***********

THIRTEEN

Rosey glanced sideways at her traveling companion.  Little Joe was so adorable.  Of course, she’d never let the young man occupying the driver’s seat of the wagon know that was how she felt.  He was at that same stage – and almost the same age – her son Rory had been when Finch Webb took him.  Looking at Joseph with his jaw set and his chin thrust out defiantly, as if sheer will alone could halt the progress of the fever he was fighting, the years melted away.  She had disagreed with Pat the day Rory had gone to help with the birthing of Mrs. Henderson’s child.  Her husband said he needed him, but for some reason, that day, she had needed Rory as well and wanted to keep him with her.  Perhaps it was the fact that she too was with child that had put her on edge.

Perhaps it had been some kind of an intuition.

Rory had rooted himself firmly in the drawing room – looking very much like Joseph Cartwright did right now – his hands crossed over his chest, resolute and determined.  She’d expected an argument.  Instead, her twelve-year-old son had presented a compelling case for why he needed to go.  At that moment she had seen in Rory a budding maturity that foretold of the day when he would no longer need her, and it nearly broke her heart.  In the end, she had given in and let him go.  Still, ill at ease, she’d gone to Patrick.  She’d hoped to convince him to take her along as well.  Pat refused.  He declared a jostling wagon on the open road was no place for a woman so close to her time, and so she had watched them drive away and never seen either one of them alive again.

Until now.

A small sound escaped the lips of the boy sitting next to her.  Rosey looked at Ben’s son again and noticed his color was off.  In fact, he looked like he might be about to be sick.

“Joseph?”

The boy swallowed hard over it and turned to look at her.  “Ma’am?”

“Do you think we could stop for a moment?  I feel the need to stretch my legs.”

They’d been on the road for a little over two hours and had gone, perhaps, five or six miles.  They were hoping to make it to the rock formation Adam had mentioned, but she was wondering if they would.  The sun was nearly set and it was growing dark.

“Or maybe we should just make camp?” she added, careful to make it a suggestion and not an order.  Knowing this young man, any indication that she thought he needed to stop would be quickly challenged.

Joe made a kissing noise and called the horses to a halt, then pivoted to look at her again.  She held her feelings in check when she saw the thin sheen of sweat coating his pale skin.

“Do you need to?” he asked as a little shiver snaked through his thin frame.

She also held in check her desire to wrap a blanket around this sick child and draw him close.

It was out of the question, of course.

Rosey glanced up at the sky.  “There can’t be more than a half to three quarters of an hour of light left at most.  Will we reach the rocks Adam spoke of by then?”

“We might and we might not,” he said, trying to sound adult instead of exhausted.  “It all depends on the road and how tired the horses are.”

She glanced at the pair of bays that pulled the wagon.  “They look as tired as I feel,” she said with a weary smile.

Joseph nodded.  “I reckon they are.  They didn’t get much time to rest before we set out.”  He stopped and seemed to puzzle over something for a minute before speaking.  “I’ve been on this road before.  There’s not much around here.  No caves or anythin’.”

“Can’t we sleep in the wagon?”

Joe grinned.  “Better to sleep under it.  That way you don’t get so much wind and if it rains, you stay dry.”  His green eyes, which were fever-bright, shifted then to the trees and tall grasses surrounding them.  “Easier to defend too.”

Of course she knew that, but it had brightened his aspect to let him suggest it.

“Have you seen anything suspicious?” she asked, suddenly concerned.

“No, ma’am.  Just bein’ cautious, if you know what I mean.”

Rosey continued to stare at him for a moment, and then she said, “Thank you, Joseph.”

He looked surprised.  “For what?”

“For being such a diligent young man and for taking such good care of me.”

Little Joe’s cheeks were already rosy from the fever.  Their color deepened.  “It’s nothin’, Miss Rosey.  I’m glad to do it.”  The boy hesitated a moment and then added, with a cheeky grin.  “Besides Pa would have my hide if I let anything happen to you.”

“Joseph Cartwright!  What are you implying?” she responded, doing her best to hide her grin.

“I ain’t implying anythin’,” he said.  “I’m  sayin’ it out right.  I think Pa’s sufferin’ with Cupid’s cramp.”

This time she did laugh.  “What?”

Little Joe looked stricken.  “Sorry, Ma’am.  I guess that was out of place.  It’s what old Dan Tolliver says when one the hands falls head over heels for a pretty girl.”

Rosey drew a breath.  This was uncharted territory.  “Would you mind, Joseph, if Cupid’s arrow struck your Pa?”

His lips pursed and those mobile brows of his rippled and then pulled down in the middle.

“Joseph?”

He let whatever he was thinking out in a little sigh.  “I guess I wouldn’t mind, Miss Rosey.  I think….  Well, Pa deserves to be happy.  He was so happy with mama.”  The boy blinked.  Tears were close.  “I sure wish I remembered her.”

Rosey reached out and took hold of his hand.  It was hot and that concerned her, but she went on as if she hadn’t noticed.  “I would never try to take your mother’s place, Joseph.  I just want to be your friend.”

He frowned for a moment, looking very serious, and then said, “If you want to be my friend, I can tell you how you can start.”

“Oh?”  She released his hand.  “And how is that?”

“By calling me Joe.  Only my Pa calls me Joseph and that’s usually when he’s mad as spit on a griddle.”

The older woman laughed.  “Joe, it is then.  If you promise to call me Rosey. No more Miss or ma’am.”

“I’m not sure Pa would like that.”

She made a show of looking from one side to the other.  “I don’t see him anywhere.”

He laughed.  “All right, Rosey it is.”

Joe let the reins drop and rose in the wagon seat.  She noticed how stiffly he did so and how careful he was when lowering himself to the ground.  When the boy held his hand out to her, she took it and joined him beside the wagon.

“I’ll go get some firewood,” he said.  “While I’m gone, why don’t you get the blankets out of the wagon and spread them underneath it?  There’s quite a few since Pa was so worried about me travelin’.  I liked to die I was so….”  He corrected himself.  “I thought I was gonna burn up.”

“Well, it’s chilly now,” she said, ignoring the words spoken out of turn.  “I saw your heavy coat in the back.  We can use that too.”

“There’s food in the wood box by the big sack.  Hop Sing always packs a feast, so we shouldn’t lack for much of anythin’.”

“Just like a picnic in the woods.  It sounds delightful.”

Joe looked at her like she was a little crazy and then disappeared into the trees.

Rosey watched the boy go, knowing full well he was too sick to be traipsing about them alone looking for firewood.  She’d wait an appropriate amount of time and if he didn’t return, find some excuse to go looking for him.

Like his father, Little Joe Cartwright had a dignity about him.  One had to honor that.  He would grow into a fine young man one day.

As Rosey reached into the wagon and began to draw the blankets out, she considered what Joe had said about his pa being smitten with her.  She felt the same way.  Ben Cartwright was a wonderful man.  He would make any woman the most attentive and loving husband.  There was a part of her that yearned to throw all caution aside and to rush into his arms.

But then, there was Rory.

She had no idea how her son would react to finding out that she was his mother.  If he accepted her, she felt her attention would have to be on him, at least for the foreseeable future while they rebuilt the relationship they’d once had.

If her son rejected her – and there was always that chance – it would devastate her, but it would free her to return Ben’s affection.  To bring him happiness.  To love him.

Perhaps to marry him.

She wondered – was it possible to have both?

Turning back in the direction they had come, she thought of Ben’s other sons who were willingly risking their lives to bring Finch Webb to justice.  Her son was with them.  She knew Rory had a personal score to settle with the outlaw, as did the Cartwrights.  She prayed that need would not propel them all into danger.  She and her son had only just found one another.

God could not be so cruel as to part them again.

Rosey shook off her unease.  Between the two Cartwrights, her son, and his adopted brother, Monty, there were four capable men going after Finch.  There was also the posse from Harriman, as well as Sheriff Olin and his men.  With any luck, the man she had once known as Sten would be in custody before dawn and headed to prison soon after.

The older woman wrapped her arms around her torso and shivered as a quote by Benjamin Franklin came to mind.

‘Diligence is the mother of good luck.’

With that thought, she began to search the back of the wagon for a gun.

Hop Sing’s journey begin at ten in morning.  He and Mistah Ben travel together for near eight hours always pushing, never resting, only stopping to feed and water the horses and themselves.  It not enough.  Much rest is needed.

Hop Sing worried about his friend.

This man he knew over twelve years now, he a tiger.  Hop Sing watch Mistah Ben drive himself like he drive cattle, long and hard.  Always something need to be done.  Always obligation to fulfill; something to see through.  Ben Cartwright not think of self when other one in need.

Especially when other one – or other three – are sons.

Hop Sing sigh as he check coffee.  He anxious for it to boil.  Sun had set in the west, falling down behind purple snow-capped mountains, casting its last dying breath over a land very cold for June.  While busy, he keep one eye on his beloved rancher.  Ben Cartwright have no more business on road than number three son.  Both sick.  Both getting sicker.  He learn long ago from same rancher that two wrongs do not make one right.

