went out of him then.  Joe lapsed into unconsciousness and lay in a crumpled heap on the ground.

Roy Coffee had turned Butch and the other boys over to Sheriff Olin, who was herding them toward the jail.  As he stared at Joe’s slight form, the deputy said, his voice barely more than a whisper.  “You’d best be gettin’  Little Joe to the Doc’s, Adam.  You hear?”  He turned to glance at the crowd.  “From what I been told by Tory and her folks, Butch started this here fight.  Little Joe ain’t got nothin’ to worry about.”

Adam slipped his arms under his brother’s slight form and lifted him up.

No.  Joe didn’t have anything to worry about.

But he did.

He might just have killed his brother.

 

Ben Cartwright stood outside the front door of his home, looking toward the Eagle Station road.  It was early evening and the warm May day had given way to a chilly night.  It was nearly eight o’clock and he was growing concerned.  The task he’d set Adam and Joseph earlier in the day should have taken an hour or two at most to complete.  They’d had plenty of time to return.  Of course, there was always the possibility that his youngest had talked his oldest into eating supper at Beth Riley’s.  Beth made the best pies in town and she always thought Joseph needed fattening up, so she doled it out in large portions.  If it had been Hoss he’d sent into town with Joe, he would have been even more concerned.  Joe might have talked his middle brother into some hair-brained scheme.  As it was, with Adam at the helm, he was able to keep his worry in check.

Adam wouldn’t let anything happen to his younger brother.

Ben looked back into the house, imagining the desk in his office with its mountain of paperwork that still needed scaled.  He’d been diligent so far, but had made little headway.  It seemed every time he turned around, he needed Adam’s thoughts, skills, or knowledge to complete it.  He wondered idly when he had come to rely so heavily on the boy.

Boy.

Ben sighed.  Adam had never been a boy.  Not really.  At a little over six years old he had become responsible for his baby brother, and by the time Hoss could care for himself, there was Joseph.  For the years Marie had been alive that burden was eased, but it had been during those years that his eldest son had begun to grow into his role as a man, riding at his side, taking charge of the hands – Ben glanced at the desk again – doing the paperwork, and helping to build the dream that was the Ponderosa.

Ben entered the house and closed the door behind him.  It was a good thing the man Adam had grown into had broad shoulders.  He needed them to bear all of the responsibilities his father laid upon them.

“Nothin’, Pa?” Hoss asked.

The nineteen-year-old was seated by the fire.  There was a book in his hand – not an unheard of occurrence in his middle son’s life, but one that was fairly rare.  It actually belonged to Joe and according to his youngest son – who was also not the most voracious of readers – it was one ‘rip-snortin’ tale’.   The title was The Man in the Iron Mask and it had been written by one of his own favorite authors, Alexander Dumas.

The rancher shook his head in answer to his son’s question.  “No sign yet, but then again, since Adam is with Joe there’s nothing to worry about.”

Hoss snorted.  “You just keep tellin’ yourself that, Pa.  One day you’ll believe it.”

“Are you implying that I still think of your oldest brother as a boy?”

“No, sir.  I’m implying you ain’t quite acquainted with that youngest son of yours.  Little Joe sure-as-shootin’ has a nose for trouble!  You can’t let the boy walk to the stable by himself without thinkin’ somethin’ might….”  Hoss’ voice trailed off.  A look – somewhere between sick and sorry – came over his son’s beefy face.  “I sure am sorry, Pa.  I didn’t mean to bring up no bad memories.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Hoss,” he answered quietly.  “You’ve described the youngest Cartwright quite accurately.”

His son was silent a moment.  “Joe still ain’t right, is he, Pa?  I mean, not all the way.”

Ben sat down on the settee opposite him.  “Why don’t you tell me.”

Hoss shifted uncomfortably.  “Well, I don’t mean nothin’ unkind, Pa.  You know how much I love Little Joe.  But he ain’t…well, he ain’t hisself.  Oh, he makes a good show of it, pretendin’ to be a fiery little cuss and givin’ as good as he gets.”

“But?”

“It’s in his eyes, Pa.”  Hoss hesitated.  “It’s like he’s scared all the time.”

The ordeal Joseph had been through nearly a year before – being kidnapped from his home by a vengeful sailor who thought he was his long lost ‘son’, being drugged and tormented both mentally and physically, and then abandoned in the hold of a ship and left to die – would have been enough to break a full-grown man.  As it was his youngest had survived, but there were scars – deep ones – and the saddest thing was, Joseph wouldn’t talk about them.  Whenever asked, ‘How are you?’, his answer was the same.  Every one of them could mouth it before he spoke.

‘I’m fine.’

Joseph was anything but fine.

They’d had family discussions, early in the morning when they knew Little Joe was asleep.  The conclusion was – much to his determination to do otherwise – that he’d agreed to let Joseph range a bit farther away from the house, hence the trip to town today.  Wade Bosh had taken many things away from Joseph.  Adam had pointed out that his brother’s belief in himself was the chief one.

Ben glanced toward the door again, seeing his oldest and youngest exit through it.  It had been hard to let the boy go.  God, it had been hard!  Other than school and letting him occasionally  travel with his brothers, he’d kept Joseph close since…well…since what happened with Wade Bosh.  There was always the fear in his mind and heart that someone or something would rear up out of nowhere and take his son away from him again.

Hoss cleared his throat.  He was waiting on an answer.

“You’re brother will recover in time,” the rancher replied, seeking to convince himself as much as his son.  “Joseph needs to gain confidence.  That’s why I’m allowing him to go with you and Adam again.”

“He was a lot of help up at the timber camp last week,” Hoss said.  Then he winked.  “And only a little trouble.”

Ben laughed.  It felt good.

“Pa?  You hear that?”

The rancher listened.  “I sure do!”

Ben started toward the door, heartened by the sound of a wagon rolling into the yard.  He opened it and stepped out, ready to greet his sons – only to find two strangers, one in the drivers’ seat and the other on the ground and headed for the house.  The man closest to him looked to be in his early to mid-forties, though he could have been younger.  He had the look of a seasoned cowboy  – grizzled and sunburned, with skin like leather and pallid gray eyes that had seen too many trails and trials.  His sandy beard and mustache were liberally dashed with a pale blond tone, as were the ramrod straight eyebrows that topped them.  The man in the wagon was younger – about Adam’s age.  He had thick wavy brown hair, the color of Joseph’s but not as curly.  His face and features were small – almost delicate – and his body a bit on the skinny side.  If the drifter was his father, then he favored his mother.

The cowboy halted before him and tipped his hat.  “Evenin’.”

Ben nodded.  “Good evening.  Is there something I can do for you?”

The man glanced at the boy and then turned back.  Sticking his hand out he said, “Name’s  Webb.  Fremont Webb, though everyone calls me Monty.”  As Ben took the offered hand and shook it, Monty went on.  “I’m hopin’ so.  We were on our way to the Manning’s spread when Greg here got to feelin’ poorly.”

The rancher looked at the younger man again.  He was a bit hunched over.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Oh, it ain’t nothin’ contagious.  He ‘et somethin’ and it’s gone off a bit.  Boy’s got a weak stomach.”   The cowboy turned.  “Ain’t that right, Greg?”

Greg scowled and rolled his eyes.

The sight tore at Ben’s heart.  The gesture was so like one Joe would make.

“Somethin’ wrong, sir?” the man asked.

“Please, call me Ben.”  He shook his head.  “No, I’m just a bit preoccupied.”

“Sorry to disturb you then, Ben.  We’ll be on our way.”

“No.   No, please stay.  You can bed down in the bunkhouse for the night.  We have spare beds at the moment as a good many of the men are out in the field with the branding.”

“Thank you, sir,” Monty said with a tip of his hat.  He’d begun to walk back to the wagon when he halted and turned around. “Ben.  Would that be Ben Cartwright?” he asked.

The question was as routine as his reaction to it should have been.

The knot in his stomach told him otherwise.

“I was so worried about gettin’ the boy off that wagon and into a bed, I almost forgot.  I should’ve asked.”  As he spoke, Monty pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and held it out to him.  “Guess I wasn’t thinkin’.  The man who gave me this told me yours was the first spread I’d come upon on the road.  We heard tell there was work at the Mannings.  That’s why we were headed that way.  I said I’d bring it by.”

Ben took the paper and held it like it was a snake about to strike.

“Man?” he asked with a lift of his near-black brows.

“Tall fellow.  Black hair.  Good lookin’.  He was in the saloon askin’ if anyone was headin’ out this way.  Said he needed to get this to you quick as a lick.”

“Was his name Adam?”

Monty shrugged.  “Could be.  I heard that name.  Might of belonged to him and might not.”  The cowboy eyed him.  “You gonna read it?”

Ben paled as he unfolded the slip of paper and recognized his eldest son’s strong hand.  He began to tremble as he read it.

Pa.  Sorry, Pa.  Made a terrible mistake.  Joe hurt.  My fault.  Come now.

Ben lifted his eyes to the sky.  The stars were out.  The moon rising.  Adam would have had to know the note could not reach him before dark.

Come now.

Something was terribly wrong.

 

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

TWO

 

Rosey O’Rourke stood back to admire the dress she was working on.  She had a half dozen pins in her mouth and a pencil behind her ear and had her newly purchased glasses perched on the tip of her nose so she could examine her handiwork.  While it didn’t compare to Ming-hua’s, it was pretty darn good if she said so herself.  Removing the pins from between her lips, she stuck them through the fabric of her plain white pinner apron and turned back into the work room.  They’d only opened the business a little over  three weeks before and already there were orders stacking up.  That was due to the talent of the young Chinese woman she shared the establishment with.  The sign that hung above the door of the dress shop was up front and honest, though few understood its meaning.  It proudly proclaimed ‘Tomorrow’s Flower, Millinery & Fancy Goods’.

‘Tomorrow’s flower’ was, of course, the English translation of Ming-hua’s name.

Rosey pulled the pencil from behind her ear, made note of a few measurements, and then removed her apron and headed for the show room that fronted onto the main street in Eagle Station.  It was late and the shop was closed and, as usual, they’d decided to stay after hours in an attempt to catch up.  Ming-hua had left a few minutes earlier to see if she could rustle up some grub for them at one of the local eateries.  Beth Riley worked late too, baking pies for the next day’s sales, and they could usually count on her to supply them with some cold sandwiches and a slice of whatever pie had been left over that day.  On reaching the showroom, the older woman crossed to the window and looked out.  There seemed to be an unusual amount of activity down the street, across from the saloon, on the block that held Doctor Martin’s office among other businesses.  The doctor was often in late as well.  Rosey laughed as she turned away and headed for her desk.

Maybe after-hours were normal hours when you had your own business.

It was still new to her – owning a business and living in a town the size of Eagle Station.  She’d lived in bigger ones, chief among them San Francisco, and smaller too – if you counted her own little ‘village’ of one high in the Sierras.  But this was different.  Eagle Station was small enough that just about everybody knew everybody else’s business.  Sometimes that was a good thing, but at other times, well, it simply made her want to run.  It wasn’t that anyone had been cruel.  In fact, they were too kind.  As a woman Beth Riley had honed in quickly on the fact that there had been a tragedy in her life.  She’d wanted her to talk about it – to help her.

Not yet.

It was too soon.

Though her involvement with saving Joseph Cartwright from the clutches of Wade Bosh – the man who had kidnapped the boy close to a year back and nearly sailed away with him –  had helped to ease the pain of her own loss, after thirteen years it was still too raw to share.

Rosey smiled as she reached up to undo the bun at the nape of her neck and shook her long brown hair free.

With anyone other than Ben, that was.

Their arrival in town had been set for late April.  Instead they’d arrived near the beginning of May and so she had seen little of the handsome rancher as he was busy rounding up and branding calves, as well as dealing with several sizeable mining and timber contracts.  She and Ming-hua had been invited to the Ponderosa that first week and had spent a lovely evening in the company of all the Cartwrights and their Chinese cook who, in spite of his very vocal protests, had been convinced to sit down and join them.  Adam played his guitar and he and his brothers entertained them with rousing renditions of some familiar songs.  Over the course of the evening, she’d paid special attention to Ben’s youngest.  Joseph had been so ill when she’d first met him, she barely recognized the boy.  And when she did see him hale and hearty, with his lightly tanned skin and that thick head of lustrous brown curls, the resemblance to Rory had been a knife to her heart.  It was foolish, of course.  If he’d lived, her son would be near Adam’s age now.  Still, in her heart, Rory was forever twelve.  Once, over supper, their eyes had met – Joseph’s wide emerald ones locking on hers, which were brown as silt.  Something had passed between them at that moment.  A fusion  of sorts.

In that moment she had come to love him as dearly as her own.

Whenever he came to town the youngest Cartwright was always sure to stop by the dress shop, even if it was just to say hello.  She’d seen Little Joe earlier in the day.  He’d come by and flashed that winning smile of his and showed her a bag of sweets, which he quickly tucked into his white shirt.  Apparently he’d been ordered by Adam to stay in the supply wagon while his older brother conducted business inside the mercantile. Seeing that Adam was busy, Joseph had taken the opportunity to sneak across the street to the confectioners.  Rosey couldn’t help but smile as she removed her apron and tossed it over the chair back.  He was a caution, that one.  And from what she had witnessed so far, the child most like his father.  She’d come to know Ben Cartwright quite well over the course of the weeks they had hunted for Joseph, and under very trying circumstances.  She’d seen the rancher fight despair, find courage in his faith, react in righteous anger, and ultimately choose justice over vengeance.

She could only hope, should God choose to try her in such a way, that she would emerge in the end as victorious as he had.

Crossing over to a cupboard where she kept her personal things, Rosey opened the door and drew out a small oval frame.  She held it to her heart for a moment and then looked at the image it held.  There, on the metal sheet, was the likeness of all she had lost.  Her husband Patrick had been a successful physician.  Though she told him it was an extravagance, he had insisted they have it taken.  She’d forgotten about the photograph and had only discovered it as she and Ming-hua dismantled her home in preparation for the move to Eagle Station.  Her younger self was there, looking happy and content, and her dear Pat.  And Rory.  Her beautiful boy.   He’d been told not to move, but not moving was not in Rory’s nature.  His image was slightly blurred, as if he’d already been halfway in the next world.

Reaching up, the older woman struck a tear away and then returned the frame to the cupboard.  As she did, she heard the door to the shop open.  Since it had been locked, she knew it had to be Ming-hua.  As she turned to greet her, a chill ran down her spine and she froze in place.

“Miss Rosey come quick!  Mister Ben have need of you,” her young companion said.

“What’s happened?” she asked as she reached for her cloak.

The child looked frightened.  “I do not know.  Mister Ben is very angry.  He hit Mister Adam.”

Rosey paused with her hand on the door.  “Ben hit Adam?  Are you sure?”

Ming-hua nodded.

Catching the girl’s hand in her own, the older woman breathed, “Show me.”

 

Hoss Cartwright was more scared than he had ever been in his life.

Now, he could honestly say that in his nineteen years of walkin’ the earth, there’d only been a few times he’d been really scared.  Being big as he was kind of prevented it most of the time.  He’d been afraid when his little brother was born – terrified if he told the truth – that both that little baby and his mama was gonna die.  And then mama did die.  That had sure been awful.  There’d been a few times since then when Little Joe’d near died too ‘cause of some harebrained thing he’d done like climbin’ Eagle’s Nest or mountin’ up on some fool maverick of a horse.  And, of course, there’d been a thousand little scares with horses and cattle and men, but each and every time – big or little – there’d been one constant.  Him and his father and brothers, they was always there for each other just like Pa taught them to be.  It didn’t seem like nothin’ could tear them apart.

Nothin’ until now.

Adam was layin’ in the dirt outside Doc Martin’s place and it was Pa who put him there.

He and Pa had ridden into town lickety-split, only stoppin’ once in the whole twenty miles to let the horses rest.  Pa’d pulled the note Adam sent out of his pocket and read it again while Chubb and Buck was coolin’ down.  He didn’t say much, just shook his head.  He’d seen his pa in a lot of tight situations.  It was kind of like the man turned to steel – like being steel would slice through whatever it was that was comin’.  Pa’d had an awful lot of hurt in his life and sometimes it seemed like he was just waitin’ for the next one to come.  Maybe, since steel was just about the toughest thing there was, he thought by becomin’ it, he could make it through anythin’.  Trouble was, Pa had what Adam called an Achilles’ heel.

And that was Little Joe.

Pa’s love for mama had been fierce and Joe was all he had left of her.  Oh, he loved him and Adam too – just as much as little brother – but in a different way.  It was like Pa knew one day Joe would to fly too high or run too fast or ride too hard like mama did, and it was his God-given duty to prevent it.  He’d laid that charge on them too, makin’ it clear to him and Adam that they was to protect their baby brother even if it meant makin’ Joe mad.

Even if it meant keepin’ Little Joe from growin’ up and becomin’ a man.

They’d talked about it, him and Adam.  Since Joe’d been rescued from that Bosh feller, Pa was even worse, barely lettin’ Joe out of his sight.  It was chaffin’ on little brother and that was why Adam had taken him into town with him today.  Even Hop Sing saw how Pa kind of had Joe in a chokehold.  Yeah, him and Adam had talked and they’d agreed that one day one of them was gonna have to tell Pa he better let loose or the boy would turn up his toes and die.

It looked like that day had come.

Adam had staggered to his feet.  He was wipin’ the blood from his lip.  Pa was bearing down on him like the fury of Heaven unleashed.  Older brother had said somethin’ he shouldn’t ought of and Pa had just plain lost his temper.

“You will mind your tongue with me, young man!”  Pa shouted as he flung his arm out toward Doc Martin’s door.  “I trusted you!  I trusted you, Adam!  How could you have let this happen?”

“I said I’m sorry, Pa,” Adam answered, his own temper barely under control.

“Sorry will mean little if your brother dies!”

Hoss knew better, but he said it anyway.  “Now, Pa, that ain’t fair –”

He rounded on him, his black eyes blazin’.  “This does not concern you!”

That hurt.  ‘Course it did.  Joe and Adam was his brothers.

“Pa, if you’ll just let me explain why I did what I did,” Adam tried again.

That there steel he’d been thinkin’ on earlier that Pa was made of, well, it was fiery red now and waitin’ for the bath that would make or break it.  It all hung on one word.

“Well?”

Adam did his best.  He set to explainin’ how he’d left Little Joe in the wagon out front of the mercantile where he could keep an eye on him, and how Tory’d come up to flirt, and then how Butch – probably ‘cause he was jealous of Joe and Tory – had picked a fight.  Older brother was doin’ right well up until the moment Pa realized the same thing he did.

Adam ain’t done one thing to stop that fight from happenin’.

Their father was shakin’ his head.  He pushed a hand out in front of him, wavin it like he was tryin’ to offset a stampede.

“Wait a minute.  Wait!  So, I did understand you earlier,” Pa growled.  “You had time to stop the fight and chose not to?”

Older brother squared his feet.  “Yes.”

There was a hissin’ as that fiery steel hit the water.  “Balls of fire, boy!  What were you thinking?”

Adam didn’t back down.  “I’m not a boy, Pa, and that’s because you let me grow up.  You treated me like a man when I was twelve.”  Older brother glanced at the doctor’s office.  Pain set his jaw as much as anger.  “For God’s sake, Pa, Joe’s thirteen!”

“And he may never live to see fourteen, thanks to you!”

“You’re not listening to me,” Adam shot back.  “A punch in the belly.  A shot in the back.  Those are mercifully quick ways to die.  Pa, you’re killing Joe slowly.  Since he’s been home you’ve barely let him out of your sight – “

“You know full well what happened when I did let him out of my sight!”

“So what are you going to do?  Keep him tied to a post in the front yard for the rest of his life?  Take away every bit of self-respect he has by mollycoddling him and making him a laughing stock?”  Adam drew a sharp breath.  “You’ve made Joe a prisoner just as surely as Wade Bosh did!”

Hoss winced.  He’d heard it.

The steel snapped.

He was just about to put himself between his father and brother to keep them from lighting into one another again when a woman’s voice called out.  “Benjamin Cartwright!”

Pa stiffened.   Those near-black eyes of his flashed a warning.   “Keep out of this, Rosey,” he said.  “This is between Adam and me.”

That ol’ Rosey, she walked right up to his pa and said, “You and Adam – and about half the citizens of Eagle Station!”

Looking at her, standin’ ‘there with her hands on her hips, Hoss remembered what Pa had told him about Rosey bein’ a scout for the army.  A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Pa could bark all he wanted.  She weren’t scared of nothin’.

The older woman glanced at Adam and then turned back to his pa.  “What is it that’s come between you two?”

Adam opened his mouth to reply, but Pa beat him to it.  “Adam’s negligence may have cost his brother his life!”

Rosey glanced at the doctor’s office.  “Little Joe is hurt?”

His father’s jaw was set.  His lips, a knife’s edge.  “Yes.”

“And you two are out brawling like common thugs in the middle of the street instead of being inside supporting him?  Shame on you!”

“A-Adam…” Pa stuttered.

“I don’t care ‘what’ Adam did!  Do you think Little Joe cares right now?”  She pressed a finger into pa’s chest.  “Don’t you think, at this moment, that beautiful boy of yours might just be wondering where his father is?”  The color was up in her cheeks.  Her eyes were bright.  “Would you like me to go in there and tell Joseph that instead of sitting with him, you are out here in the middle of the street brawling with his older brother?”  Her hand shot out toward Adam.  “Look at this young man!  Your words might as well have been bullets!   Do you honestly think Adam would have done anything to bring deliberate harm to his brother?”

Pa hesitated.  Only a second.

It was enough.

Adam staggered back as if from another blow.  “You don’t….  You don’t think I wanted Little Joe to get hurt?”

Pa looked like he’d been hoof-struck by a thoroughbred.   “Adam, no….”

“You do!  You honestly think I enjoyed seeing my little brother pounded!”

Pa looked sick.  “Adam, no.  It’s just that you and Joseph –“

“We what?  Argue?  Knock heads?”  Older brother was slow to burn, but once the fire was lit it would take all of two counties to put it out.  “If you can think that, Pa, then you don’t know me at all.  And maybe I don’t know you.”

“Adam….”  Rosey reached out toward him.

“I’ll get my things and be gone by the end of the week,” Adam said, his voice strained to near breaking.  “I’ll be sure to forward you my address.  That way you can let me know whether Joe lives or dies.”

Into the stunned silence that followed Adam’s declaration, a sound bled.  It was Doc Martin’s voice.  Hoss turned to find the older man standing, framed in the open door of the office, an irate look on his face.

“While you two have been out here butting heads like mountain goats in heat, Little Joe has been calling for you – both of you.”  Paul’s voice was edged with disgust.  “You might try thinking about that injured boy in there instead of yourselves!”

All the color bled from Pa’s face.  “Is Joseph…?”

Paul looked utterly weary.  “I don’t know anything for certain, Ben.  It’s too soon.  Joe’s ribs are involved.  His abdomen’s a bit tight.  The good thing is the bruising hasn’t spread anymore.”  The physician shook his head.  “Adam I might excuse.  He’s young.  But you, Ben?  You should know better!  Instead of wasting your time trying to find someone to blame, it would be well if you attended your son!”

Rosey reached out in both directions – toward Pa and Adam.  “Truce?” she asked.

Pa nodded quickly.  He extended his hand as well.  “Adam, son, I’m sorry.  I know you love your brother.”

It weren’t exactly an apology and Adam knew it.

His older brother rarely cried.  Sometimes it seemed like he’d done cried himself out what with losin’ two mamas.  So the fact that Adam’s eyes were glistenin’ now was just another sign of how deep the hurt Pa had given him went.

“I do,” his brother replied. “And that’s why I’m going into the doctor’s office.  But I’m telling you, Pa, I’m done.  Once Joe is out of danger I’m leaving, and nothing you can say will stop me.”

With that Adam pushed past Paul Martin and went into the building.  Pa’s eyes followed him.  He done looked as sick as Little Joe must feel.  Rosey was hangin’ onto his arm.  She lifted a hand to his cheek, but Pa batted it away.

“Fools make poor fathers,” he muttered and then followed Adam inside.

Hoss turned and looked at Ming-hua.

“Tiger father begets tiger son,” she said softly.

“Yeah, I guess so,” the big teener replied.  Then he remembered another one of those Chinese sayings about tigers.  One Hop Sing was fond of.

He who rides a tiger can never get off.

He just hoped that one was wrong.

 

Paul Martin had no idea if Little Joe Cartwright was going to live or die, though he was optimistic about the boy’s condition, but he did know the signs of death when he saw them.  Ben and his son Adam sat on opposite sides of Little Joe’s bed, only a few feet apart, but the distance between them might as well have been miles. How Ben could have three sons by three different wives and have each and every one of them come out mule-headed as he was, he just didn’t know.  It was a miracle plain and simple that the four of them managed to live in harmony.

Still, none of that mattered now. What mattered was his patient, and he was damn sure he wasn’t going to let whatever had passed between Ben and his eldest boy cause Little Joe any distress.  The boy had already been upset when he woke and found he was alone.  It hadn’t been all that long ago Joe had thought himself abandoned.  He’d kept a close watch on the boy over the last six months.  To the causal stranger, Joe seemed a bright and happy, if sometimes hasty and determined child.  To those who knew him better – the men and women of Eagle Station, those he went to school and church with – he seemed a bit subdued.

To those who knew him well, he was changed.

Joe Cartwright was one of those miracles of God – handsome, with a natural magnetism and a personality that would not quit.  As his mother used to say, he could have charmed the socks off of Lucifer.  The boy was strong-minded, sometimes in the wrong way, but most often for the good.  More often than not, Joe’s strength of mind was bent on righting what he saw as injustice – whether it be to himself or someone he loved.  And once Joe Cartwright set his mind on something, it took nothing short of an act of God to stop him.  He had the potential of being a most remarkable man.

That was, if he lived to reach maturity.

The bruising still worried him.  Though, as he had told Ben, in the last half hour it’s spread had slowed, which was a good sign.  There was no real way to know until morning whether or not there was internal bleeding.  If so, there was little he could do.  If there wasn’t, then Little Joe would be one very sore young man, but – due to his age and constitution – would heal quickly.

Paul glanced from Ben to his eldest son.

He could only pray the rift between those two would mend as swiftly.

“Is he gonna be all right, Doc?  Is Little Joe gonna be okay?” Ben’s middle son asked as he entered the examining room.  He’d sent Hoss out to get a bottle of brandy from the hotel.  He had a feeling the two men sitting on opposite sides of the bed were going to need it before the night was out.

Paul caught Hoss by the arm and drew him into the front room.  As he closed the door behind him, the older man indicated the street outside with a nod.

“What exactly happened out there?”

Hoss squirmed a bit.  “Shucks, Doc, you know them too.”

“Which ‘two’ would that be – Adam and Joe, Adam and your father, or your father and Little Joe?”

“Adam thought he was doin’ what was best for Joe,” the young man said.

“Letting him get beat up?” he asked, his tone dubious.

“No!  Letting’ him fight his own fight!”  Hoss frowned.  “Sorry, Doc.  You ain’t seen how Pa’s been since… Well, since that man took Joe and we almost lost him.   Other than working with me and Adam, Pa won’t let him out of his sight.”

“What has your brother to say about that – Little Joe, I mean?”

He shrugged.  “That’s the worst thing.  He ain’t said nothin’.  He just minds Pa and stays close to home.”

“Maybe that’s because he wants too.”

“But it ain’t Joe!  You know what I mean?  It just ain’t him.”  The young man drew in a deep breath.  His next words sounded like a confession.  “I’d of done the same thing, Doc.  Today, with Butch.  I’d of stood back and let Joe have a go at him.”

“And why is that?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“ ‘Cause Joe needs to know he’s all right.  That he ain’t less of a man for what that Wade Bosh done to him.  I know Pa thinks it’s love, but what he’s doin is makin’ little brother doubt himself.  Adam knew that.  That’s why he let him take Butch on, so’s he could have somethin’ to be proud of.  So’s he might start to believe in himself again.”

He had to admit it made sense – in a twisted sort of way.

The physician placed a hand on Hoss’ shoulder.   “I want you to do something for me, son.”

He looked wary.  “What’s that, Doc?”

“I want you to go in there and sit with your brother and send your father and Adam out here to me.”  Paul looked toward the closed door.  “Rosey and Ming-hua should return shortly with some food.  I doubt either of them have had anything for hours.  Hell hath no fury like a man apprehensive and hungry.”  He laughed at the younger man’s hopeful look.  “Yes, I know you’re hungry too, Hoss.  I’ll send Ming-hua in with a tray.  I ordered some broth for your brother.  If he wakes, try to encourage him to take a little.  Joe needs to keep up his strength as well.”

“Sure thing, Doc.”  Hoss glanced at the door as well.  “I sure hope you can knock some sense into those two.  I don’t like to think about Adam leavin’ at all, but especially when he’s this mad at Pa.”

Paul palmed the brandy bottle and considered its contents.  “Maybe a glass or two of this can help smooth things over.”

 

Rosey shook her head as she stepped out of Paul Martin’s office.  She’d delivered the food as the doctor asked and, after sending Ming-hua home to get some sleep, had gone in to check on Little Joe.  Joseph’s color was better and he was breathing more easily, though the child was still pale as morning mist.  When she took his hand and ran a hand through his matted curls, he stirred.  Joseph frowned and then turned to look at his brother Hoss, who was seated in a chair by the bed softly snoring.  A smile lifted the corner of the boy’s lips and he winked at her before falling asleep again.

She had no proof, but she thought he was going to be all right.

Leaving the tray she had brought in for Hoss on the night stand, she’d exited the examining room and made her way quickly through the front room and out the door.  Ben and his eldest son sat in that one, on opposite ends of the doctor’s desk, facing one another.  Paul was there too, planted firmly between them, dispensing brandy and chastisement hand-in-hand.  Both men looked contrite.  It seemed Paul had managed to bandage the wound their angry words had opened.

She could only hope it was enough of a fix to keep the pair from bleeding out.

As the older woman stepped into the street, a cool breeze struck her and tossed her hair into her face.  She’d forgotten it was down.  So much for appearing to be the proper Eagle Station shop lady!  As she twirled the thick brown locks in her fingers and formed them into a loose sort of bun, Rosey shivered.  It had been a changeable May so far, blazing hot one day and cool the next.  Tonight it was just plain cold.

As she stood there contemplating the irony of a man who had his son and would chance driving him away for the sake of making a point, Rosey heard the sound of hoof beats.  It was late and most of the town was abed, so she wondered who it was.  As the man approached, she saw he had the look of a cowhand and realized he must be one of the men Ben employed.  It was hard to see much more since it was night.

The man reined in his horse.  His eyes went to the sign.  “This the local doc’s?” he asked, his voice husky, as if dry from dust.

She took a step toward him.  “Yes. Why?  Are you in need of a doctor?”

As he dismounted, he replied, “No ma’am.  I was lookin’ for Mister Cartwright.  Ben Cartwright.”

“Are you from the ranch?”

“Tonight, I am, ma’am.  My little brother was ailin’ and Mister Cartwright gave us two bunks and some grub.  Greg’s much better and he’s sleepin’.”  He indicated the doctor’s office with a worried nod.  “I was there when Ben got the note from Adam.  Is the boy goin’ to be all right?”

“The doctor said it would be morning before we know for sure, but I think so.  Joseph Cartwright is made of stern stuff.”

“That’s the youngest one?”

“Yes, it is.  Would you like me to let Ben know you are here?”

He hesitated and then nodded.”  His smile was chagrinned.  “I imagine he may think I’m over-steppin’ my bounds.  It’s just…well…since he helped my little brother, I wondered if there was anything my brother and I could do to help his boy – or maybe to help out around the ranch since they’ll be a couple of men down.”

Rosey began to move as she gathered her shawl about her shoulders.  At the entry to the doctor’s office, she paused.  “Whom shall I say has come to call?”

The man removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair.  “Sorry, Ma’am.  I should have introduced myself.  Name’s Fremont Webb, but you can call me Monty.”

“Monty,” she repeated with a smile.  Taking a step back toward him, she reached out with her hand.  “Rosey.  Rosey O’Rourke.”

She might have imagined it, but it seemed – for just an instant – as if the cowboy had heard her name before.

She hoped it hadn’t been in San Francisco.

“Pleased to meet you, Rosey,” he said at last.  “You from around here?”

“Just arrived actually. My home was in the Sierras.”

“Guess we’re both strangers then, in a way.”

She gazed into his pale gray eyes but saw nothing.  No sign of recognition.  Nothing to make her uneasy.

So why was she?

“I’ll go get Ben.  You wait here.”

 

Monty Webb watched the handsome woman until she stepped into the doctor’s office and then he turned and, taking up the reins, walked his horse to a rail and tethered it.  With an eye to the window of Doc Martin’s place, he crossed over to a bench close by and anchored his tired body on it.  For a moment he’d thought he might have known her, but it was just the name.  ‘Rosey’ wasn’t all that common.  For the life of him, though, he couldn’t remember where he had heard it last or why it seemed familiar.

“Probably buried under too much trail dust,” he muttered to himself.

A sound caught his attention and Monty looked up to see the door to the doctor’s office swing open and Ben Cartwright step out onto the stoop.  The cowboy removed his hat as he rose to his feet and ran a hand through his sandy blond hair, slicking it down, trying to look like something other than what he was – a long-time rollin’ stone.  Things were lookin’ up.  Mister Cartwright was goin’ to be needin’ extra hands to cover at the Ponderosa while he attended the boy.  He’d wanted to sign on at the Cartwright spread to begin with, since he’d been told the pay there was the best, but at the time he and Greg had come to town, the talk had been that all the jobs there were sewed up.  Monty nodded to the rancher as he descended the steps and started toward him.

From what he’d heard, the Ponderosa was about the biggest spread around.  One thousand square acres, someone had said.

Big enough, he hoped, that maybe an old cowpoke like him and a brown-haired boy couldn’t be found.

 

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

  THREE

 

A sense of warmth on his cheek woke him.  He didn’t know what it was, but he knew he wanted it there.  It was…reassuring.  Like a thick woolen blanket wrapped around shoulders shuddering with winter cold.  He turned his head into it and breathed deeply, scenting mountain air, tobacco, and a familiar blend of spices from lands far, far away.

Little Joe Cartwright’s eyelashes fluttered.

Strong fingers gripped his wrist where it lay on the top of the coverlet.  “Son, it’s time you wake up.  Can you wake up?”

He could hear the man, but he couldn’t see him.  Panic swelled in his breast as he realized he was in the dark.  He must be…there.  Back in the hold.  Chained to the floor.  Wretchedly sick and with no hope of escape.

Terrified, Joe began to thrash about.

“No!  No!  Let me go!  Pa!!”

The grip on his wrist tightened.  Other fingers moved to his head and began to work their way into his hair.

“Joseph, listen to me!  You have nothing to fear.  You’re home.  Son, you’re home!”

No.  He’d been lied to before – and for so long.  This wasn’t his pa, it was the man who had made him call him ‘Pa’.  The man he never mentioned.  The man he wanted to forget.

The man who wouldn’t go away.

“NO!” he shouted as he continued to struggle.

“Joseph!”  The tone was sharp this time.  “Doctor Martin sedated you so we could bring you home.  What you are seeing is not real.  You’re not on the Sun Princess anymore  Remember?”  The voice continued, softer, shaken.  “I came to rescue you.  You are in your room.  There’s a light burning.  Son, open your eyes and look!”

In his terror it was hard to do anything but keep his eyes clamped shut in order to deny the nightmare his life had become.  But that voice – that beloved, trusted voice – was telling him to open them.  Ordering him to, really.  Habit took over.  Joe opened his eyes and looked.

There it was.  An oil lamp beside his bed, burning like…a lantern.  Joe swallowed hard over his fear.  His pa had brought a lantern into the hold of the tall ship to look for him.

To find him.

To bring him home.

The fight taken out of him, Joe fell limply back to the bed.

The hand returned to his face.  “Joseph, boy, are you all right?”

He licked his lips.  “Water…?”

There was movement, but no sound.  A moment later he felt the rim of a cup pressed against his lips.  The liquid it contained was cool.  Refreshing.

Reviving.

Blinking back tears, he tried again, “Pa?”

“Yes, Joseph.  I’m with you.  You’re safe now.”

Feeling slightly chagrinned, he managed a snort and a pale smile.  “Sorry, Pa.  I thought…”  Joe sniffed.  “I forgot…where I was.”

“I think we’d all like to forget where you were.  But that doesn’t matter now.  What matters is you’re here now. With us.”

A knock on the door made them both turn toward it.  Adam’s head poked in through the opening a moment later.

“Everything all right, Pa?” he asked.

Joe blinked.  Adam looked worse than he felt.

“Everything is fine, son.  You go back to bed.”

His older brother ignored what Pa said and stepped into the room, stopping just past the threshold.  Adam reached up and ran a hand through his tousled hair, trying to press the black waves back into place.  At that moment his older brother looked more like a riverboat gambler than he ever had!  It made him laugh.

Even though that laugh came out sounding like a calf bleating when it was stuck in a bush.

“That’s right,” Adam mock growled as the thick locks continued to elude him, rising up and falling down like a choppy sea.  “Go ahead.  Make fun of me.”

“That’s the only reason…we keep you…around, older brother,” he managed as he fought a rising pain in his side.  “Didn’t you…know that?”

Adam came to the foot of the bed.  His face was guarded as usual, but Joe could read it.  He’d had thirteen years of practice.

Older brother was feeling guilty.

“How do you feel, Joe?” he asked quietly.

“Fit as a fiddle and…fine as a dandy,” he replied as he resisted the urge to wrap an arm around his sore middle.

Problem was, Adam could read him too.

“About as ‘fine’ as you felt when that horse threw you into the fence last month?”

His lips twisted and he winced.  “Just about.”

Adam stared at him – so long he wished he was a snake and could slip out of his skin and make a getaway.

“I’d like to talk to Joe alone, Pa.  If that’s acceptable to you.”

Joe frowned.  ‘Acceptable’?  What kind of word was that?  He looked at his brother and then his pa.  Neither of them was smiling.  In fact, they looked mean as two outlaws fighting over a single bar of gold.

Him being the gold, of course.

“Very well,” his father said as he stood and took a step toward the door.  “Don’t overtax him.”

Adam’s lips flattened into a line.  There was a little twitch on the right side.

Not a good sign.

“I’ll take my cue from Joe, Pa.”

This time it was his father’s face that twitched.  Up near the eye.

You could of cut the tension in the room with a butcher knife.

“You will take your cue from me.  Five minutes.  No more.  And then you, young man….”

Joe felt the need to stand at attention and salute.  “Yes, sir?”

“You are to remain in that bed until Doctor Martin says that you may leave it.  It’s only by God’s grace you weren’t severely injured.  And while there’s no internal bleeding and your ribs appear to be intact, Paul has warned an infection could still develop.  So you will stay put, is that understood?”

He nodded and then blew out a breath when the door closed – with a loud thump – behind his pa.

“Whew!  Pa sure is fit to be tied,” he said as he turned toward his brother.  “What’s got him so all-fired up?”

Adam had moved to the side of the bed and taken Pa’s seat.  “He and I had a little… disagreement.  It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“Was it about me?”

Adam’s lips pursed.  One ink-slash eyebrow lifted.  “Why are you so perceptive?”

That was one of Adam’s ten dollar words.  “Per…what?”

His older brother snorted.  “Definitely not a linguistic giant, but you do have a certain way of seeing through the barriers people erect to conceal their true feelings.”  Adam leaned back and ran a hand over his chin.  “It’s uncanny.”

He figured he’d let ‘linguistic’ go.

“You mean like how I can tell when you’re lying?”

Adam’s skin was pale.  There were circles under his eyes.  He even had a little bit of scruff, like he hadn’t shaved today or yesterday.  His brother sighed and then leaned forward in the seat, linking his hands between his knees.

“Joe, I wanted to apologize.”

It was his turn to frown. “Gosh, what for?”

His brother’s hazel eyes widened.  “For what?  For nearly getting you killed!”

Joe puzzled about that a moment.  “Oh, you mean with Butch?  How’s me pickin’ a fight with the school bully got to do with you gettin’ me killed?”

“It has to do with it because….”  His brother stopped.  “You picked the fight?”

He nodded his head.  “Sure I did.  Butch said somethin’ mighty…uncalled for to Tory.”  Joe shifted up on the pillows and winced as pain rippled through him.  “I told him to take it back or I’d take his head off.”

His pa liked the word ‘process’.  Learning to forgive was a process.  Learning to tame your temper was a process.  It meant a man had to work things through.  Older brother was thinkin’ something through now.  He could see the wheels turning in that granite head of his.