Why Mistah Ben not take his own advice?

Because he tiger.  That why.  Number three son tiger too.

Tiger father cannot beget lamb son.

Seeing coffee boiling, Hop Sing fill tin cup with dark liquid and take over to friend where he sit propped against the wagon wheel.  Beloved rancher make loud noise when he cover him with blankets and tuck him in like small baby.  When he complain, Hop Sing remind him.

“Only a fool tests the depths of the water with both feet.”

Hop Sing very happy then.  Mistah Ben smile at him, forgetting for a moment why he afraid.

As he took steaming cup, the tired rancher blow out air and turn his lips up in a half-smile.  “Thank you, Hop Sing.  What did I do to deserve you?”

“Mistah Ben looks for fish on trees,” he responded curtly.  “Hop Sing unworthy of such a question.”

Mistah Ben finish smile as he take a sip and then look at him over rim of the cup.  “I remember you telling Joseph once that butterflies can’t see their wings.  They can’t see how beautiful they are while everyone else can.”

Hop Sing remember another expression, one Mistah Adam fond of.  ‘Love is like a butterfly, hold it too tight, it will crush.  Hold it too loose, it will fly.’

“Mistah Ben bad man,” he said softly, his brow furrowing.

The rancher’s dark eyebrows peaked.  “Oh?”

“You speak foolishment!”  He blinked and sniffed.  “How Hop Sing fix supper with tears in eyes?  Cannot see, cook food wrong!  Put potato in pie and berries in stew!”  He wagged a finger at the man he worked for.  “You no eat, get skinny as number three son!

He know foolishment too.  Sadness in eyes again.

Foolishment to mention.

Mistah Ben no longer see Hop Sing.  See in distance sick boy.

“I pray Joseph is all right.  That boy!  He just doesn’t know his limits,” tiger growled.  “If he gets it in his head that he’s right, there’s nothing can stand in his way even when his own health is at…risk….”

Hop sing smiling.  “Mistah Ben pot call kettle black.”

The rancher huffed, and then laughed.  “I guess I am at that.”

“Mistah Ben not worry about number three son.  Mistahs Adam and Hoss not take eyes off Little Joe.  Make sure boy okay.”  He hesitated and then added with another jab of his finger, “Sons want you to worry about you!”

“I’m all right, Hop Sing.”  His friend shift and wince.  “I’m tired, but I’ll be all right.  My stitches are intact.”

Before Mistah Ben can stop him, Hop sing place a hand on his forehead.  “You no have fever.  You rest, like you want Little Joe to rest, you be all right.  It not come back.”

The older man looked into the trees.  “Only for an hour or so, Hop Sing.  No more.  I have a sense that we need to be on our way as soon as we can.”

“Travel in dark?”

Mistah Ben look at him, hope and fear mixed with terror in his black eyes.  “Yes.”

He thought a moment; then nodded.  “You sleep while Hop Sing cooks.”

His employer held his gaze.  “Only if I have your solemn word, sworn upon  the memory of your ancestors, that you will wake me up when the food is ready.”

“Like little boy, cross heart with fingers,” he replied, doing so.

“And what about the fingers behind your back?  Are they crossed too?”  Ben snorted.  “I have experience with Joseph, you know.”

Hop Sing knew Mistah Ben pulling leg.  He held his hand up and splayed the fingers out.  “Credit weighs more than gold.”

“Not more than the gold in your heart, old friend,” Mistah Ben replied.

Hop Sing sigh.

He hope his old friend like berry stew.

“What do you think?”

Adam Cartwright glanced at Monty Webb.  The early morning light struck the cowboy where he knelt on the ground pointing to a set of footprints he’d just found.  They’d been following Finch Webb’s trail for a good many hours now.  Monty knew what to look for, which helped immensely.  There were a couple of abnormalities to the shoes of the horse Finch was riding.  They’d spotted the prints outside of the bank and had followed what turned out to be a false trail for about half the day before turning around and heading back toward Virginia City.  Before they left Harriman, he’d checked in again on the posse the deputy had raised and was delighted to find out they were heading in the opposite direction.

He had no time for amateurs and there was no time to lose.

“I make those a woman’s prints,” Monty said as he rose and dusted off his knees.  “She’s taller than some, I’d guess.  Got a lightweight fellow traveling with her.”

It had to be Rosey and Greg.  She and her son had escaped from captivity shortly after the robbery went down.  If the tracks were Rosey’s, they were headed for the Ponderosa.  It was obvious, whoever it was, that they were being pursued.  They’d kept to the side of the road and not traveled on it.  Only the grace of God and nature’s call had revealed the footprints to them.

The trouble was, though Finch Webb had headed away from Harriman to begin with – in the direction the posse had taken – they’d realized quickly enough that he’d doubled back and taken the Virginia City road.  Adam glanced at the ground.  Webb’s prints over rode both Rosey’s and Greg’s, so he’d come after them.  The outlaw was possessed.  He meant to have her.

He was also a killer and that put Hoss and Little Joe in the line of fire.

“You know Finch better than me, obviously,” Adam said as Monty rose to his feet.  “I would have thought avarice his chief vice, but it looks like one woman is more important to him than escaping with the bank money, otherwise he would be heading for Mexico.”

“Or, knowing my brother, San Francisco to waste it all on fast women and expensive liquor.”  Monty spat on the ground, expressing his disgust.  “Trouble with Finch is, he can’t lose.  Most of what he does is set himself up a challenge and then do whatever it takes to come out the winner.  Rosey bested him.  So did your little brother.  Sorry to say, that’s all that matters now.”

And that was what he was afraid of.

“He’s on horseback and moving fairly fast.  How far ahead of us do you think he is?” Adam asked.

“One, maybe two hours.”

“And Rosey and her son?

Monty squatted to look again.  When he looked up, it wasn’t with a smile.

“About the same.”

Great.  Just…great.

“At least Joe and Hoss should be at the rock formation.  That puts them closer to home.”

“If they stayed there,” Monty said as he rose again and headed for his horse.  “Ain’t neither one of those younger brothers of yours too good at followin’ rules from what I seen.”  The lanky blond paused.  He looked over his horse’s back in the direction of the house.  “Someone’s comin’, you hear it?”

He did.  “Moving slowly, like they’re looking for something.”

Monty’s smile was grim.  “Or someone.”

With a nod, Adam took hold of Sport’s reins and led him off of the road and into the shadows of the trees while Monty did the same with his mount.

Then they waited.  It took two, maybe three minutes before they spotted who it was.

“It’s Hoss,” the black-haired man said.

“And Greg,” Monty added.  “They’re both on horseback!”

Adam drew a breath and held it as his mind whirled with possibilities.  He was waiting for the wagon with Little Joe.

It never came.

“Hoss!  Yo!  Hoss!” Adam called as he showed himself.

Chubb snorted as his brother reined him in.  A second later the big teen was dismounted and at his side.  Adam knew what was coming and braced himself.

“If you ain’t a sight for sore eyes!” Hoss exclaimed, grabbing him and pulling him into a bear hug.  “We was on our way to Harriman to find you.”

Adam’s gaze went to Greg.  He nodded in his direction.

Hoss looked and then turned back.  Monty had moved over to the young man and they were talking.  “Joe and I was on our way in the wagon when we ran into Miss Rosey and Rory there.  Seems they’d escaped from Finch Webb and was headed to the Ponderosa.”

“Rory?”

The big man nodded.  “Remembers his name, but he don’t know about him and Miss Rosey yet.  She wanted to wait to tell him ‘til things, well, calmed down.  You know?”

Which at the rate things were going might be by the time Greg was thirty.

“Where’s Joe?”

His brother’s grin faded.  “He ain’t doing so good, Adam.  The fever’s back.  Miss Rosey cooked up a scheme to get him to take her back to the ranch house. She means to keep him there.”

“So Little Joe is with Rosey?  Just Joe?”

Hoss scowled.  “Yeah.  I figured him and her could make it back to the house all on their lonesomes.  After all, she was a scout and that gal sure can sure take care of herself.”

“Under ordinary circumstances,” Adam sighed.

“What about it ain’t ordinary?”

Adam stared at the road.  The hooves of Hoss and Greg…er…Rory’s horses would have wiped out most of Finch’s tracks, but that didn’t matter.  They knew where he was going.

“After the robbery in Harriman, Finch doubled back.  He’s on the road to the Ponderosa, Hoss.”  Adam took a step forward.  “He and his men are somewhere between us and Rosey and Joe.”

“You mean that outlaw didn’t light out for Mexico?”

“The posse from Harriman is headed that way, but no.  Monty knows his horse’s hoof prints.  Finch is headed to the ranch.”

Hoss took his hat off and slapped it against his thigh.  “Damn.”

Adam mirrored his brother’s frustration as he gazed down the road his little brother had taken.