Finally Adam said, “Let me get this straight.  I left you outside in the wagon and told you to stay put and out of trouble.  Correct?”

“Right as rain,” he nodded.

“Then Tory Jennings comes along and you decided to flirt with her in spite of the fact that you knew Butch was nearby and it might rile him?”

“Seemed the proper thing to do,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and then regretting it when they landed on his abdomen.  “She’s my girl, after all.”

“Proper.”  Adam rolled his eyes.  “So then when Butch comes along, instead of acting like a rational human being and attempting to dissuade him from becoming combative, you goad him into a fight?”

There he went again.

“I don’t think I ‘goaded’ him, Adam.  He called Tory a….”  Truth fought with propriety.  He let his voice fall to a whisper.  “Butch called Tory a trug.”  He blushed.  “You know…what that means.”

Adam nodded.

“Well, I just got so mad… I guess I forgot how much…bigger…than me Butch is and I….”  He hesitated.  He was bein’ pretty honest with Adam, but tellin’ him he didn’t see Butch when he flew off that wagon – that it was like he was takin’ down Wade Bosh – might not be too smart.  “Well, I guess, like you and Pa are always sayin’, I bit off more than I could chew.”

Adam was processing again.  This time, there was a hint of moisture in his eyes.

“You idiot,” he chuckled at last.

Joe started to laugh with him, but then that ‘thing’ inside him rose up.  “I was defending a lady’s honor!”

His brother held up a hand.  One tear had escaped, he was laughing so hard.  “Of course, you were.  Of course.  I’m sorry, Joe.  I’m not laughing at you.  I’m just….”  He sighed. “I’m just so relieved.”

Joe looked at the door through which their father had gone.  Then he turned back to his brother.  “Pa’s mad at you, ain’t he?  For not stoppin’ the fight?”  He righted himself a bit more – and winced a bit more. “He’s blamin’ you for me getting hurt?

The laughter was gone.  Adam was dead serious.  “That’s between Pa and me.”

“No, it’s not!  I’m the cause of it.”  Joe reached over and grabbed a handful of bed linens and tossed them aside.  Before his brother could stop him, he swung his legs over on the opposite side and stood up.  “Look!  I’m fine!”

‘Fine’ lasted about thirty seconds.

“Joe!”  Adam was on his feet.  He had him in just under thirty-five seconds – just before he would have hit the floor.  “Of all the rash, foolhardy things to do!”  As his brother laid him back on the bed, Adam’s hand went to his head.  “What’s wrong, buddy?”

“Dizzy,” he managed as his fingers clutched the cool sheets.

The door was opening.  Joe’s eyes flicked to it, desperately afraid that it was their father and the older man would take his fear and anger out on Adam.

“You two need to keep it down up here,” Hoss said as he entered the room.  “More shoutin’ like that and you’ll have Pa up here ready to tan your….”  Middle brother’s voice trailed off when he saw him, laying on the bed, pale and shaking.  “Gosh darn it!  What happened?”

“Let’s just say Joe’s escape attempt went a bit awry.”  Adam breathed out his relief as he planted himself on the side of the bed.  “Get him some water, will you, Hoss?”

“Sure thing.”

When Adam handed his the cup he took a big gulp and then, after older brother scolded him, sipped the rest down.  When he was done  Joe laid his head back on the pillow and looked from one brother to the other.

For a little while there, he’d thought he had four.

“Where’s Pa?” he asked the one in the middle.

Hoss grinned. “You mean, why ain’t he up here instead of me?”  At his nod, his brother explained.  “Pa’s outside talkin’ to Dan Tolliver.  We been out of things for a couple of days.  There’s a lot of catchin’ up to do.”

Joe hung his head.  “Because of me…again.”

“Sure ‘cause of you, little brother.  Don’t you know the world just stopped the day you was born?” Hoss replied as he reached over and ruffled his hair.

Joe made a face and batted his hand away.  “Hey!  Cut that out!”

“Ain’t never gonna happen, punkin,” middle brother said with a wink.  “You’re just too gosh-darned cute!”

“I’ll ‘cute’ you!” he snarled, rearing up off the pillows.

And immediately fell back to them.

“Damn,” he muttered.

Hoss’ blue eyes went wide as Lake Tahoe.  “Don’t you ever let Pa hear you say that, Little Joe.  If’n he does, you won’t be sitting a saddle for a long time.”

Joe rolled his eyes as he pushed back into the pillows.  “So what’s up?  Are you two still going up to the mining camp Monday?”

Adam nodded.  “Sorry you can’t come with us.”

Dramatic sighs were one of his specialties.  “So just exactly how long is my exile gonna be this time?”

Adam snorted.  “Well, your majesty, your court physician said – if you behave and rest all day today and let someone help you come down the staircase tonight – you could sit in the great room with us after supper.”

Older brother wasn’t fooling him.  “What about the day after that?”

“Well, now, ain’t he right pleased for the blessin’s the good Lord bestowed upon him this day?” Hoss asked.

“You try bein’ forced to sit in a bed all day, left all on your lonesome to do nothin’ but think!” he snapped.

And instantly regretted it.

“What are you thinking about, Joe?” Adam asked softly.  “Wade Bosh?”

Older brother was pretty danged perceptive himself!

“I ain’t thinkin’ about Bosh,” he countered sourly.

“Look Joe, there’s nothing wrong with admitting you’re afraid.  What that man did to you –”

A look of horror came over his face.  There it was.  That…thing…he was worried about people thinkin’.  That Bosh had done something to him?

That he wasn’t ever gonna be…right.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Joe declared, turning his face into the pillow.  “Get lost!  I want to sleep.”

He felt Adam’s hand on his shoulder.  Then older brother did something he hardly ever did anymore.  He leaned forward and pressed his lips to his hair.

“You rest, Joe.  I’ll be gone by the time you wake up.  I love you, little buddy.”

Joe was already drifting.  He was more tired than he realized.

“Bye, Adam.  See you later.”

Adam was silent for a moment.

“Yeah, bye, Joe.”

 

Hoss followed his older brother out into the hall.  He was careful to pull Little Joe’s door to behind him before speaking.

“You’re still goin’, ain’t cha?”

Adam was standing, leaning against the wall; his tense form balanced on one lean muscular arm.  He pivoted to look at him.

“You know I have to.”

“Now what ‘a you got to go and say that for?  You know, Pa.  His bark’s worse than his bite.  He’s already calmed down –”

His brother shook his head.  “It’s not that, Hoss.  I’ve been here with Pa before.  This time it’s different.”

“How’s it different?”

Adam’s lips pursed.  He let out a sigh.  “For one thing, I’m different.  Hoss, I’m twenty-five years old, but Pa treats me like some wet-behind the ears kid!  It’s time I was out on my own.”  He paused.  “Worse than that, he doesn’t trust me.”

“I don’t know how you can say that.”

Adam snorted.  He inclined his head toward Joe’s door.  “That’s how I can say that.  Pa thinks I let Joe get hurt deliberately because I didn’t care enough to stop what was happening.”

There was a deep pain behind those words.  Deeper maybe than any well ever dug.

“You know Pa didn’t mean it.”

His older brother pushed off the wall.  “That’s the problem, Hoss. I know he did.”

Seconds later Adam turned and disappeared down the stairs.

Hoss stared after his older brother for a moment and then turned his eyes toward Little Joe’s room.  If them two weren’t two of the most cussed mule-headed people he ever knew!  And Pa was right there with them.

Rolling his blue gaze upward, Hoss said with a sigh, “Dagburn it, Mama!  How’d I come out so sweet?”

 

Ben Cartwright had just finished giving instructions to Dan Tollivar when the door to the ranch house opened and his oldest son walked out.  Adam gave him a brief nod on the way to the stable and then disappeared into it post haste.  His old friend offered a sympathetic look and then shrugged as if to say, ‘We were young once too’.

“I’d better go talk to him,” he said with a sigh.

“Hard feelin’s?”

Ben nodded.  “I said something….  No, I didn’t say something I should have, the result of which is Adam thinks I don’t trust him.”

“That boy?”  The older man shook his head.  “Why, that boy’s been at your side since the beginnin’ Ben.  How could he doubt you?”

Dan’s words were the stab of a knife that went both ways.

How could he have doubted Adam?

“It’s that youngest one of yours, ain’t it?” the wrangler asked.

Ben had been looking at the stable.  He turned back with a scowl on his face.  “What do you mean?”

Dan held his gaze – pinned it, in fact.  “You can fire me if you want to, Ben, but I gotta say it.  You just don’t think straight where Little Joe’s concerned.  It’s like you think the boy’s made of glass.”

His frown deepened.  “Go on.”

“I know that youngster’s had more than his fair share of scrapes and that scares you.  You keep thinkin’ about how close he came to dyin’ right from the moment he was born.  But look at it this way, Ben – Joe didn’t!  Them things he’s been through would have killed a lesser man, let alone a boy his age.  If you ask me, you don’t give Little Joe enough credit.”  Dan nodded at the stable.  “No, nor Adam neither.”

For a moment he was upset, but then he saw the wisdom of his old friend’s words.  Ben reached out and placed a hand on the wrangler’s shoulder.  “How did you get to be so wise, Dan?”

“Me?  Wise?  Nah,” he smiled.  “I just ain’t their pa.”

The rancher nodded his head even as tears threatened.  Lifting his hand, he said, “I had better talk to Adam.  I pray there is something I can do to mend the rift between us before it’s too late.”

“He’s your son, Ben.  He’s part of you.  He’ll understand.  If not now, then later.”

Leaving Dan behind, the rancher headed for the stable.  During the time they’d talked, Adam had saddled his horse.  His son was preparing to mount when he heard him enter.  He saw him pause, and then place his foot in the stirrup.

“Adam, we need to talk.”

He didn’t look at him.  “There’s nothing left to say, Pa.  Your silence said it all.”

Ben stepped closer and took hold of the reins.  His tone was pleading.  “Son, have you never made a mistake?”

Adam’s lean form went rigid as he returned his foot to the stable floor.  “Sure.  Sure, I have.  I make them every day according to you!  I can’t make a decision, Pa, without having you second guess me.  The men laugh when I give them orders, do you know that?  They laugh!  Ben Cartwright’s ‘boy’, that’s what they call me.  I’m twenty-five years old and they call me a boy!”  Adam’s lips pursed as he considered his words.  “You cast a tall shadow, Pa.  I’ll never escape it.  Not as long as I’m here.”

“I thought we were partners, son.”  Ben spread his arms wide.  “We wouldn’t have the Ponderosa without each other.  You built it as surely as I did.”  His voice clouded with anger.  “You tell me who those men are and I’ll run them off the ranch.”

“Papa comes to save the day?  Don’t you see, Pa?  That’s part of the problem.  I’ll always be a little boy in your eyes – a little boy who needs looking after.”  His son paused.  “At least you’ve let the reins out on Hoss and I a bit.  Your pulling the bit so tight on Joe, I’m surprised he hasn’t jumped the fence.”

Ben felt rage rising in him.  How dare his son say such a thing!?  Still, at heart, he knew there was truth in his words.  Adam had turned a mirror toward him and he didn’t like what he saw.

“Does Hoss feel this way as well?”

Adam sighed.  “It’s different with Hoss.  He’s so big the men have treated him like one of their own since he was twelve.  Besides, Hoss isn’t one to seek greener pastures.  He’s happy bedded down in the one he knows.”

“And you’re not?”

His son paused.  “I don’t want to hurt you, Pa, but I’m not sure your dream is mine.”

Adam was a handsome lad, with his wavy black hair and chiseled features.  He looked so like Elizabeth and, like Elizabeth, was so certain he was right.

“You have a lot of your mother in you,” he said at last.

His eldest chewed his lip for a moment.  Then he let out a sigh.  “Pa, I know you love us – for ourselves – but sometimes I think when you look at us, at Hoss and Little Joe and me, you don’t see us.  You see the women you loved and lost.”  Adam sucked in a breath.  “It’s like you have to hold us tight for fear of losing them again.”

He was stunned.  “Do you really feel that way?”

Adam nodded.  “Yes, I do, Pa, and that’s why I have to leave.  At least for a little while.  I’ll finish up the mining contract and the work at Mannings, and then I’m going.”

When Adam’s mother had died, he’d heard a thunderclap and felt it resonant through his being.  He’d just heard it again.

“Where will you go?”

His oldest boy stepped into the stirrup and swung up onto his horse’s back.  “Somewhere where a man can cast his own shadow,” he replied.  “Don’t worry, I’ll let you know when I find it.”  Adam made a kissing noise and pointed his mount’s nose toward the door.  “I’m going to the mining camp.  Why don’t you let Hoss wait to come up until Joe’s well enough to join us.  I’d….  I’d like some time with my brothers before I go.”  When his son sensed his hesitation, Adam said quietly, “Little Joe’s not Marie, Pa.  He’s alive.  Let him stay that way.  Don’t smother him with love.”

Speechless, he watched his eldest son leave the stable and head out into the growing light.

At that moment Ben Cartwright knew he had been wrong.  He’d thought he was doing everything possible to keep his sons safe and to protect them from harm.

And here, it seemed, it had been him who was harming them all along.

 

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

FOUR

 

Greg Webb awoke that morning in a strange place.  He had a vague memory of Monty helping him into the wagon after he’d puked his guts out and that was about it.  And, maybe, arriving here and being eased into a bed.  Even a ranch hand’s bunk had felt good after so many months in the saddle.  They’d mostly finished with a big cattle drive to Montana when he and Monty had decided to cut and head southwest.  It wasn’t that the work was too hard.  They’d had an exciting time of it on the lengthy trek to the northern state, complete with flash floods and stampedes.  Along with a dozen other men, they’d moved over two thousand head of cattle to the state in order to supply a contract for beef for the Indian reservation there.  The work paid well but, after they’d deliberated a bit, they’d decided to quit and head to Nevada. Word was the biggest rancher in the area, Ben Cartwright, would be needing men for a similar drive in the fall.  In the years he and Monty had traveled together they’d done just about everything and he’d enjoyed just about all of it.  He liked a challenge.  It kept his soul at rest. When he was quiet there was something niggled at him, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.  Monty said to chalk it up to being young.

He wasn’t so sure.

His life had been lived from pillar to post.  He didn’t remember much of the  beginning of it.  He had a ma and pa, but they were dead and were nothing more than shadows to him now.  He couldn’t even remember their names.  He didn’t think he’d had brothers or sisters, but he wasn’t sure.  When Monty and his older brother had taken him in, he’d been a lost and frightened boy.  And while he wasn’t overly fond of the older Webb brother – in fact, Monty wasn’t either – the sandy-haired cowpoke was all right.

He didn’t even mind it when Monty told people they were brothers.

This morning he’d risen with the birds, splashed cold water on his face, and then left the empty bunkhouse to look for the older man. One of the Cartwright’s ranch hands had caught him and told him that his friend had ridden out early for the Manning place at the boss’ request.  The same man gave him an explanation of what all the excitement had been about the day before.  It seemed that the youngest of Ben Cartwright’s sons had near been beat to death.  The Cartwrights were close, the hand said, and the older man wasn’t about to leave that boy’s side until he was well.  Greg thought a moment and then chuckled.  It was amazing how often things seemed to go Monty’s way.  He’d brought them to Nevada intending to work on the Ponderosa spread and now it seemed they would.

Greg stretched and then looked toward the Cartwright’s house.  It was a handsome hewn log building with a wide porch, a second story, and a bunkhouse attached as an extra wing.  He’d never had much money in his life – hadn’t really wanted it – but there was something about this place that called to him.

If he’d had money, he thought, he would have built something like it.

As he stood there staring at the house, thinking about what he had and what he’d missed, Greg heard a sound.  He recognized the turn of carriage wheels and a few moments later a handsome rig rolled into view with a woman driving it.  She was dressed in a fancy striped brown two-piece day dress with a matching hat, so he guessed she had some money too.  When she got closer and he saw who was sitting beside her, he knew she was wealthy.

Otherwise she couldn’t have afforded a Chinese serving girl.

“Whoa!” the woman said as she called the horses to a halt.

Greg looked around.  There were no men in the yard, so he took it upon himself to approach her.  He didn’t figure Mister Cartwright would mind if he offered to help.

“Is there something I can do for you, ma’am?” he asked.

The woman was chatting with the Chinese girl.  She stopped abruptly and turned to look at him.  As she did, her brow furrowed.  “I don’t know you, do I?” she asked.

Which made him assume she was a frequent visitor.

He tipped his hat and then ran a hand through his bushy brown hair before settling it back on his head.  “No, Ma’am, you don’t.  My brother and I stayed the night.  Just woke up to find him gone.”  He indicated the rig.  “Can I take care of this for you?”

She continued to regard him for a moment.  Then, her lips twitched.  “That’s very sweet of you….”

“Greg, Ma’am.  Greg Webb.”

He took the reins in one hand and then offered her the other.  The woman took it and stepped down and out of the carriage.  As she did, the Chinese girl made her own way out and quickly came to her side.

He’d been to San Francisco before.  He’d been just a young spark then and Monty had boxed his ears every time he looked at the pretty black-haired women standing outside of the establishments they’d sometimes pass.  ‘You’re lookin’ at a big T there, boy,’ he’d say.  “Nothing to do with takin’ a drink, and all to do with trouble.’

He knew Monty was right.  Still, he’d been fascinated by the China girls’ shimmering hair, by their onyx eyes and ruby red lips.  He’d admired their small slender bodies clothed in silk  and wrapped in perfection, and wondered what it would feel like to circle one of those hourglass waists with his hands.  It wasn’t that he had sinful thoughts – not really – though he had dreamed of those red lips touching his.  In some ways China girls were like a butterflies, something beautiful and just beyond reach.

Someone cleared their throat.

Greg looked up to find the older woman watching him.  She wasn’t exactly laughing.

But it came close.

Holding out her hand, she said, “I’m pleased to meet you, Greg.  My name is Rosey.”  With a slight tip of her head, she added, “This is Ming-hua, my business associate.”

The young man looked from one to the other.  “Business associate?”

The Chinese girl’s lips quirked.  Her eyes shot to the older woman.  There was amusement in their black depths.

“Ming-hua sews Miss Rosey’s dresses,” she said.

“And about every third dress in Eagle Station!” Rosey added with enthusiasm.   “Don’t let her fool you.  I’ve never met as shrewd a businesswoman.  I’m just along for the ride!”

“Rosey!”

Greg stepped back as both women turned and a large powerful-looking man stepped out of the ranch house.  This had to be the legendary Ben Cartwright.  He was a tall man, over six feet, with richly tanned skin and a commanding presence.  He was dressed much like his workers in a storm-blue work shirt with a calfskin vest and brown trousers.  His hair was the color of a stormy sky – deep grey with flashes of silver.  His eyes, well, they were near as black as Ming-hua’s.

But not near as pretty.

After greeting the women, the rancher turned his attention to him. “You’re certainly looking better than you did last night, young man,” he said with an easy, friendly smile.

Greg nodded.  “Thank you, sir, for the bunk.”

“Have you had breakfast?”

He was a little startled.  “No, sir.  I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Why don’t you join us in the dining room then?”

His eyes went to Ming-hua.  He sure wouldn’t mind sitting across the table from all that silk perfection.  Still, Monty wasn’t here, so he wasn’t really sure what to do.

“I better wait on Monty.”

Ben Cartwright smiled. “You’ll have a long wait, son.  Monty went to talk to Joshua Manning for me.  I asked Monty to double-check what supplies Josh needs and then to ride on up to the mining camp and check in to see what supplies are needed there as well.  He won’t be back until sundown at the earliest.  I’ll be sending my younger sons, well, at least my one son up to the camp in a couple of days and that way he can take everything with him at once.”  Something entered those near-black eyes – a kind of sadness.  At first he figured it had to do with the boy who was beat up, but then the rancher said, “My oldest is there already.”

“I don’t know, sir,” he replied.  “Somehow…well…it just doesn’t seem right.  Me sitting at your table.   I mean, you don’t know me from Adam.”

Ming-hua giggled as Rosey’s smile broadened.

Greg frowned.  “Did I say something funny?”

“My oldest boy is named Adam,” the rancher replied.  “You’ll be taking his chair.”

“Oh,” he said, and then laughed himself.

Ben Cartwright placed a hand on his shoulder.  It was a familiar and welcoming gesture that caught him completely off-guard.  “Why don’t you come on in,” he said.  “You can meet my other sons as well as enjoy one of our cook’s fine meals.”

“Little Joe is already out of bed?” Rosey asked.  “Did Doctor Martin say it was all right?”

The older man snorted.  “You know Joseph.  Doctor Martin didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“Joseph?” Greg asked.

The older man’s smile was affectionate.  “My youngest.  He’s thirteen going on thirty and about as easily tamed as a wild stallion.  You’ll meet him and Hoss as well.  Hoss is my middle son, he’s six years older than Joseph.”

“And Adam?” Greg asked.

The rancher looked him up and down.  “Around your age, I imagine.”  When he looked uncomfortable, Ben Cartwright asked, “Is something wrong?”

He shrugged.  “Not exactly, sir.  I’m just not sure how old I am. The family Bible was lost, so to speak.  Might be twenty-four, maybe a year more, maybe less.”

“Your brother doesn’t remember the year you were born?” the older man asked, somewhat surprised.

“No, sir.  Monty’s name was in that book too,” he lied, hating to do it.  “He’s not entirely sure either, though he’s got an edge.  A man who knew his parents told him he was born about the same time as the Iowa Territory, so he figures he’s thirty-six.”

That, at least, was true.

“That’s about the same age difference between Joseph and his older brother, Adam.  You two might have a few things to talk about.”

“Pa.”

They all turned.  Greg drew a breath at the sight of the giant form filling the doorway.  Monty was no slouch when it came to size, though he was tall and not broad, but this fellow was both.  He had to top six foot two and looked to be the size of a grizzly on the good side of storing up for winter.

“What is it, Hoss?”

So, this was the rancher’s middle son.  Monty had mentioned him.  Greg wondered if the other two favored Ben Cartwright as this one really didn’t resemble him at all.

He watched as Hoss stepped closer and lowered his voice.  “You’re gonna want to come in soon as you can, Pa.  Joe’s sittin’ at the table.  He ain’t lookin’ so good.  I’m not sure how long he’s gonna last.”

The rancher let out a sigh.  “That brother of yours.  I suppose he came down the stairs on his own in spite of what I told him.”  As Hoss nodded, the older man went on.  “Did you remind Joseph that he’d better mind himself and do as he’s told if he wants me to even consider allowing him to ride up to the logging camp with you in a few days?”

Hoss pursed his lips.  “Yes, sir, I did.  I told him that and that he looked like somethin’ the cat threw back.  But you know Little Joe, that there jaw of his went tight and them nostrils of his flared.”  The big teen snorted.  “Danged, it if didn’t look like he was gonna blow steam out his nose!”

Ben Cartwright shook his head. “I suppose he told you he’s ‘fine’?”

His son chuckled.  “Yes, sir.”

“You’re all half-mule,” the rancher sighed.

“Yes, sir,” Hoss agreed quickly.  “And we know which side it comes from.”

The older man took a mock swing at his son.  Hoss caught his arm and pulled it around his neck and drew him in close.  Laughing, the pair headed into the house.  At the door, the rancher paused and waved them all in.

“Come on in.  You know Hop Sing.  If we don’t sit down to eat soon, he’ll throw the bacon out the window!”

Greg remained where he was, allowing the ladies to go first.  Then he slowly and thoughtfully followed.  This was it.  This was what he’d been missing.

Family.

 

Joe was tired of sitting up and slumping down.  He felt like he was on a wagon seat bumpin’ over a series of hills.  For some reason today Hop Sing kept poppin’ in and out of the dining room when he was least expecting it – almost like he was trying to catch him doing somethin’.

Like lying about how much he hurt.

He’d come down to breakfast on his own, sure as shootin’ that once he got moving he’d feel better.  Well, he didn’t.  He felt worse.  His stomach was tight and his left side felt like someone had kicked him in the ribs – which they kind of had.  He’d sit up straight as a spinster with her corset strings too tight while their cook was in the room and then slump with exhaustion when Hop Sing left.   And then sit up.  And then slump.  He’d just got done sitting up and slumpin’ one more time when the front door opened and Pa walked in with a passel of company.

Danged if he didn’t have to straighten up all over again and – this time – stay straightened up!

Rosey and Ming-hua were with Pa.  And Hoss, of course.  But the other feller he’d never seen before.  He was about Adam’s age from the look of it, with brown hair instead of black.  It wasn’t as curly as his own, but it sure was as thick and the brown waves looked just about as mutinous.  The stranger was a couple of inches shorter than pa and had a thin, kind of reedy build.  As he came closer and paused, waiting for the women to take a seat, Joe saw he had blue eyes tending toward green and one of those faces out of the old paintings in that book about England Adam had.  He had fairly high cheekbones, a long thin nose, and small lips that pursed like they were thinking of kissin’ someone.

“Joseph,” his father said softly, “it’s impolite to stare.”

Joe blinked.  He ducked his head.  “Sorry, Pa.”

His father continued to stare at him.  “Are you feeling all right, son?  Perhaps you should go back to bed.”

He sure must look like something the cat threw back just like Hoss said.

“Pa, really, I’m – ”

“Fine.”  His father’s eyes never left him.  “Yes, I know.”

As Pa helped Rosey to take a seat and then shifted the chair out for Ming-hua, the young man sat down in Adam’s place.  He looked real uncomfortable.  A moment later his father sat down too and he said, “Joseph, this is Gregory Webb.”

“Hi, Gregory,” he said.

The young man shifted.  “Just Greg.  Thanks.”

He tried to hide his smile.  He knew too well what that was all about.  ‘Joseph’ most of the time meant he was in trouble.  He bet ‘Gregory’ meant that too.

“You can call me Joe.”

Greg nodded.  “Joe.”

“Greg and his brother Monty will be helping around the ranch during your recovery, Little Joe.”

He winced.  Twice.  First because Pa used ‘Little’ Joe and, second, because someone had to  cover his tail.

“I’m fine, Pa, really,” he protested.  “I can do my chores.”

“That’s admirable, Joseph.  Before you do that, we need to consult with Doctor Martin.”  He got that look – the warning one out from under Pa’s black eyebrows.  “Unless you think you know better than your physician does.”

Ouch.

Greg gave him a sympathetic look.  The stranger lifted a hand toward his unruly hair and used it to hide the roll of his eyes.

He liked him better every minute.

At that moment Hop Sing made an appearance.  As the man from China sat a plate of bacon on the table, his eyes went right to him.

Joe sat up a little straighter.  The ribs on the left side caught as he did and he tried not to wince.

Hop Sing didn’t miss it.  “Number three son in pain. Should go back to bed.”

How’d he do it?!

“I’m fi —”  Joe clamped his mouth shut.  Maybe a portion of the truth?   “So I hurt a little,” he said with a shrug.  “I’m okay, really.”  His eyes flicked to his father.  “Really Pa.  Adam or Hoss wouldn’t let a little punch in the stomach take them out of the game.”

His father didn’t say anything.  He didn’t have to.  His eyebrows said it all as they jumped toward his gun-metal gray hair.  ‘A little punch in the stomach?’

Pa continued to stare at him for a moment as if assessing his condition, and then – with a sigh – reached for the bacon.  “Why don’t we let Doctor Martin decide that?  He’ll be here this morning to examine you.”

Joe wanted to whine.  In fact, he started to whine.  A short shake of the head on Greg’s part made him think again.  The stranger was right.  Whining would only prove what Pa suspected as true and arguing against the doc examining him would just get him another day in bed and no trip to the mining camp.

“Yes, sir.”

His father dropped his fork at his quick agreement.  He’d kind of dropped his jaw too.

Rosey’s eyes danced as she picked the fork up and held it out to him.  “I think this is yours, Ben?”

Joe decided this was fun – until Hoss reached over and caught him in a bear hug that about squeezed the life out of him.

“How come you’re behavin’ yourself, little brother?  Did I miss that year you spent in reform school?”

“Let me go, you big lummox!” he spat as he twisted to get away.

“Joseph!” his father cautioned.

Too late.

There was a snap!

A moment later – in words that would have gotten his mouth washed out with lye soap – it all went to Hell.

 

Rosey was on her feet in a second.  Little Joe had gasped and gone the color of ash.  Hoss lost most of the color in his face as well.  The teen looked like he could have been knocked over with a feather.  Ben wasn’t much better.  The handsome rancher had shouted his son’s name and then frozen in place, a fork full of bacon halfway to his mouth.

The next few seconds were played out in slow motion, like a magic lantern show winding down.

As Ben’s fork dropped once again to the tabletop and he scooted his chair back, Little Joe made his way out of his.  The look on his face….  Well, the boy obviously knew something was wrong and he was scared.  Tears welled in his green eyes as he turned toward his father and then went down even as Hoss reached for him.  Rosey had known what was coming.  She’d seen enough fights in saloons where one man had struck another in the chest or stomach area, and knew that sound.  Dropping to her knees, she cushioned the boy’s fall even as the light went out of his eyes.

“Good God!” Ben roared as he rounded the table and knelt beside her.  His eyes met hers as he reached for his son whose pale skin was now covered with a sheen of sweat.

Rosey placed her hand on his arm and stopped him from gathering the boy into his arms. “Did you hear it?” she asked.

The rancher scowled.  “Hear what?”

“Pa, I….”  Hoss was nearly as pale as his brother.  “I didn’t mean to hurt him.  You know I wouldn’t do nothin’ to hurt Joe.”

“Of course, I know that,” Ben replied.  “You didn’t do anything – ”

“But Joe was tryin’ to get away from me, Pa!”

Rosey touched the young man’s arm and waited until he looked at her.  “Hoss, why don’t you head out and see if you can meet the doctor coming in?  Paul must be nearly here.  Let him know Joseph has a broken rib.”  She glanced at the boy lying on the floor.  “At least one.”

In the next few seconds, a flurry of activity happened.  Ming-hua rose and went to find Hop Sing in the kitchen.  Hoss grabbed his hat and gun and flew out the door faster than his feet should have taken him.  Greg mumbled something about offering to go with Hoss and disappeared as well.  And Ben – poor worried Ben – he began to pace, walking back and forth, needing to take action but forced to inaction by a fear of moving his son.

Rosey continued to sit on the floor, holding the boy, thinking of the times she had done this for her own son – when Rory was sick, that time he’d passed out from too much heat.  Tears threatened to fall as she called out, “Could you get a pillow, Ben?”  When Joe’s father failed to respond, she raised her voice.  “Little Joe would be more comfortable if we could prop him on his side.  Can you get a pillow?”

Ben stopped.  He stared at his son whose breathing was now rapid and shallow.  “Joseph was…fine,” he said.

Rosey sighed as she reached out to brush the boy’s sweat-soaked curls off of his forehead.  “Obviously, Little Joe was not entirely truthful with you,” she said, her words softened with an affectionate and understanding smile.

“But a broken rib?  How could Paul have missed that?”

She ran a hand along Little Joe’s forehead, wiping some of the perspiration away.  “Most likely it cracked during Butch’s attack.  You can’t always diagnose a cracked rib as the break could be to the inside of the ribcage.  You saw how he was sitting so stiffly.  It was obvious Joe was in pain.”

“I should never have let him come down to breakfast.”

Just as the self-recriminations began, the front door burst open and Hoss flew in.  “Pa, Paul’s here!” he announced.

“Thank God!” Ben breathed.

The physician was placing his hat on the credenza.  As Hoss accepted his discarded coat, Paul Martin took the few steps to Little Joe’s side.  Leaning down, he touched the boy’s forehead gently, checking for fever, and then ran his hands down both sides of Joe’s chest.

“Damn,” he said.

“What is it?” Ben demanded.

“It’s a lower rib,” Paul said as he stood.  “It’s rare for one of those to break since they’re pretty protected.  Butch must have hit it just right.”  He sighed. “Or wrong.”

“Why didn’t you spot it before?”  Ben’s tone was accusatory in spite of what she’d said.

Paul Martin turned on his old friend.  “You know full well that I don’t have the ability to see inside of someone, Ben!  I felt along Joe’s ribs and they seemed to be all right.  It was probably a hairline fracture or crack on the inside.  It had to be causing him pain, which Little Joe failed to report!  When he tried to get away from Hoss, well, it was just his misfortune to have turned wrong and caused it to snap.”  The physician paused.  “Actually it’s better it happened here at home.  If Joe had been on the trail….”

Doctor Martin’s words hung on the air for a moment before Ben asked, “Do you want me to have Hoss carry Joseph upstairs?” Paul’s hesitation made him ask another question instead of waiting for an answer.  “What’s wrong?”

“The rib Joe broke is anchored to the breastbone.  Like I said, it’s a hard one to break, but if you do break it, the broken ends can cause damage to the spleen, liver, or kidneys.”  Paul let out another sigh.  “Joe certainly does have a talent for making erroneous choices.”

“What do we need to do, Doc?” Hoss asked.

“I think it’s best if we bind it somewhat before we attempt to move him.  If Hop Sing could – ”

Before Paul could finish speaking the man from China appeared.  Following close behind him was Ming-hua.  The pair were carrying all the trappings of the medical care Little Joe needed to receive – water, bandages, salves.  As Hoss hovered nervously and Ben paced like a caged tiger, the physician set about temporarily binding Joe’s ribs.  Once he felt sure he had them secured enough to shift the boy, he signaled Hoss to move in.  Cradling Little Joe as he would a newborn baby, Ben’s middle boy bore his re-injured brother up the stairs and to his room.  Ben started to follow.

Paul Martin stopped him.

“Ben, you go outside and get some fresh air.  You look like you’re about to follow Joe to the floor,” he ordered, his tone as stern as the handsome rancher’s had ever been.  “I’m going to give Little Joe a dose of laudanum.  You know that boy.  I need to keep him still while I examine that break more closely and recheck his other ribs.  He’ll sleep until at least suppertime, and maybe longer.”

“I should sit with Joseph,” Ben protested.

“There will be plenty of time for that,” the doctor replied.  It was then Paul looked at her.  “Will you ask him to go outside, Rosey?  The Ben Cartwright I know is a gentleman and would never turn down a lady,” he added with a weary smile.

Rosey glanced the way Ben was staring – up the stairs – then she took a step toward him and linked her arm through his.  “Come with me, Ben,” she said softly.  “Let the doctor do his work.”

He started.  “Eh?”

The older woman smiled. “Why don’t you and I go for a short walk?”

Ben’s concerned gaze turned to the doctor, who nodded.  “Take a break, Ben.  Joe’s going to be in a lot of pain when he wakes.  It’s going to be a long day and maybe longer night.”

Finally, the handsome rancher nodded.

As they stepped out the door, Ben said, “I should send someone to tell Adam.”

“I can do that, sir.”

They both jumped.  It was Greg, of course, standing on the porch, trying to keep out of the way.

Ben nodded. “Thank you, son.”  He inclined his head toward a man standing by the corral fence.  “Just ask Dan.  He can direct you there.”

Greg tipped his hat and was on his way.

“He seems like a good man,” Ben said as they began to move.

Rosey nodded.  “Yes, he does.  We’re fortunate he was here.”

Ben turned to her with a slight smile curling his lips.  “We’re?”

She started and then laughed. “You are, of course.”  After a second she added softly, “It’s just…well….”

He waited and then finished for her.  “You have a deep affection for my youngest.”

She didn’t want to think it was just because Little Joe reminded her of her own lost boy, but it could have been.  Still, the more she came to know Ben Cartwright’s youngest, the more that smile and unstoppable nature of his had cajoled their way into her heart.

“For all your boys,” she said, and then admitted, “but, yes, Little Joe is one of a kind.”  Rosey lifted her head and smiled at him.  “Like his father.”

Ben stared down at her, and then raised a hand to chase a stray lock of hair out of her eyes.  “As are you,” he said, his voice soft.

They’d been here at another time, right before she and Ming-hua headed for her home in the Sierras to close it down preparatory to moving to Eagle Station.  She’d known then they stood on the knife’s edge of falling in love.

Not quite sure what she needed to do with that, Rosey looked away toward the wooden swing at the edge of the yard.  Taking Ben’s hand in her own again, she drew him that direction.

“You know,” she said as they walked, “when I was a little girl there was nothing I loved more than to swing.  We had this old Live Oak near our place.  My father found a sturdy branch and hung a wide wooden seat from it.”  She paused, remembering the hardships that her family had faced when they reached the town that was to become present day San Francisco.  Life had been difficult, even before the illness that carried her parents away.  When she was anxious or weary, she’d go out to that old swing and pump her legs and fly high over her troubles.

That’s where they’d found her after she ran away from the funeral.

Ben helped her to sit and then took a seat beside her.  For a moment, neither of them said anything.

“Rosey….” he began.

She shushed him.  “I know,” she replied as she began to pump with her legs, setting the swing in motion.  “But we’re not two teeners who can go and act on their emotions, are we?  We both have responsibilities. I have Ming-hua and you have three young sons who need your time and attention.”

“I have enough time and attention for one more,” he replied.

She eyed him as she continued to swing.  “Do you?  After you add the thousand acres of land, the thousands of steers and hundreds of horses, the mines and logging camps, as well as keeping pace with all the paperwork it entails?”

“You make me sound like one of those men whose obituaries takes up a full page of the paper,” he huffed.

Rosey glanced at him.  “You are.”

Ben put his foot down and brought them to a somewhat abrupt halt.  “No.   I’m not.”

She stared at him, puzzled.

“Those men are remembered for what they did – for their business triumphs, their enterprising nature, for the busy-ness of their lives.”  He shook his head.  “No, you can sum my life up in a few sentences.”

“Oh?”

“Ben Cartwright.  Man, loving husband to three wives, and father to three of the finest sons God ever gifted to man.  He loved his Lord first, then his family, and then mankind.”  He paused and a smile lit his eyes.  “Though deeply flawed and imperfect, Ben did his best to leave a legacy of love behind.”

She had never met anyone like him.

Ben rose to his feet, a little bit stiffly, as if the events of the last few days were beginning to catch up to him.  As he offered her a hand, he said, “I should get inside to check on Joseph.  I hope you know you and Ming-hua are welcome to stay here as long as you like.  You can have your old rooms.” He looked her up and down and she could see his eyes liked what they saw.  “You’re a little taller than Marie.  I have some of her…things…if you need something comfortable to…sleep…in….”

Her thoughts weren’t wicked – not exactly – but her smile was.  “Ben Cartwright, you’re blushing!”

“Blushing?” he blustered.  “No, I’m not.  It’s just a little hot out here.”

Rosey looked the handsome rancher up and down and let out her own little sigh.

It certainly was.

 

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

FIVE

 

Adam Cartwright glanced at the sun where it hung on the far side of noon, and then turned and looked back toward home.  It had been a couple of days and he’d expected Hoss, and maybe Joe, to arrive at the mining camp by this time.  This mine in particular was new.  It promised to deliver a good amount of various ores and even held the promise of silver. He’d been excited when it was discovered.  Mines were one place where his engineering expertise was valued.  He’d been proud that he could use his education to benefit the Ponderosa and maybe pay his father back a bit for its exorbitant cost.

Had been.

Today every move he made, each decision wasn’t a labor of love – it was just labor.

The determined young man had made his mind up to go and now that he had, it was chafing at him to stay.  Still, he knew he couldn’t just up and leave.  Not with Little Joe down and his father counted out since his baby brother apparently couldn’t wipe his own hind end without help.

No, that wasn’t fair.

Adam ran a hand over his eyes and shook his head.  Anyone reading his thoughts would have believed his father was correct and that he hated his brother.  He didn’t.  He loved Joe.

That love was a big part of why he felt he had to go away.

It went without saying that Little Joe needed their pa more than him.  After all, Joe was still a boy.  He needed their father’s hand – his guidance – as he grew into a man.  What Joe didn’t need was a big brother coming between them, and he’d come to see that was exactly what he was doing.  He’d second-guessed his father in the situation with Butch and he’d been wrong to do so.  He’d acted as if he was Joe’s father.

Adam snorted.  Maybe he’d better hope he never had any kids!

“Somethin’ funny?” a voice asked.

He turned to find Monty Webb standing behind him.  He’d been grateful for Monty’s help the last two days.  It was amazing really, the man seemed to have a little knowledge about just about everything.

“Not really,” Adam replied as he turned toward the cowboy.  “Just thinking about my little brother.”

“You’re worried about him.”

Was he?  Did he really think Joe couldn’t wipe his own hind end?

With chagrin, he admitted, “I guess I am.”

“Cute kid,” Monty said as he spat some juice.  “Kind of puny.”

Adam nodded.  He, Pa, and Hoss had enough muscle, height, and weight between them to take on just about anyone or anything.  Joe on the other hand, was – to put it bluntly – vulnerable.  They all knew it.