That one word about summed it up.

Rosey had awakened just before dawn.  She’d glanced at Little Joe where he lay curled up in a ball with his back to her, decided to leave the boy sleeping, and then risen quietly and gone to relieve herself.  Upon her return she’d performed a few chores, rekindling the fire and placing a fresh pot of coffee on it, and then returned to wake her charming chaperone.  Tired as he was, Joe had fallen asleep instantly and she was the one who had sat up half the night, rifle in hand.  Finally, as the moon edged down and the first fingers of light rose, she’d allowed herself a few hours sleep. She hadn’t shown the rifle to Little Joe. She knew he would have insisted on keeping watch and the child needed his rest.

Ben had told her that his youngest was notoriously hard to awaken.  The tricks Joe’s brothers pulled to get him on the move were legendary.  Patrick had always said that sleep was God’s healer.  Perhaps Little Joe needed more because he experienced everything more deeply.  In the time she had come to know the Cartwrights, she had seen Ben’s youngest go from despair to delight in a matter of seconds.  Rosey smiled as she looked at the sleeping boy.  There was one thing anyone would have to admit.  Though he could be contrary and obstinate, Little Joe’s laugh was a gift from on high and brought joy to all who heard it.

Rosey ran a hand across her eyes as she fought back fatigue.  Sadly, she hadn’t heard it much on this trip.  Joe was pushing himself mercilessly. He was determined, first of all, to get her to safety and secondly, to prove he was a man.

She smiled as she looked at his tousled head, peeking out from beneath the blanket.  He wasn’t yet, but he was well on his way.

Ducking under the wagon, Rosey knelt and placed a hand on Joe’s shoulder.  Alarm bells went off as she did.  He was hot.

Very hot.

She shook him gently.  “Little Joe?  It’s time to wake up.”

Joe murmured and curled into himself more.

Arranging her skirts, she sat beside him.  This time she reached out to brush the curls from his forehead and was alarmed to find his skin hot but fairly dry.  Her years attending Pat with his patients made her think of infection.  The only cause she could think of was the possibility of a bone infection from his broken rib.  She prayed to God that a broken end of it had not shifted and torn into something.

Thinking back to what Joe had told her earlier, she shook the boy again and using a stern tone said, “Joseph!  Wake up.  Look at me.  Joseph!”

She was rewarded with a mumble.

“Dnnn wnnaa.  G’way.”

Relief shook her.  He was conscious. That was one in their favor.  Taking hold of the boy’s arm, she rocked him toward her.  “Joe, please.  Open your eyes and look at me.”

With a groan, he did as she asked.  Those wide green eyes opened and fastened on her.  Joe looked puzzled for a moment, and then the most beautiful smile broke over his young face.

“Mama?”

Pat would have said, stop, draw a breath, and reevaluate before you panic.  He might not be delirious.  Joe simply might not be awake.

“Little Joe, can you sit up?” As he struggled to comply, she placed a hand on each side of his torso.  “Here, let me help you.”

Apparently she took hold of him in the wrong place.  Ben’s youngest gasped and his eyes shot wide open as his hands flew out to grip her upper arms.

He was definitely awake now.

She cupped Joe’s face in her hand.  “Do you know who I am?  Joseph, answer me!”

Pain drew deep gasps from him.  “Rosey..?”

“Yes.  Rosey.  Thank God.”  The older woman sucked in a breath and let it out slowly to steady herself.  “Can you tell me what hurts?”

A pained smile curled his lips.  “…everything…?”

“I’ll go get you some water,” she said and made to rise.

He pulled her back.  “I’m…all right.  Got to…get you home.  Somewhere…safe.”

Her heart ached for him.  He was being so brave.

“I’m fine, Joe. It’s you we need to worry about.  We have to get that fever down.”

The boy shook his head.  “I promised…Hoss.”  He licked his lips.  “Adam.”  He pulled away from her then and struggled to rise.  “Pa…  Got to get you to…Pa.”

“So you’re still alive.  Eh, boy?” a man asked out of the blue, his tone callous.

Rosey stiffened.  She knew that voice.  It had haunted her nightmares for twelve years.  She pivoted to look and found the man she had known as Sten – the man whose real name was Finch Webb – and his right hand man Abel Simms gazing down at them.

Finch spat.  A sneer curled his cruel lips.

“We’ll just have to see what we can do about remedying that, now won’t we?”

***********

FOURTEEN

“You leave the boy alone!” Rosey protested.  She’d raised up from under the wagon and positioned herself between Finch and Little Joe.  Her eyes longingly sought the rifle she had left propped near the driver’s seat.  It was, sadly, out of reach.

Finch swaggered over to her, his eyes on the rifle as well.  Then, slowly, they came back to her and passed over her to go to Joe where he lay under the wagon, his eyes open wide and bright with fever.

“Don’t look like I need do much,” the outlaw sneered.  “Seems to me he ain’t got too much time as it is.”

Joe was struggling to toss his covers over and get up – to come to her rescue.

“You stay where you are, boy,” Finch ordered, his words accompanied by an ominous ‘click’ as the outlaw aimed his gun.

Rosey glanced at Joe and shook her head.  ‘Joseph, no,’ she mouthed.  ‘Lay back down.’

Joe’s eyes met hers.  She saw anything but resignation in them.   Still, he did as he was told.

For now.

“Finch, why?” she asked as she turned back.  “You can’t possibly want me.  Do you just want to hurt me?  Is that it?”

He came close and took her jaw between his fingers.  “Why can’t I want you?”

Her answer might be her death sentence, but she didn’t care.  “Because I hate you.  I hate you for killing my husband and for taking twelve years of my son’s life from me!”  She drew a breath.  “And Rory hates you too!”

Finch’s eyes were very pale.  Some might have called them gray, but they were actually lavender in tone.  And they were cold.  Cold as the heart of a winter storm.

“Nothin’ like beddin’ a she-cat and especially one protectin’ her young.”  Finch said as he tightened his grip until it hurt.  “Greg ain’t goin’ nowhere.  I got Greg, so I got you.”

“You just have to win,” she breathed.  “That’s it?  Isn’t it?”

His lips curled with a dark pleasure.  “Maybe.  If you got it right, I’m just about there.”  He used the gun’s barrel to point to where Joe lay under the wagon, breathing heavily.  “That one’s done   for.  I got you.  Greg will follow.  I’d call that winnin’.”

“Ben Cartwright’s still alive,” she declared, though she knew she shouldn’t.  “He won’t rest until you’re brought to justice!”

“You better hope that rancher stays on that Ponderosa of his.”  The evil man snorted.  “Can’t think of much would satisfy me more than puttin’ another bullet in him, deliberate-like this time.  Now, come on.”

Finch took her by the arm and started to pull her away from the wagon.  She noticed Simms did not move, but was staring at Joseph where he lay helpless in a nest of tangled blankets.

“What about Joe?” she demanded.

Her captor glanced over his shoulder at his cohort.  “I was gonna have Simms put the little animal out of his misery.”

Rosey’s spine went stiff.   “If you do, I will fight you every inch of the way, Finch.  I will scream so they can hear me in Eagle Station if you harm that boy!”

“Always the mama,” he said, his tone sarcastic.  After a second, he nodded.  “Come on, Simms.  We’ll let the wolves have him.”

As she was led away, Rosey tossed one last longing look at Little Joe.

The outlaw was wrong.

The wolves had her.

“How Mistah Ben feel?  Feel A-okay?”

It was probably the tenth time his friend had asked him that in ten minutes.  “Yes, Hop Sing,” Ben grunted.  “I feel fine.”

“Not look fine.  Look like wet flour.”

“Thank you,” he snorted.

“Hop Sing not here make Mistah Ben feel good about self.  Hop Sing here to make sure Mistah Ben all right.”  His cook shook his head.  “You just like Little Joe.  Never know if you speak truth!”

Ben was affronted.  “I always speak the truth.”

“About cattle, about timber, about prices and people, always speak truth.  Tell lies about self!”

The rancher hid his smile as he glanced over at Hop Sing, who was seated on the board beside him.  The man from China had grudgingly handed the reins over to him and let him drive.  He had assured him he would do nothing to cause his stitches to burst or make anything worse.  They were traveling in the dark and their pace was slow.  Fortunately, it was another crisp cool May night and the moon was high and bright.  It would have been a pleasant ride if it were not for the fact that he had three sons, as well as several friends, in danger from a madman.

“What lies have I told about myself?” Ben asked.

“Mistah Ben all right.  Mistah Ben not tired.  Mistah Ben’s side not feel like chicken’s when Hop Sing sew up after adding stuffing!”

The rancher laughed out loud.  One hand went to his side.  “Stop it!” he pleaded.  “You’re the one making it hurt!”

The man from China looked stricken.

Ben was still chuckling.  “Forgive me, old friend.  It’s just….”  He stopped.  Hop Sing wasn’t looking at him.  He was looking straight ahead and pointing.

He saw it, abandoned in the moonlight.