That’s why they were so paranoid about him.

He shrugged.  “He’ll bulk out one day.  Pa says he was kind of scrawny himself when he was young.”

Monty snorted.  “That’s hard to believe lookin’ at that mountain of a man.”

Yes.  His father was a mountain of a man, and a mountain cast a big, nearly inescapable shadow.

“You still thinkin’ of leavin’?” the blond man asked, sensing his mood.

“No,” he replied.  “I’m not ‘thinking’ about it.  I’m doing it.”

Monty searched for and held his gaze.  “Mind if I say somethin’?”

“Go ahead.”

“It’s all about perspective, you see.  A young man like you, well, he wants to be his own man.  He don’t want people thinkin’ of him as his pa’s son, or his ma’s, or even as a young man.  Now I ain’t sayin’ you’re a rash kind of fellow, but young men tend to leap before they look.”

Adam shook his head.  “That’s Joe, not me.”

The older man nodded.  “Right.  Well, the way I see it there’s two ways of lookin’ at bein’ in another man’s shadow.  The first is that you find it heavy, like a mountain of rock tumblin’ on top  of you.  Like somethin’ you need to outpace and escape.”

“And the second way?”

“I spent a good many years in the desert.  When your horse is lost and you’re on foot and you’re fightin’ just to keep your head up and survive, there’s nothin’ finer than a shadow.”  He paused and then abruptly shifted subjects.  “I’m figurin, with that Pa of yours, that you know the Good Book pretty well?”

“Yes,” he said.

“You remember what that feller Isaiah said in Chapter twenty-five about refuge?”

Adam thought a moment.  Then, he had it.

For You have been a refuge from the storm, a shade from the heat; For the breath of the ruthless is like a rain storm against a wall. Like heat in drought, you subdue the uproar of aliens, like heat by the shadow of a cloud, the song of the ruthless is silenced.     

In other words a shadow could be a safe harbor.

Adam’s lips twisted up at one end.  “You don’t exactly strike me as the church-going type, Monty.”

“Man don’t need to go to church to know God,” he replied with a smile.  “There’s room in the saddle bag for a good book.”

Adam smiled too.  “I guess there is.”

“Ain’t changed your mind though, have I?”

He laughed.  “After working with me a couple of days, you know me so well?”

Monty’s light eyes glistened.  “Hell, no.  But I think I know your pa.”

Before he could respond to that, the sound of hoof beats cut through the still afternoon air that had been disturbed before only by the sound of hammering. They were coming fast, which was not a good sign.

“Go and check on the men’s progress, will you, Monty?  I’ll see who this is.”

The blond man nodded and turned on his heel.  As he disappeared into the mine the rider appeared.

It was Monty’s brother Greg.

“Is something wrong?” Adam asked as Greg dismounted and headed for him. The young man was winded and his horse looked like he’d been riding hard.

“Yeah.  Sorry it took so long to get up here.  I got stuck helping some folks whose wagon broke down and was blockin’ the road.  Took me ‘til dark, and then I had to wait for the morning light.”  Greg took off his hat, beat it against his thigh to dislodge the dust, and then plunked it back on his disorderly brown hair.  “Your pa sent me up to let you know Little Joe’s hurt.”

Adam was confused.  He already knew Joe was hurt.  Unless….

“You mean again?”

Greg nodded.  “Seems when that boy, Butch, head-butted him, it cracked one of his ribs.  It gave way at breakfast yesterday morning.”

A pit opened in his stomach.  He had caused this.  Him, and his meddling!

“Good Lord!  Is he going to be all right?”

The young man shrugged.  “The Doc seemed to think so.  He’s a tough kid.  I’m sure he’ll okay.”

“Because you know my brother so well!” Adam snapped, and then instantly regretted it.  “Sorry, Greg.  I’m just worried about Joe.”

Greg smiled. “It’s no skin off my nose.  I know all about older brothers.”  He paused and then asked, “You want me to take any word back, or are you coming yourself?”

Adam thought a moment.  “Tell Pa I’m going to finish up what’s important here and then I’ll come home.”

Yes, he’d go home – for a bit.  He needed to see for himself that Little Joe would be all right.  There was no way he could leave without knowing.  Pa wasn’t aware of it, but before he’d left the ranch house, he’d secured everything he needed in a wagon and had one of the hands drive it up ahead of him.  It was his intention to take off for parts unknown once the work at the mining camp was done.

It had not been his intention to go back home.

Greg nodded.  “Mind if I get some water and grub and say ‘hello’ to Monty before I go back?”

He nodded.  “You do look tired.  Go ahead.”

“Thanks, Adam.”

As Greg walked away, Adam considered the words Monty had said to him.  Maybe he had misjudged his father.  After all, it was a known fact that Pa and Little Joe had a lot in common and that included a rather short fuse.  It didn’t change his mind about going, not really.  He still felt that – for the family as well as himself – it would be for the best.  He was all too aware of what happened when there were two bosses.  Mostly mistakes.

Like what had happened with Little Joe.

No, he’d still go, but he wouldn’t take off without saying goodbye or working with his father to make sure the tasks that were his were allotted to other trustworthy men.  He’d go home and wait until he knew Joe was all right and then he’d take off.

Then, once he had the Ponderosa out of his system, he’d decide whether or not he was ever coming back.

 

Rosey O’Rourke heard the sound of horse’s hoofs beating against the packed earth of the ranch house yard.  She rose from the settee where she’d been reading and went to the door.  Opening it, she looked out.  The man who had ridden in was already off his horse and headed for the watering trough.  When he caught sight of her, he tipped his hat and indicated it.

“Mind if I water my horse?”

She’d heard Ben give permission to strangers enough times.  “Go ahead.”

The man was tall and lean.  His scruff of a beard was thick with trail dust as were his red shirt and blue janes.  He had a black bandana tied around his throat and his wiry sheep’s wool gray hair was topped with a black Stetson.

“Day’s gettin’ hot,” he said as he removed the hat and dipped his head under the water coming out of the pump.  With a shake of his graying mane, he replaced the hat and turned toward her.  “My horse and me thank you, ma’am.”

Something about the stranger – she could not say what – was unsettling.  It might have been the way his left hand lingered near his gun, or the fact that the brim of his hat masked his eyes.  Or maybe it was just the way he looked at her, as if sizing her up.  He’d made no threatening move or done anything to alarm her, but alarmed she was.

She wished Ben was here instead of upstairs watching over Little Joe.

The man’s next question only intensified the feeling.  “You got a husband around?”

Rosey hesitated – about a second.  “Yes, he’s in the house.  So is my son.”

The man’s pale eyes – they were as gray as his hair – flicked to the open door behind her. “All right if I talk to him?”

She shook her head. “Our youngest has been injured.  He’s tending to him.”

He nodded his understanding.  “Then maybe you can tell me what I need to know, ma’am.  Have you seen two cowpokes riding through these parts?  Tall fellow with blond hair, goes by the name of Monty.  Got a young’un with him, name of Greg.”

Rosey hesitated.  What should she say?

After a moment’s consideration, she replied, “A pair like that rode through.  They didn’t say where they were going.  May I ask why you are asking?”

The lips below the hat brim curled in a smile.  “Sure can.  They’re my brothers.  I’m trying to catch up to them.”

Greg was twenty-five and she’d placed Monty in his mid to late thirties.  This man looked like he was forty-five or more.  She supposed it was possible.

“Ain’t got the same Ma if you’re wonderin’,” he added.

“I’m sure it’s none of my business.”

The stranger snorted.  “Out here, a woman facin’ a man alone?  It’s sure as hell your business.”

“Rosey, is there a problem?”

She turned and with relief found Ben standing in the doorway.

“Darling!” she exclaimed, walking up to him and pleading with her eyes for understanding.  “This man has come here asking about Monty and Greg Webb.  I told him I wasn’t sure where they were.”

She saw the dark brows lift.  She doubted the other man did.

Ben slipped his arm around her waist.  “Rosey wasn’t aware I hired the pair and sent them out on a job. May I ask what you want with them?”

The man hesitated, then he reached up and removed his hat.  Rosey held her breath, wondering if he would be familiar.

He wasn’t.

At least, well….

She didn’t think he was.

“Name’s Finch.  Finch Webb.  Pardon my dust, Mister.  I been on the trail for more than a month now looking for those two yahoos.  We was just comin’ off a big cattle drive and lost track of each other at the corner of Idaho and Nevada.”

“Monty didn’t mention anything about an older brother,” the rancher countered.

“I bet you didn’t ask neither.”

Ben chuckled.  “No, I didn’t.”

Finch’s eyes went past them to the house.  “You say you got a sick young’un?”

“It’s nothing contagious.  The boy has a broken rib.”

“Oh, I ain’t worried about contagion.  Been exposed to just about everythin’ on God’s green earth that can kill a man and made it through.  I was just wonderin’.  Weren’t too long ago Greg was a little scallywag.”  Finch returned the hat to his head and anchored it, once again, over his eyes.  “If you could just tell me the way they went, I’ll be going after them.”

Ben thought a moment.  “Actually Greg is due back here any time.  He left night before last to run an errand for me.  Why don’t you come inside and join us for supper and then you can wait in the bunkhouse.  You look like you could use a good meal.”

The man smiled.  It was an odd little smile that lifted the corners of his lips but made it only partway to those shadowed eyes.

Rosey shivered.

She hoped Ben knew what he was doing.

“You won’t get any argument from me,” Finch replied.  “Thank you, sir.  Ma’am.”

“Ben will do.”  He glanced at her.  “This is Rosey.”

“Rosey.  I heard that before.  That ‘s a right beautiful name, ma’am.  Just right for a beautiful lady.  One I only heard a couple of times before.”

Her eyes narrowed.  There was something about the way he spoke….  No.  She didn’t know him.  Everything that had happened just had her on edge.

“Thank you,” she said at last.

“The wash house is over there.  Go and get cleaned up and then come on inside,” Ben said.  “Supper will be ready in about a half an hour.”

“I owe you one,” Finch said and, with another tip of his hat, was gone.

Rosey let out a big sigh of relief.

“Is something wrong?” Ben asked her.

What could she tell him?  She didn’t like the smell of the man?

“No, nothing.  I’m just a little weary.”

She felt Ben’s strong hand on her back, supporting her, turning her toward the house.  As they reached the door, he said – a hint of humor in his near-black eyes, “You know, Mrs. Cartwright, your husband is a very jealous man.  He might just beat the daylights out of that fellow if he catches you talking to him again.”

Rosey turned to look back.  Then she stepped across he threshold.

She certainly hoped Ben didn’t have a need to do just that!

 

“Boy sit up and cough!”

“Ah, Hop Sing, leave…me alone.  I just wanna sleep.”

“Boy no sleep.  He sit up.  He cough like doctor ordered!”

Joe moaned.  It hurt enough just to sit up.  Coughing was worse.

“Ain’t you got a meal to…serve or something?”

“Serve meal after boy cough!”

“Maybe I’ll just…cough all over your meal!” he threatened.

“Boy not allowed at table.  Boy velly sick for two days.  Engage in foolishment.  Break rib.  Only have self to blame!”  Joe felt a hand on his pillow.  He knew what was coming next.  It would be pulled out from under his head if he didn’t move.  “Number three son of Mister Cartwright sit up now!”

“Okay, okay….”  Joe drew a breath as he readied his body and then, anchoring his hands by twisting the linens in his fingers, pushed himself into a half-seated position.  “There!  Are you happy?”

“Not sit high enough.”

“I don’t see no mountain in this room, do you?  This is as high as I can climb!”

“What’s all the ruckus about in here?” a cheerful voice asked even as Hoss’ head appeared in the crack between the wall and the door.  “You givin’ old Hop Sing trouble, little brother?” he finished as he entered the room.

“He’s givin’ me trouble!” Joe shouted.  “Don’t you know I got a broken rib?!”

“Well, if he didn’t, it’s a sure thing old Hop Sing does now!” Hoss replied.  He crossed to the bed and looked at him where he was lying halfway down the pillows, all scrunched up like a badger trying to fit into a rabbit hole. “You need some help, little brother?”

Joe boxed Hoss’ arm away.  The effort sent waves of pain through his tired body and set him to shaking.

“I can do it…myself….”

“Sure you can, Little brother.  But there’s no need to.”  Before he could say anything, Hoss swooped in and reached around him.  Locking his arms under his armpits, he lifted up.

Everything went black for a second.

“You okay, Little Joe?  I didn’t hurt you none again, did I?”

Joe wanted to shout ‘YES!’, but he heard the hurt in Hoss’ voice.  His brother was blaming himself for the busted rib, even if it was Butch’s fault.

“I’m…fine,” he managed through gritted teeth.  “Now get off me, you big ox!”

“Number two son not let go,” Hop Sing ordered.  “Not until number three cough!”

“Oh, for the love of – ”

“Is there a problem, young man?”

Joe froze.  Hoss froze.  Even Hop Sing looked chilly.

“Hi…hi, Pa.”  Joe said sheepishly.  He looked to his older brother.  Hoss just shook his head.  “Hoss…was just, well, helping me…into position so I could cough.  Weren’t you…Hoss?”

“Sure was, Pa.”  Hoss’s big hand moved to his back and his voice took on a hidden meaning.  “I was just thinkin’ about poundin’ him a bit to get things goin’.”

Joe’s eyes went wide with alarm.  It was what they all needed.

Pa let loose with a long, loud laugh.

“You two.  You are incorrigible!” the older man said, wiping away a tear away.  “What am I going to do with you?”

As always, Hop Sing had the answer.

“Mister Hoss go to table and eat!  Mister Ben too!”  The man from China pointed a finger at him.  “Little Joe cough!”

“Every…hour?” he asked, knowing that was the doctor’s instruction.

Hop Sing crossed his arms and scowled.  “Every hour.  Keep boy from getting pneumonia.”

“Even…over…night?”

“Over night too,” his father replied.

Joe looked from one warden to the other.

It sure was going to be a long one.

 

Ben Cartwright took his seat at the table.  His eyes lingered for a moment on his youngest’s empty chair and then sought out Hoss who was opening the door.  He heard his son welcome their guest and then watched as Finch ambled his way over.  Like his sons, Finch, Monty, and Greg Webb bore little resemblance to each other, though he could see something of a familial resemblance between the older two.  With their ages being so disparate, it was likely there were at least two mothers.  Such was the way of the west where the life a man chose was a hard one for a woman to survive.

“Evening, Mister Cartwright,” Finch said as Hoss directed him to the end of the table.  “Thanks again for the invite to supper.”

“You’re welcome.”

“We three it?” Finch asked as he sat down.

Ben had just finished arranging his napkin on his lap.  He looked up and said, “No, though my son, Joseph, will be eating in his room, Rosey and Ming-hua will be joining us.  They are our guests at the moment.”

As if on cue the two women made their appearance at the top of the stairs.  One of his hands had gone into town the day before to retrieve some of their belongings.  Both had changed clothes.  The long silk coat Ming-hua wore was cut of a deep blue cloth and hand-embroidered with a field of elegant spring flowers.  She wore it over a pair of trousers.  Rosey, well…  Rosey was simply stunning in a deep crimson satin day suit with a plunging neckline.

The pair were a vision.

“I suppose it isn’t polite to whistle,” Finch said as he rose to his feet along with him and Hoss.

Both ladies moved to the table.  Ming-hua sat in the chair Joseph usually filled while Rosey took the seat opposite.  Hoss helped her to sit down and then took his place beside her.  Ben noted with pleasure that Finch did the same thing with the young Chinese woman, showing he accepted her without question.

After that, the food was served.  The conversation was subdued, partially due to his own fatigue and the fact that there was a stranger at the table.  Still, they had a good time and walked away feeling satisfied.  As Hoss took a tray up to Joseph’s room, the rancher directed his guests into the great room and then followed.  He thought, perhaps, a bit of brandy might loosen tongues and liven things up.  Eventually Finch began to ask questions and Rosey told him about her recent move and opening the millinery.  There were times, while she was talking, that he caught an odd expression on her face, almost as if she were reluctant to share.

He decided he would have to ask her about it in private later.

It took more to coax Ming-hua out of her shell.  When Finch asked her a direct question, the lovely young woman hemmed and hawed and then found a reason to join Hop Sing in the kitchen.  Freedom was still a new concept to the once China girl.  Ben hoped in time she would catch hold of it and run with it for all she was worth.  There was much Ming-hua could contribute to Eagle Station society.

Much that she already had.

A short time later, after Hoss had returned and engaged Rosey in a games of checkers, there came a knock at the door.  His middle son rose to answer it, but he waved him down and headed over himself to see who it was.  Before he could get there, the knock sounded again, so whoever was outside was in a hurry.  When he opened the door, he knew why.

The impatience of youth.

“Good evening, Greg,” Ben said as he opened the door wide enough for the young man to step in.  “I expected you yesterday.  Did you make it to the camp all right?”

“I sure did, Mister Cartwright,” Greg answered as he took off his hat.  “It took longer than I hoped.  I had to help an old couple on the way up.  Wagon broke down.  Then I stayed a while to visit with my brother and take a short rest.  I hope you don’t mind.”  He paused.  “Adam said it would be all right.”

He wasn’t about to second-guess his oldest at this point.  “How was Adam?”

“He’s heading this way shortly.  Said he wanted to finish up a little work at the mine, but he should be home by tomorrow morning.  Monty’s coming with him.”

Ben let out a sigh.  Adam was coming home.

Perhaps there was hope after all.

“You told him about what happened to Little Joe?”

“Yes, sir.  That’s why he’s coming.   He wants to make sure his brother’s all right.”

Ben recognized the incomplete sentence.  ‘…before he goes.’

“Well, thank you for riding to the camp,” the older man said as he looked back toward the hearth area.  “Why don’t you join us for a drink?”

“Thank you, sir.  I think Ill just go the bunkhouse.”

“What’s your hurry, kid?” Finch Webb asked as he rose and turned toward them.  “Or should I say, ‘little brother’?”

Ben didn’t know what kind of a reaction he’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t the one he got.  All of the color drained out of the young man’s face.  Greg’s brow furrowed, the action narrowing his eyes, even as his lips parted.

What the young man said surprised him even more – especially the note of challenge it contained.

“Finch.  What the hell are you doing here?”

 

***********

SIX

 

Something had been gnawing at Rosey from the moment she sat down in the dining room and really looked at the man with the kinky gray hair sitting opposite her.  She’d seen him outside before, of course, but out there – between the hat and the diminishing light – his features had been masked.  Now, she could see him clearly and she was sure of one thing.  She knew him.

Somehow, she knew him.

It seemed to her that when she had, his hair had been dark blond instead of gray.  Obviously, he would have been much younger.  In her mind’s eye, he was thinner too.  The pale narrowed eyes and lips pulled in a taut line were the same.  What she didn’t remember was the scar running from the tip of his left eyebrow down almost to the bottom of his lips.  That was different.  Then again, that did nothing to exclude him from the possibility of being whoever she thought he was.

The rest of it went a long way toward explaining why she’d thought she might have seen Finch Webb’s younger brother, Monty, before as well.  Though there were obvious differences – shape of face, body build – the two looked enough alike to mark them as brothers.  Greg was another matter.  He was as dark as they were light, with an entirely different shape and face.  A different mother, too, she supposed.

At the moment Greg and Finch were at a stand-off.  Neither one had moved.

“Is that any way to greet your brother?” the older man asked, his tone slightly menacing.

Greg hadn’t quite found his voice again.  He cleared his throat, seeking it, and then replied.  “Sorry, Finch, you startled me.”

The gray-haired man stepped closer and took hold of the boy’s arm at the elbow.  His lips curled in a half-smile as he said, “Now, little brother, you didn’t think I’d let you get away from me, did you?”

You didn’t think I’d let you get away from me.  Did you?

Rosey gasped, and then hid the cry behind a cough.  When all the men in the room looked at her, she forced a smile.  “Sorry.  I’ve been fighting a bit of a cold.”

She saw Ben go on the alert.  He knew she didn’t lie, just as surely as he knew she was lying now.  The rancher seemed to consider his best action for a moment before addressing Greg.

“Why don’t you join us, Greg?  We were sharing some brandy.”

Greg’s eyes were fixed on Finch’s as if he had no thoughts of his own, but had to wait on his brother to supply them.

The older man’s grip loosened as he circled the boy’s shoulder with his arm.  “Greg and me, we got a lot to catch up on.  You got a bunk here, boy?”

Rosey watched the young man’s reaction.  It was plain he didn’t want to go with him.

If Finch Webb was who she thought he was, she understood completely! Feeling guilty, she prayed Greg would accept his brother’s invitation.  She needed to talk to Ben alone – to let him know what she thought she knew.

“Yeah, I got a bunk.  Right next door,” Greg sighed.

Finch’s grip tightened on the boy’s shoulders.  “Well, then, let’s you and me go and have a good long talk.”  As he herded Greg toward the door, the  gray-haired man turned back.  “Thank you for the dinner and libation, Mister Cartwright.”

Ben was still frowning.  “Come back again,” he said half-heartedly.

The man smiled – a broad, generous smile – expect that it wasn’t generous,  it was miserly.

And all about him.

“Oh, I will, Mister Cartwright, I will, and real soon.”  Finch glanced at the boy he had pinioned to his side.  “And thanks for looking out for my little brother here.  Who knows what kind of trouble he could have got himself into without you kind folks around?”

Rosey felt a new lease on life when the door closed behind them.  She reached out with a hand to catch the back of the settee to steady herself.

Ben was at her side in an instant to keep her from falling.

“Rosey.  For Heaven’s sake!  What is it?”

Words failed her.  Her inner eye was trained on a horror she couldn’t express.  She could see the tall lanky man with the curly blond hair still, his legs spread wide, straddling her supine form where she lay on the floor of the saloon, her lip bleeding; breathing hard.  She’d never known his real name.  He went by Strong Arm Sten and had been the bouncer at the palace where she’d sold herself.  Sten was one of the reasons she’d run from the life she had known.  He’d made it clear that he would have her or else.  She had laughed it off – not taken him seriously.

The result of which had been a dead husband and son.

Ben moved her to the settee and then sat beside her.  His hands were the hands of a working man, slightly rough and powerful.  She fell into their strength as he circled her with one arm and cupped her cheek with his hand.

“Rosey?  What is it?  Can you tell me?”

Could she?

Should she?

She wasn’t entirely sure this man was Sten and yet, who else could it be?  She knew those cool, calculating gray eyes, that line of a mouth, and the tilt of that steel-wool head.  Sten had wanted her when she’d worked the upper boxes, but it hadn’t been allowed.  When she chose to leave because of Pat, the bouncer had come to her, sure she would choose him over a city doctor – certain she was as infatuated with him as he was with her.  He went too far and ended up in prison before taking his revenge and then, simply disappeared.  How had he found her?

Why had he found her?

“Rosey!” Ben’s sharp tone brought her back to the present.

She blew out her fear in a puff of air.  “I can’t be sure, Ben, but I think I know that man.”

“You can’t be sure?” he asked.

It had been so many years.

She squared her shoulders and turned toward him.  “He’s changed.  Like you, like…me.  But if I am right, Ben, then you, your sons, and everyone in this house is in danger!?”

Her voice had taken on a slightly hysterical tone.  It brought Hoss to their side.  “Somethin’ wrong, Pa?”

Ben looked up at his son.  “There may be.  Rosey thinks the Webbs have not been entirely honest with us.  She believes she knows the oldest one.”

Hoss’ eyes flicked to her.  “From before, Miss Rosey?  If you pardon my bringin’ up somethin’ what ain’t my business in the least.”

She nodded.  “Yes, from…before.  I think he’s….  I believe….”  She straightened up and drew in a deep breath.  “I believe he’s the man who murdered my husband and son.”

Ben’s grip on her tightened.  “Did he recognize you?  Rosey, do you think he did?”

“I’m sure he did,” she answered, her voice a pale whisper of what it should have been.  “If I knew him, he had to know me.”

“How do you s’pose Greg’s mixed up in all of this, Pa?” his son asked.  “He seems like such a nice feller.  Monty too.”

Rosey noted the wheels turning in Ben’s agile brain, weighing the risk to her against the risk to his family.  “Why don’t you go out, son, and see if you can find the pair of them,” he said. “Make up some excuse about checking on tomorrow’s work schedule.  See how Greg’s doing.”

The big man nodded.  “Sure, Pa.  Back in two ticks.”

 

Ben Cartwright studied the trembling woman before him.  Rosey’s lightly tanned skin had gone pale as bone against the deep crimson background of her dress and she was shaking like a leaf in a winter wind.  He tore his eyes from her to glance at the door through which Hoss had gone, wishing for all the world that he had his other two strong sons at his side instead of one hurting upstairs and the other hurting at the mining camp.  Most of the men were out with the herd.  He’d left only a skeleton crew at the house.  There had been no threat.  No danger.  Or so he thought.

How could he have been such a fool?  There was always danger in the West.

Taking Rosey by the hand, he pulled her to her feet. “We need to get you to a place of safety, you and Ming-hua.  Go upstairs and pack a few things while I tell Hop Sing to ready the wagon.  He can drive you into town.”

He started to release her, but her fingers wouldn’t let go.  “Ben, I am so sorry to have brought this trouble to your house.”

Rosey’s face was turned so the firelight struck it, erasing the years, and though her look was troubled, it was also, well, noble in a way.  With a smile, he reached out and cupped her chin in his hand and then bent down to plant a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“All you have brought to this house is a gentleness that has been missing for a long time,” he said as he straightened up.  “It’s pretty obvious Finch’s intentions where his young brother is concerned are not on the up and up.  Even if you hadn’t been here, there’d be trouble.”

“But he’s following me!”

“Maybe he is, and maybe he isn’t.  Perhaps he was following Greg and Monty and knew nothing about your presence.”  Ben touched the soft stuff of her hair.  “Don’t borrow trouble, Rosey.  You know what the Good Book says.  Let the days worries be sufficient for the day.”

Her hand covered his and, for a moment, she leaned her head against his chest.  With her that close, he caught a hint of rose water, as well as vanilla.  Like petals plucked, the last eight years fell away and he was standing here again, in the home he had made for the mother of his last son, holding her…cherishing her.  Cherishing Marie.

Cherishing Rosey.

Ben started to say something but her fingers flew to his lips.  With a shake of her head that said, ‘not now’, Rosey moved out of his arms and up the stairs, disappearing just as surely as Marie had.

In a moment, it was like she had never been.

At that same instant the front door flew open.  Hoss rushed in and then slammed it shut behind him.  When his son turned to look at him, Ben saw blood dripping from his lip.

“We got us a passel of trouble, Pa!”

 

Adam and Monty were slowly making their way back to the Ponderosa.  They’d dawdled more than they should have before heading out and, since night had fallen, had decided to make camp even though they were just a few hours from home.  There was no real hurry other than his concern for Joe.  The report Greg had given him made it sound like things were under control.  Still, he didn’t like Paul Martin’s ominous words that the broken end of Joe’s rib could puncture an organ.  He knew the prescription to prevent that would be rest, and knew just as well that ‘rest’ wasn’t in his little brother’s vocabulary.  Their father was great with Joe, but he had a tendency to run out of patience just about as quickly as their little brother did.   Pa counted on him to run second-string and make Joe listen.

Pa counted on him.

Adam blew out a sigh and reached for the coffee pot.

“Sounds like you got the weight of the worlds on your shoulders,” Monty said softly.

He started to protest, but then relented. With a half-smile he admitted, “I guess I do.”

“Thinkin’ about your family?”  The blond man shifted, seeking a comfortable perch.  “Or maybe more about your family obligations?”

“Both, actually.”  He took a sip of coffee.  “It’s a philosophical question, I guess.  Where does a man’s obligation to his family end and the one to himself begin?”

Monty nodded.  “A friend once told me that relationships based on obligations lack dignity.”  The cowboy laughed.  “I ain’t entirely sure as I know what that means, but it sounds like it makes sense.”

It did.  “ ‘To thine own self be true,’ as the bard put it,” he replied.

And yet, he’d heard a man speak at college once about commitment and duty.  A man he respected.  He’d been a soldier during the war with Mexico and had traveled with Kearney’s Army of the West.  Out of all the man said, there’d been one thing that had stuck with him all these years.

‘The more obligations we accept that are self-imposed, the freer we are.’

“Who’s the bard’?” Monty asked.

Adam snorted.  “According to my little brother he’s a man wearing lace and tights with too much time on his hands.”

Monty looked at him.  “You love that kid.  Don’t you?”

He drew another long sip of coffee into his mouth, relishing it, and then swallowed.  “Is it that obvious?” he asked with a wink.  “I thought I did a pretty good job of hiding it.”

“Maybe only to another older brother.” Monty tossed the remainder of his coffee aside and sat up.  His face grew pensive.  “I’d do anythin’ for that kid.”

“Is it just the two of you?  I mean, is the rest of your family gone?”

The blond man pursed his lips.  For a moment Adam thought he’d said something wrong.  Then Monty replied, “Mostly.  Pa was married a couple of times before he died.  First wife passed after birthing Finch, he’s my older brother.  The second one lasted long enough for me and Greg.”

“I take it one of you looks like your mother and the other, your father.”

“Yeah.  Funny, ain’t it?  But inside, where it counts, Greg and me are the same.”  He frowned.  “Finch’s got his own ways.”

Adam tossed the remainder of his coffee aside and then settled back against his saddle.  “Was he with you on the drive?  Finch, I mean?”

“Part of the time.  He had other business and left for it was over.  I s’pose Greg and me should of waited for him to come back, but we decided to strike off on our own.”

“Oh?”  Amusement lit his hazel eyes.  “Being ‘true’ to yourselves?”

“You might say.  We felt it was time for somethin’ different, if you know what I mean?  A couple of the wranglers on the drive had worked for your Pa.  Sounded like a good man with a good spread and a place for a new beginnin’.”

“What about your older brother?  Does he mean to join you?”

“Nah.”  Monty slid down against his saddle and tucked his hat over his eyes.  “Finch took himself off years ago to pursue his own dream.  Can’t complain when we do the same.  ‘Sides, ain’t no one or nothin’ means as much to Finch as Finch.”

For a long time Adam remained where he was, half-seated against his saddle, contemplating a cowboy’s wisdom.  Then, he shifted down and slept, sensing somehow that he would have need of strength to confront the coming day.

 

Ben ducked as a bullet struck the front door splintering wood.  Now that he was beside his son, he could see that Hoss had been in a fight.  There were bruises forming on his son’s cheek just above the bloody trail leading down from his lip.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Finch Webb.”  Hoss took a moment to wipe the blood away.  “I came on him beatin’ on Greg.  He was mighty sore about somethin’.  Strange thing was, Greg was takin’ it.”

A grim smile lit the older man’s face.  “And you took exception to that.”

Hoss winced as another bullet struck.  “Sure did, Pa.  He’d like to have killed him.”

“Ben?  What’s happening?”

The rancher spun to find a terrified Rosey descending the stair.  Any questions he had for his son would have to wait.  The fact that Finch had been discovered beating his brother might have gotten him thrown off the ranch, but there was no reason for him to pursue Hoss and open fire.

More was happening here than they knew.

“See if you can find Hop Sing.  Give him a rifle,” he said to his son as he moved away and toward the exposed woman.  Once he reached her, he caught Rosey about the midriff and moved her over to the area of the settee.  With a quick caress of her cheek, he forced her to sit on the floor by the red chair.  “Stay down!”

He felt a pull on his pant’s leg and looked down.  “Ben, is it Finch?” she asked.

The rancher nodded.  “We think so.  Still, we can’t be sure.  It sounds like more than one gun.  Now, you stay put!” he ordered as he turned back.  There had been another shot – a bullet striking wood – and then….

Silence.

Into the silence came a voice.  “Mister Cartwright?”

He frowned.  It didn’t sound like Finch.  A least not what he remembered of the man’s voice. Moving closer, he called back.

“Who are you?  What do you want?”

“Open the door and I’ll tell you.”

“You’ve just put a half-dozen bullets in my front door and threatened my family.  In God’s name, why do you think I would let you into this house?”

“This is why,” a cold voice announced.

Ben heard Rosey’s gasp.  He knew even before he turned what had happened.

How could he had been so foolish as to have overlooked protecting the one thing in the house that was the most in need of protection?

Finch Webb stood at the top of the stairs.  Joseph dangled limp in one arm.

There was a gun pressed against his son’s curly head.

 

Joe Cartwright cracked one eye and watched as his floppy feet struck the steps one by one on the way down the staircase.  It took everything that was in him not to move or cry out.  Whoever this guy was, he had his arm wrapped tight around his chest and was puttin’ pressure on his broken rib.  He was pretendin’ now, but he actually had passed out when pain erupted through him as he was snatched out of his bed.  He’d come around just as they reached the landing and had quickly decided to play possum.  Joe didn’t know what was going on, but the scare he was gonna give his pa by appearing to be out cold would be worth it if it meant he could help somehow.  Maybe he could find a way to let his pa know he was awake.

He’d sure like to.

The man who held him stopped abruptly at the bottom of the stairs.  The nose of the gun worked its way further into his hair.

“Open that door, Ben,” the bad man said, using Pa’s Christian name when he didn’t have a right to.

Joe sucked in a breath as the cold metal reached his skin.  At this point – if that gun went off – he wanted it to be quick and over.  He’d met a man one time who’d been shot in the head and lived.

It wasn’t livin’.

“Release my son and I will,” his father thundered.

Good old Pa.  Takin’ charge as ever.  Using that voice of his as a weapon.

“I think I hold all the cards here,” the man said as Joe felt the barrel of the gun shift from his hair to his temple.

Joe wanted to look at his pa.  He wanted to see his strength and siphon some of it right out of the older man – but he couldn’t.  He had to keep still.  Had to stifle the groans rising from deep within him.

Had to keep his eyes closed.

“There’s still a locked door between you and your men, Finch.”

You tell him, Pa!

“Oh, really,” Finch replied.  “I seem to notice you have another son missing.”

Joe couldn’t see his pa, but he could tell by his voice that what this Finch had just said had siphoned off more of that strength than he ever could.

Pa’s voice shook as he asked, “What have you done to Hoss?”

The man holding Joe shifted his grip, bringing his arm in more tightly against his injured rib.  Stars exploded behind his eyelids.

Joe bit his lip and drew blood.

“Simms!” the outlaw shouted.  “Get in here!”

Joe was just dying to open his eyes.  It was driving him crazy that he couldn’t see what was goin’ on.  As he hung there, feelin’ helpless, he heard a series of sounds – something falling over, pans clattering on the floor, someone grunting and then, the crash of pottery.  It was all comin’ from the kitchen.  At the angle Finch was holding him, the fringe of hair that normally lay on Joe’s forehead was dangling in front of his eyes.  Hoping it was enough to keep the bad man from figuring out he was awake, Joe peeped through the curls.  And then wished he hadn’t.  A long lean stranger was dragging someone into the room.

It was Hoss.

 

***********

SEVEN

 

Joe winced as that voice erupted again.  He’d sure hate to be Finch Webb with his Pa that angry.

“What have you done to my son?” Pa roared.

“He resisted arrest,” Simms snorted as he released his grip and Hoss hit the floor with a thud.

His father was silent for a moment.  Joe could just picture the older man standing there, considering everything; thinking it through and figuring out how he could keep everyone alive.

“Where are Hop Sing and Ming-hua?” Pa demanded.

Joe was worried about them too, but he couldn’t take his half-lidded eyes off of his brother.  Trouble was when men saw Hoss, they only saw his size and they thought they had to treat him twice as rough or hit him twice as hard as a smaller feller.  He was laying so still on the floor.  There was blood on the right side of his head and on the collar of the shirt he wore and on his leather vest.

A lot of it.

“The woman and the Chink are fine.  Abel here paid them a visit and left them, well, a little tied up.”  Finch laughed at his own joke and then the bad man began to move, heading – Joe thought – for the settee.  He could feel the heat from the fire on his face and figured they were just about in front of it.

A moment later he knew for sure when Finch threw him onto it.

Joe couldn’t help it.  He gasped as he hit.

“Leave the boy alone!” a woman’s voice cried out.  “Can’t you see he’s hurt!”

Rosey.

He’d forgotten about Rosey.

Joe caught a scent of roses and vanilla as she sat on the settee and leaned over him.  It reminded him of his ma.  Then he felt the gentle touch of her fingers in his hair.  Again, through half-lidded eyes, he looked up at her, willing her to see that he was awake.

She didn’t.  She was too busy calling out the scoundrel that had ripped him out of his bed and was threatening his family.

“I see nothing has changed, Sten, or should I call you Finch? I assume that’s your real name,” Rosey spat.  “You’re just as much of a miserable excuse for a human being as you were fifteen years ago!  Little Joe has a broken rib.  I’d ask you how you could be so cruel, but I already know the answer to that.  You are a self-serving loathsome pig!”

There was a pause.  Then an amused voice said, “Nice to see you again too, Silks.”

“What are you doing here?” the older woman demanded.  “How dare you bring harm to this family!”

Finch’s voice was cold.  “Now, if you ask me, I’d say it was you what brought the trouble to them, woman.  Just like you did to your own family.”

Rosey’s hand was on his.  Joe felt her fingers stiffen with outrage.

Pa’d kept quiet for a bit.  He spoke into the silence that followed Finch’s remark.

“Let me attend to my son.”

For a second Joe wondered which son?  Then he figured it had to be Hoss since Rosey was with him.

He sure hoped Hoss wasn’t hurt too bad.

“Open the door first, my little brother’s waitin’ outside,” the bad man said.  “Don’t want Greg trying to climb in any windows like I did in the condition he’s in.”  Finch paused and then added with a snort, “You know, you really should teach that brat of yours to keep his window locked.”

Joe’s heart plunged to his toes as his father moved toward the door.  He’d been hot and had asked Hoss to open the window before he brought his supper tray down.  That was how the bad man got in.

His fault again!

Rosey shifted and turned her body.  She was probably watching Pa.  Joe felt her breath on his forehead as she let out a sigh.

“Is there no end to your violence?” she asked, her voice hushed.

“There are three things men respect,” Finch replied.  “Money, power, and strength.  Up until now I’ve only had the last one.  But now, things are gonna change.”

So that was it!  The bad man was after Pa’s money.  It wasn’t the first time it’d happened.  Trouble was, most bad men who said they only wanted the money also wanted to leave no witnesses to the fact that they took it.  Which meant all of them could wind up dead.

He had to do something!

Shifting his fingers a bit more, Joe walked them over Rosey’s where they were anchored on the settee beside him and squeezed firmly.

He felt her start.  Since he figured her eyes would be darting to him, Joe opened his a crack – for a second – and then shut them again.  A moment later she squeezed back.

She knew.

“Men don’t respect a thug, they fear him, as they fear any man with money and power and no scruples,” Joe heard his father say in answer to Finch’s last statement.  Pa’s temper was rising, he could tell.  He was mad as a bull with a stranger in his barn.  “Nor do they respect men who threaten women and use children as shields.”

Joe winced.  He kind of wanted to show his Pa that last part wasn’t true.  He wasn’t a child, not by a long shot.  Another little squeeze from Rosey let him know that she knew what he was thinking.  He glanced up from under his heavy black lashes to see her give a little shake of her head.

‘Wait’, her eyes said.

Finch was running out of patience.  “You gonna open that door, old man, or am I gonna go over and redecorate your settee with your kid’s brains?”

“Ben, he means it,” Rosey warned.

“Yeah, Ben, you listen to the lady.”

Joe heard the latch to the door being engaged and a little creak as it swung open.  He also heard the audible gasp his father made.

“Greg, boy,” Pa breathed, “what did he do to you?”

 

As he looked at Greg Webb leaning on the jamb of the door – battered, bleeding, beaten – Ben Cartwright’s fear for those within his house leapt high as a stallion flying over a corral fence.  There was no doubt Finch Webb was a bruiser and a bully.  From what Rosey had told him about the man, he’d been hired to be a bully.  He took pride in his fists and enjoyed throwing his weight around and intimidating others.

But did that make him a killer?

The older man glanced at the beautiful woman sitting beside his son.  He knew Rosey blamed Finch – or Sten as she had called him –  for her husband and son’s deaths.  Still, like many killers, the outlaw’s choice to commit those murders had come as a result of deep personal desire and wrongful need.  Most killings were not random.  There were nearly always undercurrents of animosity between the killer and the victim.

Nearly always.

But then there was that rare man who simply liked to kill because it gave him a sense of power – a sense of immortality in way, he supposed, because he had beaten death to the gate.

He was beginning to think Finch Webb was such a man.