Their wagon.

“Whoa!”  Ben reined in the team.  Everything that was in him wanted to hop from the seat and run to the vehicle, but he restrained himself and made a smooth and slow exit instead.

Then he ran.

Hop Sing was already there.  He was on the ground under it where a twisted pile of blankets lay abandoned.

“Someone sleep here.  Not long ago.  Blankets still warm.”

Ben tried to work out in his mind what had happened. The boys had left the Ponderosa with their mounts in tow.  Joseph had been unwell, and so they had taken the wagon to transport him.  Now, here it was, abandoned.  Where were they?  Certainly Joseph couldn’t be riding.

Could he?

Ben knelt carefully and began to examine the ground. The first thing he saw puzzled him even more.

A woman’s footprints.

“Hop Sing!”

The man from China was at his side in a moment.  He had something in his hands.  “Found Little Joe’s coat under wagon,” he said.

Ben took it and examined it.  There was no blood, which was a hopeful sign.  Clutching the garment like a lifeline, the rancher stood up and looked around.  Unless Little Joe had gone off without his coat, he had to be somewhere nearby.

“Little Joe!  Joseph!” he called, heedless of the danger of exposing himself.  “Joseph?!”

Hop Sing had risen as well.  They stood still, waiting as the stars traveled silently above them and the earth revolved beneath their feet.

“There!  You hear that?” his friend asked.

He hadn’t.  “No. What did you hear?”

Hop Sing shook his head.  “Not sure.  Sound like…there!”

He’d heard it that time.  The sound cut through to his soul.

“Pa?”

Dropping the coat, Ben sped off into the woods in the general direction of the voice.  “Joseph?  Son?  Yes, it’s Pa.  Little Joe, call out!  Let me know where you are, boy!”

“Pa…?”

He stopped.  It had come from his right.

“Joseph?”

“Pa…here.  I’m…here….”

There was a thicket, and past it a large tree surrounded by smaller ones.  The moonlight streamed through the opening between them, casting deep shadows, masking more than illuminating the land beneath the giant cottonwood.  As he broke through the underbrush, Ben Cartwright grunted with relief and then drew in a sharp breath of anguish.

Little Joe was there.  His son was alive.

He was also very sick.

Ben crossed the distance between them in two heartbeats and dropped at the boy’s side.  Reaching out he took Joe’s tousled head in his hand, working his fingers into the dirt and sweat-soaked curls.

“Joseph.  It’s all right, son.  I’m here.”

His son was looking at him, but not seeing him.  Fever ran through the boy like a wildfire in a dry forest.  He could see it in Joe’s eyes.  Feel it radiating through him, even in his hair.

Little Joe’s hand feebly reached for his.  “Pa….  I tried….  Really, I…did.”  The boy was breathing hard and fast.  “I couldn’t…couldn’t…”  Joe’s eyes  closed for a second and then shot open.  His son’s hand grasped his arm.  “He got her! Finch…he…got Rosey!”

Ben glanced up at Hop Sing who stood beside him.  There were tears in his friend’s eyes too.  Joseph.  Dear obstinate, stubborn, reckless – and caring Joseph was more worried about a woman who only the year before had been a total stranger to him than he was about himself.

“I’ll find her, Joseph.  I promise.”  Ben reached forward and gathered his son into his arms.  Joseph’s fingers clawed his shirt, as if he could not enter than embrace fast enough.  The rancher placed a hand on the back of his son’s head and looked up at Hop Sing.  “Help me get him back to the wa– ”

A woman’s scream cut off what he had been about to say.

Dear Lord!  Could that be Rosey?

Was Finch Webb still so close?

“Bad man still here,” Hop Sing stated pithily.

Ben hesitated.  Joseph needed him.  So did Rosey.

What did he do?

Hoss brought his horse up short, nearly causing the animal to stumble.  “You hear that brother?”

Adam looked grim as he nodded.  “A woman’s scream.”

The big teen tossed a look at the two men who rode at their side.  Rory had risen up in his stirrups.

“Sounds like she might be a mile away.  Maybe more,” Monty added.

It was night and it was cold, so it was possible the sound had carried that far.  The four of them remained where they were, poised like watchmen on a tower waiting for a signal.

It never came.

“What are we waiting for?  We have to go!” Rory proclaimed, his anger evident in his tone.  “Finch is hurting her!”

“There are things we have to consider,” Adam said in a cool even tone.  “We can’t just rush in like –”

“Like what?  Like a frightened kid?”  Rory’s jaw was tight.  His eyes dangerously bright.  “Well, that what I am!  A frightened kid even more frightened for his ma!”

Hoss exchanged a startled look with his brother. “You know?”

Monty shrugged.  “He had it mostly figured out.  I just confirmed it.”

Rory had started to urge his mount forward.  Adam caught the reins in his hand. “Stop.  Rory, stop and think!  You may put Rosey in more danger by rushing in.  Or get yourself killed.  Is that what you want?  Is that what Rosey would want?”

The young man’s rage deflated.  “God….” he said. “God.  What do I do?”

Adam’s look was hard.  “There was only one scream.  That means one of two things.  Either it’s an attempt to get us to do just what you were planning on doing – rushing in pell-mell – or…or your mother’s already dead.”

It was hard to tell in the moonlight, but Hoss was pretty sure all the color drained from Rory’s face.

His wasn’t much better.

“What about Little Joe?” he asked his brother.  He knew right well a boy’s scream, especially his baby brother’s, could sound just like a woman’s.

Adam’s lips were pursed.  He shook his head.

“We’ll find out when we get there,” he said.  “Now, what we need is a plan.”

Ben left Joseph behind with the man he trusted most with the welfare of his sons after himself.  He’d carried the boy, cradled against his chest, back to the wagon and placed him in the nest of blankets under it.  Little Joe was in and out of his head, not quite unconscious, but obviously not far from it.  He couldn’t imagine what had caused the fever to return with such ferocity.  Paul had mentioned a vague threat of infection caused by bone fever, but had dismissed it as he was certain Little Joe’s broken rib had neither punctured the skin nor splintered.  Perhaps the movement of the wagon – or something Joe himself had done against his brothers wishes – had caused it.  Whatever it was, they needed to get the boy home and get him there quickly.  Unfortunately, it was too late for Hop Sing to start back tonight.  They would have to wait until morning.

God willing it would all be over by then.

His own injury was not without its worries.  Ben felt the strain on the doctor’s stitches as he worked his way through the trees toward the sound of the scream.  He had no doubt that Finch Webb was waiting for him.  He must have had someone on the lookout who had seen them arrive.  Finch was a typical small, petty man whose only thought was for himself.  He’d been bested by a woman and a boy and he was not going to let that stand.

Moving with caution, Ben kept his ears tuned to the land before him.  He could hear men speaking in low voices.  He had no idea how many outlaws Webb had with him, but it didn’t matter.  He knew their cowardly kind.  Once the head was cut off, the rest of the snake would slither away and curl up somewhere to die.  He didn’t care about them.  Let the posse take them.

He wanted Finch Webb.

To that end, Ben Cartwright halted where he was and called out in a loud voice.  “Finch, I know you’re there.  I’m coming in.”

A cold laugh traveled the cold wind to him.

“Come ahead.”

“No!  Number three son get back under wagon!  Boy stay put!  Boy hurt self and father if he not do as father say!”

Little Joe tiger son.  He not listen.

“Hop Sing, I…can’t!”  Number three son’s fevered hands press against him.  “Finch will…kill him!  I gotta…go…help…Pa!”

“You want help pa, you stay here!”

God make small animals with big eyes that reveal soul so no man harm them.  God make young boy no less so.

“Hop Sing, please….”

He shook his head.

Knew it was coming.  Anger next.

“You let..me go!”  Little Joe’s fingers become fists.  Strike Hop Sing’s chest like tail of angry dragon.  “You..get out of…my way!”

Hop Sing remain still, like Great Wall in China.  “No.”

Number three son not happy.  Jaw clench.  Nostrils flare.  Tears stream down boy’s flushed cheeks.

“You…can’t keep me…here! That’s…my Pa!  You got no right!”  Little Joe look him in eye.  “What…if you had…stopped me before when I fought…with Finch.

“Pa’d be dead!”

Honorable ancestors speak to him.  Their voice louder than old friend’s.

With a nod, he agree.

“But boy not go alone.  Hop Sing go with him.”

“Throw your gun away, Cartwright,” Finch Webb ordered as he emerged from the trees.

With a glance at Rosey who lay sobbing on the ground beside Abel Simms, he did as he was told.

“If you’ve hurt her….” Ben growled.

“You’ll do what?  I’d cut you down where you stand before you even thought to move.”

He was right.  In truth the rancher had no idea how he could possibly keep the man from carrying out his threat.  He was counting – as he always did – on Providence to take a hand in the outcome.

“You could but you haven’t, and I think that says a lot about the kind of man you are.”