Ben’s near-black eyes left the battered young man leaning on the door frame to fasten on the two unknown men who waited outside the house, holding the reins of several horses.  Then it went to his middle son, who lay silent on the floor.  It appeared the bleeding had slowed.  His prayer was that the wound was to Hoss’ scalp and as such had bled a good deal without being too deep or too harmful.  Of course, there was always the chance of a skull fracture.  The boy needed a doctor and he needed one now.  From Hoss, his paternal gaze shifted to the settee where his youngest lay, also unmoving.  Joseph would have need of Paul’s ministrations as well.  The trip down the stairs in Finch’s arms and that drop onto the settee couldn’t have done his broken rib any good.

Finch’s voice broke into his reverie.

“What’d I do to him?  Greg there got too big for his britches,” the outlaw snorted.  “Thought he didn’t need old Finch anymore.  He and Monty took themselves and skedaddled away from that cattle drive ‘fore I knew anythin’ about it.”  Ben watched as the former bouncer took a step away from the settee – and Rosey and Joe – and moved toward his brother.  When he spoke again, his voice took on a sinister tone.  “You ain’t never gonna get away from me, little brother.”

Greg’s jaw grew tight.  His fingers formed fists.  “I’m not your brother!” he shouted, his face livid.  “Stop calling me that!  I couldn’t have a brother like you.  I hate you!”

There was a stunned silence in the room.  As he and Rosey exchanged a glance, Finch began to make a clicking sound with his tongue against his teeth.

“Tsk  tsk.  You shouldn’t ought to have said that, boy.  Now I’m going to have to kill all these nice people.”

Ben’s heart went to his toes.  Whatever Greg and Finch’s story was, they had just become an inexorable part of it.

“The boys are unconscious,” he countered quickly.  “Neither Hoss nor Joe heard anything.  There’s no need to harm them further.”

The villain was enjoying himself.  “I s’pose I could let them live.  They ain’t in any shape to come after us.”  Finch turned then and addressed himself directly to Rosey.  “You’re coming with me.”

She shot to her feet.  “I will not!”

Finch sneered.  “I bet you’ll change your mind when I put a bullet in someone’s brain ‘cause you won’t do what I want.”

“You spoke earlier of money and power,” Ben interjected.  “I have both.”

The outlaw’s fingers tightened on the trigger as the gun swung toward him.  “What of it?” he snapped.

“I can give you both.  The men’s payroll is due at the end of the week.  There’s a large amount of money in my account at the Carson City bank that I have yet to draw.  I’ll take you there.  You can have it.”  Again his gaze went from Hoss to Joseph, both so very young and so very still.  “If you promise to leave my sons alone.”

“You ain’t tryin’ to bargain for her?” Finch asked, waving his gun at Rosey.

He met her gaze.  The older woman forced a smile and shook her head.  Her eyes went from Joseph to Hoss.  Protect them, they said.

“Would it matter if I did?” Ben replied as he turned his attention back to Finch.

The outlaw thought a moment.  “Nah,” he scoffed.  “Would have been fun to watch you beg, though.”

“You are a sick man.”

Finch shrugged.  “Maybe.  But that’s better than you.”  The outlaw lowered the gun so it was pointed at his abdomen.  “You’re a dead man, money or not.  You know that, don’t you?”

“I don’t care about the money.  I only care about my sons.”

Ben winced.

As soon as he said it, he knew it was a mistake.

There were wheels turning behind Finch Webb’s pale cold eyes – visible wheels rolling over his hope that he and his boys might come out of this alive.  “So, you and me and Rosey hit the road to Carson City, go to the bank, and just like that you give me all your money?  You ain’t gonna try to escape or nothin’?  Just gonna hand it all over to me and let me shoot you after?”

“You have my word.”

The outlaw snorted. “Ain’t a man I ever met that their word meant anythin’ when it came to stayin’ alive.”  To Ben’s horror, Finch moved toward the settee.  “I just think we’ll take us some insurance along.”

“No!”

Finch stood over Joseph’s prone form, his gun pointed, this time, at the boy’s chest.  “Your choice, Cartwright.  He goes with us, or he stays right here – permanently.”

Rosey had backed off until she stood near the red leather chair.  He knew the look in her eyes.  She felt she had to do something.

Ben shook his head.  ‘Don’t!’, he projected.  Then to Finch he said, “The boy is injured.  He will only slow us down.”

“I can always shoot him and leave his carcass along the way if he does.”

Such callous disregard for life was not new to him, but that made it no less shocking.

The rancher’s eyes flicked to Hoss, hoping to spot movement – some sign that his middle son was coming around and might be able to help.

But there was nothing.

“Simms, you get over here,” Finch ordered.  “Take Rosey and Greg out to where the others are waiting.”

After his outburst Greg had remained by the door, staring daggers at Finch but seemingly incapable of making any move to better their situation.

If only he could have counted on him….

Finch shifted his gun to his right hand.  With his left, he reached down and took hold of one of Joseph’s arms and then –

And then Finch was on the ground and Joseph was scrambling over him, stretching out his hand toward the outlaw’s fallen gun.  Abel Simms had made it to the door with Rosey.  Webb’s henchman stopped, stunned into inaction for the moment.

Ben could identify with him.  It took him a few seconds to react as well, but that didn’t stop him from taking out Finch’s man and then slamming the door in the face of the rest of his gang before they could further violate his home.

Locking it, he turned back to save his son.

 

Joe stretched his arm out toward the bad man’s gun.  He sucked in air as it put a strain on his ribs.  Both the bones and muscle protested like a son of a gun, sending wave after wave of stabbing pain through him.  Pa had taught them that pain was a friend.  ‘It’s your body’s way of telling you something is wrong,’ he’d say.  ‘You should listen to it.’  Well, Joe was listening to it now and what his pain was telling him was to curl up and die.

Of course, if he gave up now, that was exactly what he was gonna do.

Finch Webb might be near old as his pa, but he fought like a man Adam’s age.  He was tough and mean and willing to do anything it took to win.  Joe could see him angling, trying to raise his leg so he could put a boot in his side and drive that broken rib straight into his innards.  He couldn’t let him. It was gonna hurt like Hell, but he had to move.  Sucking in air, he twisted to avoid it, straining his already broken rib, and very distinctly felt something move.

It didn’t matter.  There was no time to think about it.

He had to take out Finch.

Joe heard a sound behind him.  Someone had gone down.  He prayed to God it was one of the outlaws and not his pa.  As he continued to struggle, clawing at Finch’s fingers and fighting for the gun, Joe had a sudden thought.  Adam!  Older brother was due home at any time.  He wouldn’t know Finch’s men were out there.  Someone needed to warn him.  Maybe Rosey or Pa.  Maybe him, if he could get away.

Maybe he’d better pay attention to staying alive.

Finch was winning.  He’d done real well at first, but the bad man was a lot bigger and a lot stronger than him and the only thing that had given him any edge in the beginning was surprise.  Joe gritted his teeth against the pain in his side as he drove his heel into Finch’s knee, getting a satisfying yelp for his trouble.  Problem was, there weren’t no surprises left.  There was just him – a thirteen-year-old kid, only half there – fighting a monster bent on killing them all.

He couldn’t let that happen.

Gathering breath and strength, Joe stretched out as far as he could.

His fingers touched metal!

 

Ben ordered the listless Greg to take Rosey into the kitchen to free Hop Sing and Ming-hua, and then barked a further order that he return and see to Hoss.  He didn’t know what was wrong with the young man, but was pleased when he saw Greg respond to his command.  As he shouted out the words, the rancher headed for the hearth area.

He didn’t know what he could do, but he had to do something.  One wrong step could mean Joseph’s death.  As it was, the way the boy was stretched almost to the limit was likely to drive that broken rib in and puncture one of his vital organs.  Ben swallowed hard, feeling impotent as he stood and watched his young son fight for his life.  He’d felt helpless before, but never so helpless as he did at this moment.  Joseph was before him, but there was little he could do to help him.  If he tried to interfere, he might cause the boy more harm.  The rancher’s eyes went to the gun rack and then to the credenza by the door.  Hoss’s weapon lay there.  Still, even if he got hold of it, he couldn’t shoot.  Joe and Finch’s bodies were too closely entwined.

In the end, it seemed there was only one thing he could do – throw himself into the fray and pull them apart, danger be damned.

Determined, Ben moved to the other side of the settee.

 

He’d touched the gun!  Now Joe struggled to catch hold of it, his fingers stretching out as far as they would go.  They encountered the handle and wrapped around it and then one sought the trigger.  Trouble was, Finch had hold of the gun too.  The bad man’s larger hand surrounded his own.  Finch was fighting for control of it – picking the weapon up and banging it and his fingers against the floor in an attempt to make him drop it.  Picking it up and slamming it against the floor.  Picking it up.  Slamming….

Without warning the gun went off.  A cloud of acrid smoke rose toward the ceiling.  Into the silence that followed there came a sound.  Well, two, really.  A grunt.  Then, a word.

“Joseph….”

Since he’d been a little kid, he’d had nightmares.  They were about all kinds of things – gully washers, cattle stampedes, wild storms; rustlers and robbers.  There was only one constant in them.  His father always died.

Just like Pa was dyin’ now.

After the bullet flew out of the chamber everything went into slow motion.  Pa looked down.  His hand moved toward his waist.  Absurdly, Joe noticed Pa was wearing one of his best shirts.  After all Rosey was in the house and they’d just finished eating supper.  Pa always spruced up for supper, especially when there was a lady in the house.  His father had put on a pair of black pants and a white shirt with a black string tie.  Joe wished now that he’d been wearing all black like brother Adam sometimes did, because above the waist band, on that bright white field, the color red was spreading like a blight.

Pa’s lifeblood was pouring out.

A noise to his left reminded Joe that he wasn’t alone.  He looked up to find Finch Webb starin’ down at him.  The bad man grimaced as he turned the gun so he held it by the barrel. He was breathing hard and his eyes had grown cold as a blue norther.

“Punk!” he snarled as he brought the gun down.

And Joe knew no more.

 

Adam glanced at Monty where he rode beside him.  He’d awakened after only a couple of hours of sleep with a keen desire to go home.  The cowboy had humored him, saying he’d be just as happy to drop into his bed for the rest of the night as sleep on the ground.  They’d hit the road somewhere around ten and by eleven he was feeling foolish.  There really was no hurry.  While he was concerned about Joe, that concern didn’t run to real fear.  He’d broken a few ribs in his time and so long as the kid kept quiet and followed Doc Martin’s orders, he’d be okay in six weeks or so.  The inaction might drive Little Joe to distraction – it would drive them all to distraction – but he’d survive.  Life on the Ponderosa would return to normal.

Or would it?

He still hadn’t made up his mind whether or not to stay.

Monty’s words had swayed him, he had to admit.  Obligation.  Responsibility.  It was so easy to think of those words as negatives.  But they were only that when one considered them from a self centered point of view.  Adam’s lips twitched and his dimples deepened.  Ah, that was the rub, wasn’t it?  What was life about – pleasing and serving one’s self or pleasing and serving others?  He knew what his father would say.  First of all the older man would quote the Good Book, citing passages like the one in Philippians that said ‘Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves. Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others.’  Then he would remind him that what life here was about was bringing glory to God through one’s actions and choices, and not about putting one’s own happiness before others.  How often had he – on his own volition – quoted to someone that ‘No man is an island’? Of course, he’d been thinking of belonging to the greater body of all men, but did it hold true as well for a man’s family?  Was Adam Cartwright an island of his own within a cluster of Cartwrights, free to loose the chain and float away when the whim took him?  Or, was he duty-bound to remain?

Adam winced and ran a hand over his forehead.  Then he sighed.

“You think too much, friend.  You know that, don’t you?” Monty asked, tight-lipped.  “A man’s brains ain’t any different from his muscles.  Use ‘em too much, you’ll wear ‘em out.”

He snorted.  “I was under the impression that the more you used your muscles – or your brain – the more fit they became.”

Monty glanced at him. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five,” he replied.

“Tell me that in another ten years.”

They were about a mile out from the house.  It surprised him how pleased he felt to be going home.  Maybe it had to do with the way he’d left, pouting like a petulant child and refusing to even look at his father or say farewell. The trees would part before them soon.  He’d be able to see the house lights.  Maybe even a Chinese lantern or two if Hop Sing had felt in the mood to hang them for their guests.  As his new mount Sport clopped along, the thoroughbred’s hooves beating out a steady rhythm, Adam was reminded of all this place meant to him.  He’d helped to build it with his pa.  He’d been there when Pa brought Marie home.  He’d sat in the great room listening to her cries as his little brother had been born, and then remained in that same room with his head down and tears in his eyes as Pa and his friends bore the coffin of the third woman he’d dared to call ‘ma’ out of the door and up to the lake to rest for eternity.

Eternity.  Ever lasting.

Ever green.

Home.

“Adam.”

Monty’s voice was strained.

“What is it?” he asked, drawing his gun from its holster even as he did.

“Men coming.”

They had just enough time to get off the road.  It was dark, so whoever was coming would have to have had the eyes of an eagle to spot them.  The sound of horses approached swiftly.  The riders were driving them hard.  It was difficult to see anything through the leaves and by the light of the half-moon, but it appeared there were a half-dozen in the party.  He thought one of them was a woman.

As soon as they were gone, Adam moved Sport onto the road.  He kneed in and pressed his spurs into the bay’s chest, urging him to fly like the wind.  He knew now why he’d felt the urge to be home.

The riders had come from the direction of the house.

It took about six minutes to reach the yard.  A minute before that his heart had plunged to his heels.  Where there should have been light and life, there was nothing.

Only an open door and the bell that dangled from the post tinkling in the wind.

Adam glanced at his companion as they both dismounted and threw their reins over the rail.  He signaled silently to the other man and they split up, each approaching from the opposite side of the door.

The only light illuminating the great room was in the hearth and it was burning low.  The room had obviously been ransacked.  Chairs were turned over.  The silver on the dining room breakfront was missing.  As he moved into the room, the dying embers cast weird shadows on the wall and on the figure lying closest to the door.  He knew who it was immediately by his size.  Kneeling at Hoss’ side, Adam pressed two fingers against his throat and was overwhelmed to the point of tears when his brother moaned.

“Monty, light one of the lamps!  Hoss is hurt.”

Monty had remained near the door, stunned as him.  He jerked and then headed for the lamp on the table where Pa kept his chess set.  As his brother’s eyelids fluttered, showing he was returning to consciousness, Adam ran a hand along Hoss’ forehead, brushing off dried blood.

The motion roused the teenager.  “Adam?” Hoss asked, puzzled.

“Yeah, it’s me.”  He looked around as light began to fill the room.  “Where are Pa and – ”

“God Almighty!” Monty exclaimed.  Adam looked up to see the cowboy drop to the ground, snatching his bandana from his neck as he did.  “Adam, get over here!”

Fear clutched his innards and stabbed them, as sure as any broken rib.  Stumbling to his feet, he asked, his voice shaking, “What?”

Monty glanced at him and then shook his head.

As Hoss stumbled to his feet behind him, the black-haired man rounded the end of the settee and stopped.

He’d met soldiers before.  He’d heard them talk of carnage.

He’d never expected to find it in his home.

Little Joe lay crumpled, his head resting on the settee.  A steady stream of blood ran down his face, soaking the elegant fabric beneath it.  His brother was breathing, but the sound was rapid and shallow.  A sheen of sweat coated Joe’s skin and his cheeks were red as apples indicating a return of the fever that had plagued him.  The sight drove a stake of terror into his heart.

The sight of his father laying next to Joe, bleeding from both a head and gut wound, pierced it.

Monty was leaning on his pa, pressing his already sodden kerchief into the hole in his side.  When he did nothing but stare, the cowboy shouted at him.

“Adam!  Get hold of yourself!  They’re both alive, but they’ll sure as shootin’ die if we don’t do something to stop them bleedin’.  Adam!”

Hoss’ voice was weak, but it sounded from behind him.  “I’ll go for the doc.”

He turned to look at his brother.  Hoss looked like death on two legs.  He would have argued with him, but there was no one else to go.  Unless….

“Get over here, Hoss!” Monty ordered, taking charge.  “You keep pressure on this wound.  I’ll go.  You’ll be off your horse and on the ground quicker than three ticks of a steer’s tale!”

It took Hoss a moment, but he moved.  His horror was evident as he placed his large hands over the bloody wound in their father’s side and pressed down for all he was worth.

“What….  What about Joe?  Is he gonna…be okay?” the big teen asked.

He didn’t know.

Guilt flooded through him.

Pivoting on his knees, Adam turned his attention to his little brother.  When he tried to move him, even in his unconscious state, Joe cried out.  But worse than that….  Worse than that there was blood on his little brother’s lips.

He had no idea whether it had come from the head wound or from within.

“Dear God….”

“Don’t you go fallin’…apart on me, older…brother,” Hoss rasped.  It was clear his brother was still carrying on his own struggle for consciousness.

“What happened?  Who did this?” the black-haired man asked, his fear turning to anger as he looked at Joe again.  When Hoss failed to reply, he repeated his demand, “Hoss, who did this?”

His brother’s sky blue eyes shone like winter ice in the sun as they found him.  “Adam, I got Pa’s …blood…all over my hands.  There’s too much.   He’s…gonna die, ain’t he?”

He’d avoided looking directly at his father, but he did so now.  Pa’s skin was paler than Joe’s.  His breathing was more shallow.  The older man hadn’t made a sound or moved in the time since they’d found him.

As Adam stared at the older man and realized he might be dying, that last conversation they’d had played back in his head.

Words.  He was a man of words.  These were calculated to hurt.

‘Papa comes to save the day?’ he heard himself shout. ‘Don’t you see, Pa?  That’s part of the problem.  I’ll always be a little boy in your eyes – a little boy who needs looking after.’  His father had asked him then, “Where will you go?”

‘Somewhere where a man can cast his own shadow,” he’d replied.  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll let you know when I find it.’ 

Words.

Worthless words.

 

***********

EIGHT

 

“Is he still in there?”

Twenty-year-old Hoss Cartwright glanced at the bedroom door and then at his older brother.  Adam’s face was carved out of the same rock as his – a granite-worry that, so far, nothing had been able to chip away at.

“You know how he is,” his brother answered, his voice breaking with the strain of the last two days.  “With something like this…..  Well, all the wild horses on the Ponderosa couldn’t drag him from that bedside.”

“Doc said it’s pretty bad, huh?”

Adam had been the last one to talk to their family physician.  It had been about an hour back before the older man went back to town to make his rounds.  Doc Martin had come out of the room and down to the dining table ten shades paler.

His older brother ran a hand over his stubbled face.  “Actually, Paul said it was hopeless.”

It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck him.  The big man stumbled.  He saw the floor coming up and felt himself going down.  A minute before he would have hit the carpet, Hoss felt his brother’s strong hand grip his arm.  A second later he was seated in the chair they had positioned in the upper hall just outside of the sickroom.

“Breathe deep, Hoss.  Come on, I need you here with me.”

Adam didn’t plead.  Heck, Adam didn’t admit he needed help.  The fact that he was doing both scared him witless.

Swallowing over that fear, the big teen asked, “Do you think he’s really…gonna die?”  Hoss drew in a breath that was dangerously close to a sob.  “What’ll we do if he does, Adam?”

He sounded like a kid who needed his Pa’s shoulder to cry on.

He was.

Adam’s squeezed his arm.  His voice choked too.  “You know what Pa always says, ‘Keep your eyes on the sun and you won’t see the shadows.’ ”

Hoss’s eyes went to the bedroom door.   He didn’t see any sun.  All he saw was a door that looked way too much like a stone standing stark naked over a freshly dug grave.

He drew in a breath.  “You think we oughta go in?  It’s been a good half hour.  I mean, something might of…happened….”

Adam rose and turned toward the door.  “No.  He would have come to get us.  But I think you’re right.  It’s probably best we get him back to bed.”

Hoss squared his shoulders as he stood.  “That’s right.  We gotta think about him.  He’s still sick himself.  Ain’t no tellin’, I mean, with that fever he could still….”

Older brother had his hand on the latch.  He pivoted to look at him.  “Keep your eyes on the sun, Hoss.”

Easy to say.

Hard to do.

The door opened onto cavernous darkness.  Doc Martin had told them to shut out the light so his patient could rest, so even though outside it was a bright and unusually warm spring day, inside it was black as a tomb.

Hoss winced.

Bad choice of words.

As he and his brother moved into the sick room, the seated figure didn’t stir.   Their little brother’s tear-streaked face and glazed eyes were trained on the bed that held all that was dear in the world to him.

Adam exchanged a look with him and then cleared his throat.

They waited.

It took a few heartbeats.  Finally, that tear-streaked face turned toward them.  The eyes it held were glazed with their own pain – Joe shouldn’t have been out of bed, he was still sick as a dog hisself – but that didn’t mean nothin’.  They both knew he’d die sittin’ there.  Doctor Martin had told them before he left that if somethin’ didn’t change soon, he was goin’ to sedate him since he wouldn’t listen.

‘I don’t need two Cartwrights dyin’ on me,’ he’d growled.

It had been close.

Still was.

Adam moved first, like he always did, takin’ things in hand.  Hoss watched his twenty-five-year old brother walk over to the side of the bed.  He placed both hands on those saggin’ shoulders and gently lifted Little Joe up.

“Come on.  You’re not well enough to be here.  It’s time you got some rest,” Adam said softly.   “One of us will stay.”

At first it seemed his words went unheard.   Hoss knew they hadn’t.  He saw that lean body beneath Adam’s hands go rigid.

The words were hushed, grief-struck, and filled with rage.   “It’s all my…fault.  I should be lying there, not him.  Not him!  It should be me dying!”

Hoss ventured closer.  “You know he wouldn’t want that.  You ain’t thinkin’ clearly.”

“I am thinking clearly!”  Anger shot his brother up and out of the chair and away from Adam’s grasp.  Little Joe crossed the room to the door and stood there shakin’, still hurtin’ from his own wounds and battlin’ a deadly fever that was tryin’ its best to carry him away.  “You don’t know.  You weren’t there.”  The bluster went out of the boy, like a sail without wind.  Tears fell.  “I was!  God….I was….”

The big man exchanged a look with his older brother as the Doc’s prediction shuddered through them both.  Before them stood a vision straight out of some tale of the knight’s of old – the righteous avenger, seeking justice even at the cost of his own life.   Hoss didn’t know what to say or how to stop the rumbles that shook the ground under their feet, threatenin’ to loose an avalanche of trouble.

Adam looked sick too.  He was heading toward the door and the forlorn figure of their little brother standing there when he stopped abruptly and turned back.

Hoss pivoted toward the bed.  He’d heard it too.  Two words.  Just two words.

“Joseph…why….”

The big man heard a sharp intake of breath, a sob, and then the door slammed.

And Little Joe was gone.

 

“He cain’t have gone far, Adam.  He just ain’t well enough.”

The black-haired man glanced at his nineteen-year-old brother.  Hoss was still pale himself and had a linen bandage wound around his head.  He had a mild concussion, but as it was with all Cartwrights, was choosing to ignore it.  The pain and worry in his tone made him sound as young as Little Joe.

Who was missing.

“He might have been hiding.  I think I’ll take a look around the yard again,” he said, unwilling to admit defeat.  “Why don’t you check in with Hop Sing and see if he’s seen Joe.  Maybe he got hungry.”

“You know that little scallywag, Adam,” Hoss sighed.  “If Joe don’t want to be found, he won’t be.  Leastwise not easy.”

Adam nodded.  “I’m going to try the stable again. Maybe we missed something.”

As Hoss grunted his approval, Adam began to move.  He felt…  Well, actually he had an unfounded expectation that he would find their missing brother in the stable even though he’d checked it before.  Middle brother was right.  Little Joe couldn’t have gotten very far in the condition he was in. Their young brother was far from healed.  It was by God’s grace alone that – with the rough treatment he’d suffered at Finch Webb’s hands – his broken rib hadn’t snapped and shattered and punctured his lung or any other vital organ.  Still, it had been close.  The strain on Joe’s body had been enough to rekindle his fever.  It had broken late that morning, but the embers of the fire remained.  Doc Martin had warned them before he left, that if Joe didn’t behave, it could ignite again and might well consume him.

Behave?

Joe?

They’d found baby brother out of his bed and in Pa’s room within two  hours of him waking up.

Adam opened the door to the stable and peered in.  It was early evening and the sun was at that angle where it cast the interior of the building into shadow even though it had yet to set.  They’d searched all afternoon for Joe with no luck.  It had surprised him, Joe leaving the house when Pa was…well…far from all right.  If Pa took a turn for the worse and Joe wasn’t there, little brother would blame himself.

Adam halted.  He blew out a breath and settled his hat back on his head.  Then he ran a hand over the tense muscles in his neck.  What was he saying?  That was the problem.  Joe already blamed himself and neither of them knew for what.  For being injured and unable to stop Finch Webb from entering the house?  For being too fast or too slow or – and this was more likely – too impulsive?  They had no idea.  The kid wouldn’t talk and there were no other witnesses.  They’d found Hop Sing and Ming-hua tied up in the kitchen.  Neither had seen anything.  The man who had violated their home was gone, taking with him not only Greg, but Rosey O’Rourke.  Hoss had been unconscious, and Pa….

Pa hadn’t said anything more since he’d roused briefly to ask Joe ‘why’?

Moving with care Adam first checked the loft, which was one of Little Joe’s favorite haunts, and then began to go from stall to stall looking into each one.  He almost missed him – would have missed him, in fact, if Cadfan had not snorted and stamped the ground, drawing his attention to the small miserable pile of curls and filthy clothes huddled in the back corner of the Welsh pony’s stall.  From the looks of things, Joe’d been trying to mount his horse.  Cadfan’s saddle lay upside-down on the stable floor, the blanket askew.  Joe’s arms were wrapped around his middle and he was sobbing silently.

It made him angry at first, seeing his brother on the stall floor covered with filth and muck.  The kid knew better than to wallow in that stuff or to put himself at the mercy of a stray kick from a skittish animal. One blow and that could be the end of him.

Panic gripped him.

Could that be what Joe wanted?

Taking hold of Cadfan’s bridle, Adam led him out of the stall and tethered him to the ladder that led up into the loft.  Then he returned and knelt by his brother who had not moved.

Reaching out for him, he said, “Joe….”

The boy exploded in anger, shoving his hand away  “Go away!  I don’t want none of you!  Just leave me alone!,” Joe shouted as he jerked away from him.  “Go!  I don’t want –“  His brother’s eyes went wide.  He sucked in air as pain stabbed him.  “I can’t….”  A second later those red-rimmed green eyes pinned him, full of pain, filled with sorrow and…anguish.  “Adam, I couldn’t….”

“Couldn’t what, buddy?” he asked gently as he reached out again and steadied him.

Tears streamed down his baby brother’s face, cascading over those thick lashes to mingle with the dirt and sweat.  After a gasp, he breathed out the words, “I couldn’t…saddle Cadfan.  I…couldn’t go after…Finch.  I gotta…go, Adam!”  His little brother’s jaw locked and his nostrils flared like a bull in a rage.  “He’s gotta…pay…for what he made….”  Joe’s eye flicked to his face.  They were wary as a guilty man facing down a sheriff.  “For what he…did to Pa!”

Adam waited a moment for him to calm down and then he asked, “And what do you think Pa would think about you doing that?”

That small jaw jutted out.  Joe blinked, sending more tears racing toward his chin.  “He….  Pa would….”   His little brother stopped.   He looked down and drew a steadying breath.  When Joe  looked up again, Adam saw something in his eyes – something he had only glimpsed before and hoped to Hell he’d been wrong about – Joe wanted to curl up and die.

His hand gripped his brother’s shoulder.  “Joe, what is it?  What can’t – or won’t you tell me?”

Baby brother had several talents.  Working with horses was chief among them.  He also had a way of seeing around problems that stumped the rest of them due to his life lived without restraint.  But he had another one, one that did not bode well for the future should something ever come along that he couldn’t face.  Once Joseph Francis Cartwright made his mind up to keep something inside, there was no locksmith on the planet could open that safe.

You had to wait for him to find the key on his own.

Joe was glaring at him.  Sort of.  Actually, he looked like he was going to pass out and was holding on by sheer will alone.

“Come on, buddy.  Let’s get you inside,” he said as he reached for him.

It surprised him.  Joe reached back this time and caught his hand in an iron grip.  “You gotta promise me one thing, Adam.  You gotta.”

His hand squeezed his brother’s back.  “What’s that, Joe?” he asked, his tone soft.

“Promise me you won’t go after Finch without me.”

Oh dear.

“Deputy Coffee is looking for Finch Webb,” he answered evasively.

“He ain’t…gonna…find him,” Little Joe huffed as some deep-seated fear tightened his jaw more than pain or anger could.  “It’ll be…us.  It’s…got to be us!”  More tears flowed, making him look like a little boy lost in the midst of a storm much too ferocious for him to weather.

Which was, of course, exactly what he was.

“Adam, promise me!”

What could he say?  He had to get the kid in the house before he died of exposure.  With his hand on Joe’s, he could tell the fever was still there and thought it was rising.

After all, with any luck the posse would take Finch Webb long before he had to worry about honoring it.

Right?

“Okay, Joe, I promise.”

Those huge eyes of his blinked.  Gratitude filled them.  “Really?”

Adam sighed.  The kid needed something to hold onto.

“Really.”

Joe nodded and his full lips curled with a trace of a smile.  A moment later something went out of him – Adam could only hope it wasn’t all the life that was left in him.  Joe shivered and then slumped and then nearly toppled over into the muck that covered the stall floor.

He caught him, of course, before he could.  Then he lifted his little brother up in his arms and bore him toward the house.

Hoss and Hop Sing rushed out of the door to meet them and then it began all over again. A night without rest.  A vigil at a bedside – two bedsides, actually.

And a lot of prayer.

 

It proved to be a long night.  Adam only surrendered his chair at his father’s side when Paul Martin arrived for his noontime check the next day.  The Doc had done all he could to clean and stitch the wound the bullet had made in the area of Pa’s abdomen.  Fortunately, it hadn’t been as bad as the Doctor had first feared.  Paul apologized and then admitted, with chagrin, that he had been exhausted the night before and shaken deeply by seeing such a good man as their pa taken down as if his life meant nothing.  In the end it appeared that nothing vital had been damaged and what damage there was, the physician’s skilled hands had cleaned up and repaired.  Paul was concerned that there might still be a few bleeders, which was a part of the reason he had instructed them to keep such a close watch.  The doctor was also worried that the older man hadn’t wakened yet, other than that one time when he swam up out of the darkness to call for Joe.

And then, of course, there was the fever.

Before he left Paul had laid a hand on his shoulder and ordered him to go get cleaned up and to get some food.  He’d stumbled into the hallway and collapsed in the chair he had put there for Hoss the night before.  He was still there a half hour later when the big teen came out of Joe’s room looking like thirty miles of bad road.

“How’s Joe?” he asked.

Hoss’s giant shoulders rose and fell.  “Sleepin’, I think.  Boy, the Doc sure was mad when he found out Joe got out of that bed and went outside.”

He could still hear Paul railing, cursing not only them but the mule-headed young boy that he loved and feared for.

“What do you mean you ‘think’?”

His brother scowled.  “Joe’s fever’s been mighty high, Adam.  He was out of his head a lot last night.  Might be he’s unconscious ‘stead of asleep.”

He nodded.  That was part of why it had been a rough night.  He’d heard Joe screaming and the sound of it had ripped at his heart.

When Hoss said nothing more, Adam clued in to the fact that there was something more.

“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked.

Hoss looked back toward Joe’s room. Then his ice blue eyes returned to him.  “I think – now I ain’t entirely sure, mind you – but for some reason….”  He cleared his throat.  “For some reason I think Joe’s got it in his head that he’s responsible for Pa bein’ shot.”

Adam rose to his feet.  “What?”

“Could just be the fever talkin’, I guess.”

He’d been sleepy before, but he was wide awake now.  “What exactly did he say?”

Hoss’s eyes reflected the horror of what he’d been through over the last six or so hours.  “Joe just kept tossin’ and turnin’ – moanin’, you know, and talkin’ out of his head.  He was in so much pain.”  The big man looked sick.  Hoss hated to see anything in pain but this was his beloved little brother.  “Some of it was what’s ailin’ him, I’m sure, but the other….”  The big man shook his head.  “Adam, it was soul deep.”

He nodded, acknowledging both of his brothers’ pain.

“Little Joe kept talkin’ about fightin’ with that there Finch feller.  ‘I can make it,’ he’d say.  ‘I can make it.  I gotta.’  And then he’d stretch out his arm and wiggle his fingers kind of weak, like he was reachin’ for somethin’.”

For the first time since it had happened, Adam thought about the position he’d found Pa and Joe in when he’d come home that night.  Searching now for the image he’d tried so desperately to banish, he found it and processed it again, this time noting the settee table at an odd angle, the fruit bowl on the floor and the scattered checkerboard, as well as the fireplace implements lying on the hearth.  Everything indicated a struggle had taken place.

Hoss must be seeing it in his head too.  “I’m thinkin’ Little Joe must have jumped Finch somehow,” he speculated.  “Maybe the two of them was strugglin’ for that outlaw’s gun and…it went…off….”

For a second there were no words.

“Good Lord,” he breathed.

Hoss had crossed to the staircase.  He was holding onto the newel post and looking up toward the second floor.  Adam watched him turn back with a shake of his head.

“I sure hope it ain’t true.”

“I think it is,” he said with all the finality of absolute proof.  “It explains everything.”

Everything including Joe’s seeming disregard for his own health and recovery.

“You think one of us ought to talk to him?”

It was a hard call.  They could hardly let it go, but at the same time forcing Joe to face such a momentous thing before he was physically and mentally healed enough to do so might not be the best thing.

Finally he admitted, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Hoss’ look was almost comical.  Him saying ‘I don’t know’ was tantamount to his brothers to a pronouncement of the end of the world.

He rose and crossed to his brother.  “We’ll ask Paul when we can.  Now, what’s say you and I get washed up and ready for breakfast.  It won’t be long before Hop Sing will be complaining about us still being in our night clothes.”

“Mistah Adam, Mistah Hoss have reason.  Hop Sing no complain.  Only want what best for Little Joe and father.”  They turned to find their Chinese cook and friend standing in the hallway.  “You no dressed.  Need strength to do so.  Came to tell you breakfast is on table.”

Adam chuckled.  “Thank you for thinking of us, Hop Sing, but I don’t know.”  He ran a hand over his stubbled chin.  “I think one of us should check in on the convalescents.”

“Hop Sing go check.  You go to table.  Eat.  Then get dressed.”  He made a face.  “Velly late in day.  Father not be happy you no dressed.”

Hoss pursed his lips.  “I don’t think Adam or me is very hungry, Hop Sing.”

“Still you eat!  If father here, he tell you to eat!”  The man from China paused.  “Hop Sing not father, but love sons as his own.  Not want you get sick.”  He jabbed a finger at them. “Do father and brother no good if you get sick!”

Adam held his hands up in surrender.  “All right.  We’ll sit down and – ”

A knock at the door silenced him.  He looked at the other two men and then headed down the stairs, thinking maybe it was Roy and he’d come with news.

It wasn’t.

It was Monty Webb.

 

As Hoss turned from the staircase to join Adam, a slender shadow separated from the other ones that darkened the upper landing.  Little Joe was barely on his feet, but he was determined to remain on them long enough to see his pa.  When he’d awakened to find himself alone, he’d panicked, thinking the worst.  It took some managing, but he’d rolled out of the bed on his good side and then padded down the hallway in his socks toward his pa’s room.  Looking in, he saw that Pa was alone too.  After making sure his father was breathing, he went on to the staircase.  He could hear Adam and Hoss talking.  He wanted to be certain they were busy before heading back and he saw that they were.  Monty Webb had just stepped into the room.  The cowboy looked about as worn as he could be.  He’d been out riding with Roy Coffee, searching for Rosey and Greg and….  Joe swallowed over a lump of anger and guilt.

For Finch Webb.

So many emotions welled up in him at the thought of that name.  It was like a flash flood, dark and devastating and deadly.  He’d told himself over and over and over again that he hadn’t really shot his pa – that Finch had done it – that he’d had no choice but to go for that gun when he did; no chance but the try to reach it first.  Joe turned to look back toward his Pa’s darkened room.  The trouble was, just about every time he had himself halfway convinced, Pa’s words came back like a slap on the cheek.

‘Joseph…why?’

Why what?  Why had he gone for the gun?  Why had he taken the bad man on?  Why had he let him think he was out cold and scared him?

Why had he shot him?

Joe was breathing hard.  He reached out a hand and caught the stair rail to steady himself.  They thought he’d been asleep – Adam and Hoss – when they’d talked to Doc Martin in his room.  Pa was healing like he was, but he wasn’t out of danger yet.  If the fever didn’t break soon, he might not make it, or worse, if he did, Pa might never be the same.

Weary and heavy-hearted, Joe moved from the landing and went to his father’s room.  He paused outside of it, leaning his head on the door a moment, before tripping the latch and going in.  Pa was laying on his bed with a blanket pulled up to his chest.  His labored breathing was the only sound in the room.  Joe’s eyes landed on the buckets by the bedside table, filled with water and a bit of remaining ice.  He’d heard Adam say they’d packed Pa in it overnight.  It had brought his temperature down, but not near enough.

Joe sucked in a deep breath and went to the chair by the bed and sat down.  He sat there for the longest time, not sure he had the right to even touch his pa – after all, his actions, his choice had put him in this bed.  Finally, unable to stop himself – needing that tangible touch – the hurting boy reached out and laid his hand on his father’s arm.

Immediately, the tears began to flow.

Joe’s head followed his hand and, as his curls brushed his father’s fingers, the older man’s breath caught.  Joe looked up instantly, afraid he had done something wrong, only to find his father looking at him.

Pa’s eyes were clouded with pain, but he was looking at him.

His father’s parched lips parted.  Joe knew before he asked what he wanted.  Rising slowly, he took a few steps to the table and filled the glass there with water.  Leaving it on the table, he slipped his right arm under his pa’s shoulders, grunting a bit as he did, and lifted him up.  Then, taking hold of the glass, he gave him a few sips of water.  As he did, the older man’s eyes fixed on his for a moment and then they closed.  Joe’s arm was shaking by the time he laid his father back down and made a move to drop into the chair.

A weak grip on his wrist prevented it.

Pa’s dark brows were drawn together in the center.  He worked his lips a moment and then managed to whisper, “Hurt….”

Joe swallowed hard.  “I know it does, Pa.  I’m sorry….”

His father was shaking his head.  “No….  Hurt…to see…you….”

His world crashed in that instant.  Pa did blame him!  Pa didn’t want to look at him!  He thought he had shot him on purpose!  Pa….

“…hurt to…see…you…in such pain.”

It was like a rope had been thrown around him and someone had hauled back.  Joe blinked.  “What…?”

“Finch…hurt you.”  Pa’s grip grew a little stronger.  “I…hurt you.  Left…alone….”

His head was shaking now, making the curls fly.  “No, Pa!  How can you think that?  It was me!  I shot – ”

“No!”  His father’s voice was surprisingly strong.  “You…saved me.”  He paused to lick his lips.  “Joseph…why?”

There it was.  The question that had nagged him for days.  Joe tried to pull away, but somehow his father managed to hold him fast.

“Answer…me.  Why?”

“Why what, Pa?” he pleaded.  “Tell me.  Why what?”

Pa drew in a breath.  Joe felt him release the hold on his wrist and watched as he struggled to raise a hand toward his face.  “…shouldn’t…have risked…your…life, boy.  Why…did you…take…such a…chance?”

Joe shattered.  There was no other way to put it.  All of the stress of worrying about his pa dying,  the guilt over what he had done  and the memory of his finger on that trigger, the lack of sleep,  his own injuries, and the fever he was still fightin’ – all of it came crashing down at once and he plain and simple fell apart.  Tears streamed down his cheeks as he fell forward and pressed his face  into the blanket.

As his fingers twisted into the thick fabric and he began to sob, his father’s hand found a purchase in his curls.

Joe knew Doctor Martin would kill him when he came in again to check on the two of them, but he didn’t care.  He caught his pa’s hand in his own as he sat up.  Then he laid it at the older man’s side.  Then, like he was four years old and had just awakened from a nightmare, he went to the other side of the bed and crawled in.  Careful not to hurt his pa, and wary of his own bandaged side, he got as close as he could and then drew his father’s left arm around his shoulders.

As he lay there, soaking in Pa’s scent and considering whether life would be worth living if his father died, the rock of his world said, “Not your…fault, Joseph.”

 

Five minutes later the door to the sick room opened and Hop Sing stepped in again.  He had come to tidy up.  The man from China left five minutes later, with dirty linens and buckets of melted ice chips in his hands.

And a wide smile on his face