“What?” he scoffed.  “Big-hearted?  Charitable?”

“No.”  Ben inched toward him.  “A man who likes to take his revenge nice and slow.”

“Just kill him,” Simms said.

“Shut up!” the outlaw snarled.  “How’s that boy of yours, Cartwright?  You find him where I left him.”

“I found him.”

“Still breathin’?”

Ben thought a moment.  If Finch thought Joseph was dead, he wouldn’t go after him.  The rancher cast his face accordingly – anger and grief mixed with rage.

“No.”

He heard Rosey gasp.

Ben’s eyes remained locked on Finch.  He’d apologize later.

He prayed he’d need to apologize later.

“No use in grievin’, Cartwright,” Finch Webb said as Rosey’s sobs increased.  “You’ll be seein’ your boy soon enough.  Tie him up, Simms!”

There was a pause.  “For God’s sake, Finch, just kill him!” Abel argued.  “I’m gettin’ tired of all your games –”

“And I’m tired of you!”  Without missing a beat Finch pivoted and shot the other man, turning his attention away for a split-second.

Ben saw his chance.

Adam exchanged a look with his middle brother.  They’d heard a woman sobbing and now, a shot.  Out of an abundance of caution they had left their mounts behind and were on foot, closing in, but he feared not fast enough.  He and Hoss were coming in from the west and Monty and Rory from the east.  He hoped Rosey’s son wouldn’t try anything rash.  At least the man who’d been his older brother for the last twelve years was with him, and Monty had a good head on his shoulders.

Still, younger brothers were younger brothers.

Through the trees he could see movement.  Two men were struggling.  Squaring off, striking, and then backing away and beginning again like two rams fighting for dominance.

Hoss’ hand caught his arm.  One of them had fallen and, for a second, was plainly visible through the trees.

“Adam!  That’s Pa!”

Hop Sing not able to keep up.  Little Joe sick so he sure he can, but sadly, had been wrong.  Youngest son of Mistah Ben a hundred feet in front of him.  He shove branches aside and run like deer as if there was no bad man on the other side of trees waiting to kill him.

He remember what father tell him when he was young man.  ‘Dragon teaches you that if man want to climb high, he must do it against the wind.’

“Little Joe!” Hop Sing shout.  “You stop!  Little Joe!”

Boy’s face turn toward him.  In it he see determination.  Boy will die if it means his father will live.  Hop Sing understand though he not like what he sees.

Little Joe have debt to pay.

Mistah Adam has a phrase he likes.  Come also from Shakespeare Sing.

‘Past that which is desperate.’

Hop Sing now know meaning.

Ben was on his knees.  Pain seared his side.  Some of the stitches that Paul had taken to close his wound were holding, but others had broken open and he knew he was bleeding.  Fortunately whatever men had traveled with Finch – other than Simms, who had fallen silent and was most likely dead – seemed to have cut and run.  It was just the two of them.  Of course, he was older and wounded and Finch Webb was not only younger and hale, but determined as Hell to kill him.

Ben’s smile was bleak.

That made the odds about even.

He’d landed a good blow the last time, driving the villain to his knees where he remained, one hand to the ground, panting hard.  Finch’s gun was a good five yards away – too far for either of them to make a grab for it.  Though he was weakening, he felt he had a chance so long as they went to hand to hand.

It was then Ben saw the glint of moonlight on the knife.

Joe halted, breathing hard, at the edge of the small clearing that contained the bad man who had attacked his home, stolen Miss Rosey, and shot his Pa.  He glanced back over his shoulder.  He was only a minute or so ahead of Hop Sing who was sure to tackle him and keep him from doing what he needed to do.  Pa was hurting.  He was half-standing and half-bowed over, his hand to his side.  There was red slippin’ through his fingers, so he was bleeding again.

They were out of time.

Joe glanced from side to side, checking to see if Finch had any other men with him, and the looked back toward his pa.  It was then he saw it.

Finch Webb had a knife!

Heedless of his own safety, Joe bolted out of the leaves and ran straight for his father.

“Hold it!”  Adam knocked Hoss’ hand aside. His brother had been about to take a shot in spite of the fact that there was no clear chance to do so when the black-haired man saw a slender curly-headed figure come barreling out of the trees like an avenging angel.  Adam held his breath as their father turned slightly, allowing Webb an opening to use the knife he was holding.  But then Joe was on Pa and Pa was falling.

“Now!” he shouted.

Gunfire erupted from both sides of the clearing as he and Hoss and Monty and Rory fired their weapons.  Finch Webb was caught in the crossfire.  His body went stiff, seemed to lift up, and then crumpled and lay still.

It was over.

Adam crumpled too – until Hoss started running.

And then he ran too.

***********

FIFTEEN

Ben opened his eyes to find his youngest son’s lean frame splayed across his own fallen form.  Terror gripped him.  The last thing he remembered had been hearing a series of shots.  Heedless of any danger – and in spite of the pain – he sat up and rolled Joseph’s silent form over and ran his hands the length of the boy’s fevered body looking for a wound.

He was stunned when he didn’t find one.

A second later someone dropped into the grass beside him.  Someone else as did as well on his other side.  One of those someones started shaking his shoulder and was speaking words.  Hands reached out.  Another one of those someones tried to take Joseph from him.

Heaven itself could not have loosened his grip.

There were more words.  Urgent words.  Finally, a few of them began to penetrate.  “Pa….  Pa….go.  Pa, we… to help Joe.”

Help.

Joe?

The older man blinked and attempted to make the world come into focus.  A face loomed, close to his.  A beloved face.  Worried.  Worse.

Terrified.

“Adam?”

“Pa, you’re hurt,” his oldest said.  “Little Joe is too.  I need to take him.”

“He’s not…shot.”  It was a statement.  Why did it sound like a question?

“No, thank God, Pa, he’s not shot.  But he’s really sick.  I need to get him to the wagon.”

When he made no move to comply, a second voice added.  “Pa, you jut let me take little brother.  You know I ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to him.”

Hoss.  That was Hoss.

He should have known.

Still his fingers would not release the treasure they held.  He could almost have believed he was dead and the arms that wrapped his child so tightly were frozen in eternity.  He glanced down at the boy, so pale, so still….

“Little Joe?”  He cleared his throat.  “Is he…?”

He heard the smile in the big man’s voice. It was tight but there.

“Little brother’s a corker, Pa.  He’s hangin’ on.  But we need to get Joe’s coat and get him in it and then wrap some blankets ‘round him.  He’s shiverin’ awful hard.”

Was he?  How had he not noticed?

Then Ben realized he was shivering too.

With one last look at his sweet son, who had once again saved his life – perhaps at the expense of his own – Ben surrendered Little Joe to his brother and watched Hoss carry him away to where Hop Sing was waiting by the wagon.  As he did, the rancher’s vision was blocked by the form of his oldest boy.

“Pa, you’re bleeding.  We need to see to your wounds.”

Wounds?  He wasn’t shot.  Was he?

No.

Not this time.

“What…?” he asked.

Adam sighed.  He slipped his hat back on his head and knelt beside him.  “All right. I’ll tell you what happened.  Then will you let us tend your wounds?”

Ben nodded.  Vaguely.

“Monty and I met up with Hoss and Rory.  We were leaving Harriman on Finch’s trail and they were coming to look for us.  Unfortunately, Little Joe and Rosey were headed back to the Ponderosa and Finch got in-between.  He caught up to them and left Joe for dead.  We think he was leaving when he realized you were in the area and decided to turn back and make sure you were dead too.”

Dead?  But they’d told him….

“Joseph?  He’s not –”

“No, Pa.  Hoss was telling the truth.  Little Joe’s alive.”  Adam’s worried look added something – maybe the fact that he was concerned that Joe might not stay that way.  “Pa, your side’s bleeding badly.  Come on.  Let’s get you over to where Joe is so I can take a look.”

He shook his head and winced.  A hand went to it and came away bloody.

“Yeah, you’ve got a wound there too.  You must have hit your head on a rock when you fell.  That’s why you’re not thinking clearly.”

“Who says I’m not…thinking clearly?” he growled, coming back a bit.

Adam grinned.  “Well, let’s just say you’re a little…muddled then, shall we?”

“Ben?”

The older man looked up at her voice.  Rosey was filthy.  Her hair was a shambles and her dress in tatters, exposing the underpinnings beneath, but she was beautiful.  Radiant in fact.  While she held one hand out to him, her other was locked firmly in her son’s.  They’d made it.  They’d both made it.

They’d all made it.

Ben closed his eyes and let fatigue and relief was over him.

“Thank you,” he whispered and then knew no more.

Adam stared at his brother and father who lay together beneath the wagon they had driven away from their home only the day before.  Both were pale as death.  Both fighting fevers.  Hoss had ridden into Eagle Station to see if he could locate Doctor Martin and bring him out to where they were.  The morning light was breaking.  A new day had begun.  Hopefully Paul was already in his office.  They discussed it and decided it would be best not to move either of them.  Pa’s stitches were broken open and Joe….  Well, Heaven only knew what was wrong with Little Joe.  They’d managed to get the fever reduced a bit the night before by wrapping him in ice cold blankets soaked in a nearby stream, but that – of course – raised the fear of pneumonia.  Adam could swear he heard his younger brother’s breath rattling in his chest.  But then, it might have been his imagination.  Or maybe it was just guilt.

This was not the outcome he had hoped for.

“Mister Adam, come get coffee.  Take rest,” a soft voice said from behind him.  “You not help father or brother make self sick.”

He recognized the words.  It was the Cartwright litany.

“I’m fine, Hop Sing.  I’ll rest when Hoss gets back with the doctor.”

“Number two son not get back for some time.  You rest now.”  There was a pause.  “Mister Adam not to blame.  Anyone to blame, it Hop Sing.”

The pain in that voice caused him to forget his own.  Adam pivoted on his heel.  “What?”

There were tears in the eyes of the man from China. “Mister Ben say keep Little Joe at wagon.  Hop Sing disobey.”  He paused and then straightened up as if ready to take his punishment.  “Hop Sing let boy go to father.”

“You….”  Adam paused.  “Let me get this straight, you let Joe go?”

Hop Sing cringed as if struck. “Yes,” he said in a small voice.

“Might I ask what prompted that act of dubious intelligence?” he asked sharply, and then instantly regretted it.  Adam ran a hand over his eyes.  “I’m sorry, Hop Sing.  I’m just tired.  I’m sure you had a reason.”  He paused and then added with a little smile, “After all I’ve been in your shoes – twice recently.”

Hop Sing’s eyes had gone to Little Joe, where he lay so still beside their father.  At some point Pa had awakened and reached out to Joe and their hands were still entwined.

“Hop Sing take care of little boy after mother die.  He fear father die too.  Fear it when five year old.  Still fear it now.  Little Joe think….”  Hop Sing paused.  He shook his head.  “Little Joe think he shoot father when he fight with Finch Webb for gun.  Much guilt.  Much sadness.”

“We told him – ”

“Boy love brothers but not listen to.  Still feel guilt.”

Adam nodded.  That was Joe.

“Go on.”

Hop Sing spread his hands wide and kept them level.  “Boy need something.  Need ying and yang, balance of opposites.”

He blew out a puff of air.  “Joe needed to save Pa to be able to forgive himself.”

The man from China nodded.

Adam looked again at the quiescent pair.  Pa had some color and was shifting as if in pain.  Joe was still  Very still.

Even if it cost him his life.

Ben cracked one eye open and instantly regretted it as pain tore through his head and side.  He stifled a moan and shifted and then had another thing to regret.

“That’s what you get for disobeying your doctor’s orders,” a gruff voice remarked.

He knew it – and the tone.

“I knew I…regretted waking up,” he said weakly as he realized he was in his home and in his own bed.

“I should give up on the whole lot of you Cartwrights,” Paul Martin sighed as he reached for his wrist to check his heartbeat.  “Not one of you knows the meaning of the word ‘no’.”  The doctor chuckled.  “Until it comes to telling me ‘no’, of course.”

Ben was struggling for something – a memory.  He could feel a fiery hand in his own.  A touch that was important.  No, necessary.

“Joseph!”

“Little Joe’s in his own bed,” Adam remarked as he slipped from where he was leaning against the door jamb and came into the room.  His oldest was not often one for tactile touch.  The fact that he came over and placed a hand on his arm said quite a bit.  “Good to have you back, Pa.”

“And Joe will stay in his own bed this time if I have anything to say about it!”  Ben noticed Paul was staring down Adam just as much as him.  “I almost lost that boy two nights ago.  He needs to stay put.”

Ben saw Adam wince.

“Almost lost Joe?” he demanded.  While he’d been, what, sleeping?

His oldest son did not remove his hand.  “Joe’s fever went real high, Pa.  He went into convulsions.”  Adam’s eyes showed the toll surviving that had taken.  “It’s broken now.”

“The rib bone fractured, Ben, due to the boy’s stubborn insistence on saving the day – two times!”  Paul shook his head.  “It started an infection.  It was all I could do to get it under control.”  His tone had been stern, unbending.  Relief at the outcome softened it.  “Knowing that youngest son of yours, no one could have stopped him.  Don’t blame yourself, Ben,” Paul glanced at Adam, “or anyone else.”

“Hop Sing’s taking it hard,” his son remarked quietly.

Ben’s eyes rolled over from Paul to Adam.  The older man was right.  Though he was still angry about Adam’s choices, his son needed forgiveness so he too could heal.

“As I remember, it was you who…decided to take your brother along when you and Hoss…went after Finch.”  He struggled for breath as his son’s face fell.  “I was angry.  I still…am in some ways…but son…we have to let it go.  Both of us.”  Ben fought for a smile.  “We both know…the only way to have kept…your brother home…would have been to hog-tie him.”  His fingers slid to Adam’s and he squeezed.  “You were only…trying to protect him.”

“And a poor job I did at that,” his son muttered.

He squeezed harder.  “He’s alive, Adam.  We’re all alive.  That’s what…matters.”

Adam’s lips quirked with a smile. “Alive and kicking, actually.  That’s what I came in to tell Paul.  Joe’s awake and insisting on seeing Pa.”

The physician rolled his eyes. “Here we go again!”  Paul thought a moment. “Ben?”

“Yes?”

“Knowing that boy, if I don’t grant his request, he’ll be crawling on his hands and knees into here within the hour.  I would rather you go to Joe than Joe come to you.  If you feel up to it – and only for a few moments!”

He was already on the way to pushing his covers aside.

“Whoa!” Paul said, laying a hand on his arm.  “I need your promise.”

Ben looked up – innocently, he hoped.  “Promise?”

“That you will let Adam assist you both there and back, and you will stay no more than five minutes.”

“But if Joe sees Adam helping me….”

“For Heaven’s sake, Ben, the boy saw you bleeding!  He knows you’re hurt.”  Paul crossed his arms.  “However, if you would rather I put my foot down and insist you both stay in bed –”

“I promise.”

Rarely did Paul Martin smile.  He did now and it was triumphant.

“Good.  Now, Adam, if you would care to assist the invalid.”

Hoss was waiting in the hall.  His middle boy looked done in.  His bright blue eyes were cradled in shadows that had shadows of their own and he looked like he’d lost weight.  Still, he was smiling.

Little Joe must be better.

As he took the slow steps along the hall to his youngest’s room, Ben asked his oldest, ‘How long?”

Adam played dumb.  “How long what, Pa?”

“Paul said Joe had reached a crisis the day before yesterday.  How long have we been home?”

The boy’s eyes flicked to Hoss where he kept pace with them and then back to him.  “Five days.”

“Five days?  Dear Lord!”

“You was right sick, Pa.  Just about as sick as Joe,” Hoss offered.  “We was….”  He shook his head.  “We were afeared we was gonna lose the both of you.”

They had arrived outside Little Joe’s door.  Ben looked in to see Rosey release Joseph’s hand and rise from the chair by the bed.  She was wearing a rose-pink dress that set off her dark hair and was the picture of loveliness – a far cry from the exhausted and tatterdemalion woman he remembered from the last time his eyes had been open.

She caught his hand as she came through the door.  Her eyes shone with joy.  “Ben!  It is so good to see you.”  Her glance went to Paul who lingered close by.  “Should he be out of bed?”

The doctor let out an exaggerated sigh.  “No.  And your point is?”

The older woman laughed as she released his hand.  “I’ll be downstairs with Rory.”

Her eyes met his as she said it, gratitude and more reflecting from them.  ‘Later’, they hinted, and then she was gone.

Ben felt Adam’s hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Pa. Let’s go see Joe.”

“Joseph.  It’s time to wake up,” a stern voice spoke calling Joe back to consciousness. He’d been there for a while, but sleep was too sweet and he had willingly given into it while he waited for Adam to return, nestling back into the covers and relishing the early morning peace and quiet.

“I need to have a talk with you, young man.”

Oh.  It was that stern voice.  He must have overslept again.  He was really in trouble this time!  Pa’d come to get him out of bed.

“Ssrry,” he slurred.

Huh?  How come his mouth wasn’t working right?

“It’s the pain medication,” he heard someone say.  “He’s still under.”

Pain medication?  For what?

Joe tried to shift his body, to get out of bed like Pa wanted.  Pain shot through his side.

Oh, yeah.  For that.

“Ow….”

He heard a laugh.  No, a snigger.

Hoss.

How’s about I give you somethin’ to laugh about, middle brother! he thought, but all that came out was, “…laugh….”

“I wouldn’t try it if I were you, son,” a kind but firm voice remarked as he felt cool fingers on his wrist.  “Not with that giggle of yours.  You’ll burst your stitches and Heavens knows I’m running out of thread!”

Another hand touched his forehead.  It was cool as well, and familiar.  The scent of the man leaning over him was familiar too – a strong musky scent born of years sun and strength. Fingers found his hair, fondling the curls as only one person could or would do.

“Joseph?  Son?”  A trickle of water touched his lips, moistening them; seeping between them to wet his tongue.  “Son, take a sip.  Please.  Joseph, can you hear me?”

“It’s useless, Ben.  It’s too soon.  Let’s get you back to bed.”

“No….”  Joe sucked a drop of water in, licked his lips, and then with a mighty effort forced his eyes open.  Focusing on that beloved face, he said, “…stay.  Pa.  Please.  Stay.”

His pa’s near-black eyes met his.  “Welcome back, son.”

“Back?  Where’d…I go?”

This time it was Adam who snickered.  He’d of yelled at him too, but he didn’t have the energy.

“You’ve been…sleeping for a few days,” Pa said, his voice shaky.

He knew he’d done something wrong, though he didn’t know what, for his father to sound so tired.

“Sorry.”  There, he said it right that time.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, son.  Though I might disagree with your methods,” Pa paused and looked up, as if addressing someone else as well, “all of your methods, I can’t argue with the outcome.”

Outcome.  That meant something had happened.  Something important from the way Pa sounded.

He wished he could remember what it was.

“That’s enough, Ben,” he heard the other stern voice say.  “Joe knows you’re all right now.  It’s time you got back to bed yourself.”

Pa?  All right?  What had…?  What?

Finch.

Finch Webb!!

Before anyone could stop him, Joe shot up in the bed like a firecracker had been lit under him.  “Pa!  He’s got a knife!  Pa! You gotta….  Gotta….  Pa….”  As quickly as the energy had infused him, it left.  Joe fell back to the bed gasping.  “Pa…look out….”

It was Adam who spoke.  “Joe, Finch Webb is dead.  He can’t hurt anyone ever again.”

He angled his head toward his brother.  Hoss was there too.  He had a silly smile on his face and was bobbing his own head up and down like an apple in a bucket of water.  Finch Webb was…dead?   He could hardly believe it, but he could believe something else.

His family wouldn’t lie to him.

His fathers fingers tightened on his.  “He would have killed me, son.  You saved me.”

Joe’s brows furrowed in concentration.  “I…did?”

“You may not remember it, Joe,” Doc Martin said, his voice kindly this time.  “You were a very sick boy when you rushed out into that clearing.  You’re quite the hero, son.”

Hero?

“Oh, for goodness sake, Doc!” Adam declared, his tone wry.  “His head’s already big enough with all those curls.”

Joe’s lips quirked at the ends even as he began to slip back into sleep.

A hero.

That had to be good for a least a few days off from chores.

Ben was supposed to return to his bed and yet, being a Cartwright, he felt a need to prove Paul Marin correct and quietly insisted he be allowed to go downstairs to the great room instead.  The doctor grumbled all the way down the stairs, but he let him – under strict orders that it be for no more than an hour or two.  Once he made it to the bottom and into his favorite chair, Ben was glad the physician continued on and exited to return to Eagle Station to check on other patients.

He wasn’t sure he would have lasted a minute or two more on his feet.

Soon, though, with more help than he could want or possibly use, he was made comfortable.  Ming-hua appeared out of nowhere with a pillow to prop his side as Hop Sing rolled an ottoman over from another part of the room and insisted on placing his feet on it – and then going upstairs to get his slippers.  Adam had remained behind to watch Little Joe, but  Hoss was there too – getting him a glass of brandy, bringing him his pipe, and generally spoiling him rotten.  Finally, about an hour after he had come down, there was a consensus that he was ably taken care of and the three of them disappeared out of the room to go about their various chores.

Leaving him alone with a highly amused and extremely lovely Rosey O’Rourke.

Rosey’s son Rory had gone into town with Monty.  The pair had a lot to talk over with Sheriff Olin.  Neither one had clean hands.  Both had been involved in bank robberies and other dubious crimes committed during their time with Finch Webb and there was a reckoning to be had with the law.  Adam told him that Deputy Roy had come by while he and Joseph were down to check on things.  He said Roy’s posse had done little other than to keep Harriman’s posse out of trouble – which in the end was a blessing as it had kept them out of their way.  The lawman had come back around noon to collect Monty and Rory.  Roy told Adam that he was sure the Cartwright’s word – along with the pair’s actions over the last few days – would go a long way toward lessening any sentence the law might hand down.  Ben glanced at the woman across from him.  His son said Rory and Rosey’s parting had been tearful.  Most likely Rory was in jail right now and would stay there until the circuit judge appeared – unless, of course, he could talk Sheriff Olin into putting the pair in his custody under house arrest on the Ponderosa.

He’d sent a letter along with Roy to that point.

Rosey was sitting on the settee.  Her dark brown hair was piled up high on her head and she had on a low-slung mauve dress that showed her shoulders.  She’d been reading.  The book lay open in her lap, unheeded at the moment, as she stared out the window above the dining room table.  The image was so like one of his last memories of Marie that it caused him to draw an audible breath.

“A penny for your thoughts,” she said softly.  “Or do I have to ask?”

No woman liked to be told that she reminded a man of his deceased wife.   “I was….”

“Thinking about Joseph’s mother.”

He scowled.  “Now, why would you think that?”

Rosey closed the book and turned toward him.  “There are a lot of ghosts in this house.  All of them female.  But it’s Marie’s I feel most of all.”

“I hope you don’t mean that I – ”

“No.  It’s not you, Ben.  Or at least, not only you.”  A little smile curled the ends of her lips.  “She must have been quite a woman.”

He nodded.  “She was.”  And then added softly, “So are you.”

Her eyes were bright.  “Do I remind you of her?”

Ben thought a moment.  “Honestly?  In some ways, yes, but only in that you are beautiful and a strong determined woman.  Joseph’s mother was….”  He chuckled.  “Well, like her son, Marie was a handful.”

“I love that boy,” she said suddenly.  Then, surprised by her own ferocity, Rosey laughed.  “I love them all, but you can’t help loving Little Joe just a little bit more.”  Her face grew serious.  “Mostly, because he needs it so desperately.”

Ben nodded his agreement.  “Joseph was the most effected by Marie’s death, though it was hard on Hoss and Adam as well.  Hoss found a purpose in caring for Little Joe.  Adam, well,” he sighed, “Adam shut down emotionally like his father.  He did everything that was needed, but little by little the walls went up.”  He sighed.  “Sometimes, I wonder if I will ever reach the boy.”

“He needs a woman’s touch.  You all do.”  She rose then and came to sit on the table in front of him.  “Ben, I could be that woman.”

He read it in her eyes.  “But not now,” he finished for her.

She reached out and took his hand.  “You know I love you.  Don’t you?”

He did and he told her so.

Rosey clenched his fingers.  “And I love those brave strong boys of yours, more than you can know.  But….”

“But you have your own son.”

Tears entered her eyes.  “Thank God, yes.”

“And he needs you more than we do.”

She bit her lip and then rose and went to look out the window.  “I talked to Roy when he came.  It’s likely Rory will have to do time.  Not long, but some time.  I need to be there for him.  Close to him.”  When she saw him rising, she waved him back.  “Ben, no.  Don’t get up.  I can….”

He was already at her side.  Taking her hands, he smiled.  “I’m not an invalid, in spite of what Paul Martin would have you think.”

She laughed.  “I would never dream of applying that word to you, Mister Cartwright.  Stubborn, foolish, pig-headed, yes.  But ‘invalid’?  No.”

“What are your plans then?  Do you mean to abandon the milliners?  I know how much the shop means to you.”

“Ming-hua will keep it going.  I’ll be here when I can.  Roy said if Rory has to serve time, it will likely be somewhere close.  He seemed to think the fact that Rory knows something of medicine might earn him a place in the prison infirmary where he could be of assistance and…well…safer.”

He was a handsome young man.  Even a year in one of those places would be hard on him.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She shrugged. “Rory knows he’s done wrong.  He wants to make it right.”

“So,” he smiled, “that means I will still see you from time to time?  When you are in town to check on the shop?”

“Hop Sing told me he will keep an eye on Ming-hua while I am away, but yes, I will be back as often as I can.”  She paused.  “And not only for the shop, but to check in on my favorite handsome rancher.”

He took her chin in his fingers.  “You are a remarkable woman.  You know that, don’t you, Rosey O’Rourke?”

“I certainly will if you keep telling me as often as you have,” she laughed.

Ben looked at her and saw not only an attractive older woman, with the slim figure of a girl and smile of an angel, but a woman who had survived.  Like he had survived.

Perhaps there was a future for them together one day.

Ben wrapped his other hand around her waist and drew her in, and then leaned forward and kissed her with passion, taking her breath away.

Occasioning a round of riotous applause from both of his older sons, Hop Sing and Ming-hua, all of which had apparently been eavesdropping.

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

***********

EPILOGUE

Ben found Hop Sing sitting in the garden amidst his plants.  He’d noticed the last few days that his old friend was avoiding him.  June had arrived and was quickly flying.  It had been more than a month since he had been shot and life had, as usual, crowded out more important things.  Up until the last week his own recovery and that of his son’s had been uppermost in his mind.  While the older boys took over running the ranch, he’d spent most of his time in Joseph’s room fighting battles – keeping the boy in bed when he felt like he was mending, bathing his hot body when the fever returned, helping Little Joe to sit up and cough when the pneumonia he’d developed proved to be more tenacious than a coyote’s jaw.  When the doctor finally pronounced his son not cured, but on the road to recovery it had left him as exhausted as Joseph.  And all the while, throughout the multiple crises, the man from China had come and gone like a ghost, emptying pans, refilling water pitchers, stoking the fire, changing the linens.

Never once had he looked him in the eye.

He’d meant to talk to him about it, of course, but hadn’t.  And when he’d finally come downstairs this morning, the mountain of paperwork backed up on his desk had taken his immediate attention, and then the needs of the hands, and then….  It was only when he sat down after the noon meal to read the paper that it occurred to him that he finally had both the time and the energy to confront his old friend.

Time.

Placing his hand on his side, Ben released a long breath.  He’d been given more time.

The rancher glanced up and whispered a quick ‘thanks’ to his creator and Father before clearing his throat to let his cook and friend know he was there.

“Hop Sing,” he greeted him.

The man from China was pulling weeds.  His fingers froze for a moment and then he continued on.  “This one not worthy Mistah Cartwright talk to him.”

Mister ‘Cartwright’.  Not Mister Ben.

This was serious indeed.

“And why is that?” he asked, angling so he could see his friend better.  Hop Sing’s face was downcast.  The morning sun glistened off the unspent tears in his eyes.  He knew, of course, what was wrong.  Adam had told him.

Hop Sing sighed.  He stopped what he was doing and rocked back on his feet.  “Sometimes life as bitter as dragon tears.”

“You did nothing wrong.”

The man from China turned toward him.  “How you say so?  Hop Sing not father Little Joe. Make father choice.  Boy hurt. So sick.”  He drew a shuddering breath.  “So sick, so long.  Hop Sing’s fault.”

Ben eyed the low bench near the garden.  Hop Sing used it for his meditations.  He moved over to it and sat down.

“Mistah Cartwright sick too,” his cook said softly.

“And I suppose you are going to try to take the blame for that too?” he asked, snapping when he hadn’t meant to.

Hop Sing surprised him with a small smile.  “Not take blame for Mistah Ben’s own foolishment.”

Mister ‘Ben’.

Ah, now they were getting somewhere.

For a moment, the older man leaned back, soaking in the beauty of the day – the soft breeze, the scent of herbs, the pale light that lay upon the land like a wash of red-gold.  The sound of Hop Sing digging again, seeking to uproot what did not belong.

“I had a letter from Rosey.  One of the hands brought it in this morning.”

The digging halted and then continued.  “What Miss Rosey say? She mention Ming-hua?”

Hop Sing had been so busy ministering to him and Joseph he’d had no time to go to town.  The man from China thought of Ming-hua like a daughter.  As did he.

“Yes, she said Ming-hua is well.  Beth Riley had taken her under her wing.”

“Mrs. Riley good woman.”

“Yes, she is.”

“How Miss Rosey’s son do?”

Rosey had been relieved.  Since Rory had never committed a crime, but only been an accessory, he was sentenced to only two years and the majority of that was to be served in the prison infirmary.  True to her word, the older woman had rented a house nearby so she could keep as close a watch on her son as possible.  Rory’s adopted brother, Monty, was given five years with three off for the aid he had rendered in stopping Finch Webb, so they would be released together.

“She said he’s well and actually enjoying what he’s doing.”  Ben smiled at the thought of how God worked all things to the good of those who loved him.  “He’s thinking of becoming a doctor once he’s released.”

“Boy has mother.  This good.”

Yes, it was.  Which brought them back to Joseph.

“Adam told me what you said about Joseph – about him being afraid I would die like Marie.”  He’d known it in a way, though he’d never really put it into words before.  “And about why you did what you did,” he added quietly.

“Hop Sing wrong to do what he did.”

Ben straightened up.  “Yes, in some ways you were.”  He knew his old friend wanted truth, not platitudes.  “You countermanded an order I gave concerning one of my sons.  If you were simply a member of my staff, I would have every right to let you go and I probably would.”

The man from China nodded slowly.  “Hop Sing already pack bags.  Leave after supper today.”

Guilt. Grief.  Blame.

Why were they so much easier to find than happiness?

“You weren’t listening.  I said ‘if you were simply a member of my staff’.  You’re not.”

Those black eyes pinned him.  “Not member of staff?”

“No.”  Ben shook his head.  The gesture ended in a smile. “You’re family, and as such able to make your own judgment calls just like Adam did.  You did what you believed was best for Joseph at the time.  How can I disagree?”

He was puzzling over that one.  “Mistah Ben not mad at Hop Sing?”

“Not in the slightest.”  How did he put it?  “I loved Marie with, and because of all her faults.  That woman could have tried the patience of a saint.  She had, among other things, an unending desire to prove herself worthy of not only of praise but of love.  She’d also known great loss and lived on the edge of the fear that she would lose something precious again.  Perhaps…perhaps she kept Joseph a little too close because of the loss of her first child, made him too dependent – too needy.”

“Little Joe not dependent,” his cook replied, indignant.  “He fierce as dragon and strong as tiger.”

“Yes, but he is also needy.  Like Marie, Joseph needs daily reassurances that he is loved and appreciated and most of all, that he is not alone.”

“Boy not like to be alone.”

“And he never has been, thanks to you, old friend.  When I was otherwise occupied, I always knew you were there.  That was a great blessing to me.”  Ben paused.  “It still is.”

The man from China thought a moment.  Finally he said, “Difficult to catch black cat in dark room.  He looked up at him and grinned, “especially when cat not there.”

Ben smiled too.

“Now, Mistah Ben go!” Hop Sing declared, threatening with his spade.  “Get out of garden!  No finish weeding, no have herbs.  No have herbs, no have supper!  No have supper Little Joe get so thin he blow away like wind!”

Ben laughed and did as he was ordered.

There was no doubt as to who was really in charge of the Ponderosa.

Feeling a bit peckish, Ben entered the house via the kitchen.  Once inside, he loaded a plate with some bread and cheese and headed for the great room.  Coming as he did from the dining room wing, he had a chance to observe his youngest son without him knowing it.  Joseph had come downstairs in the time he’d been outside with Hop Sing and taken up a position on the settee.  Little Joe had been liberated from his ‘prison’ as he called it only two days before.  Paul had permitted him some movement on the upper floor over the last week, but had strictly forbidden he take the stairs for fear he might fall and reinjure his rib.  His brother’s had kept him busy with chores he could do upstairs, from braiding tackle to chopping vegetables for Hop Sing.  Joseph complained but they all knew it made him feel as if he was still doing his part for the family.  He’d come down the night before ready to conquer the world and had lasted precisely an hour before wearily hauling himself back up to his bed – with no assistance, of course.  Little Joe must have come back down the same way today since they were the only ones in the house other than Hop Sing.

Standing in the shadows, Ben looked the boy over from curly top to bare toe.  Joseph was sitting on the far end of the sofa with his face turned toward the window.  In the last week he had started to eat better and had regained a little of his color, but he was still gaunt and if someone would asked him, he would have said the boy’s eyes were haunted by something more than the memory of pain.  Joe had yet to regain that vivacious nature he had inherited from his spirited mother, though his strength and vitality were slowly returning.

His temper, of course, had been the first thing to return.

Joseph had a book in his hands.  It was closed on his finger, as if he was using it to hold his place.  He had his head back and his eyes closed and anyone who didn’t know him would have thought he was asleep.  Ben knew better.

The boy was troubled about something.

Stepping back into the hallway, Ben coughed and then headed into the room.  Little Joe was sitting up by the time he entered and the book was open.

“Joseph!  When did you come down?” he asked.

“Hey, Pa.”  His youngest favored him with a weary smile.  “I swear while I was down you went and replaced that staircase with a mountain.”

“Must have been your brothers,” he said as he held the plate out.  “I feel the same way.”

Joe eyed the food and took two thin slices of cheese.  Stifling a sigh, the older man placed the plate on the table in front of him before sitting down.  After sorting himself out and finding a comfortable position, he nodded toward the book Little Joe was reading.

“I don’t recognize that one,” he said.

His son started.  He glanced down.  “Oh.  The book?  I found it in Adam’s room.”

“What is it?”

“It’s by Solomon Northrup.  It’s called ‘Twelve Years a Slave’.”

“What’s it about?”

The expression on his son’s young face was hard to read.  “It’s about a free black man who is kidnapped and sold into slavery for twelve years before he’s rescued.”

Ben drew a sharp breath against his own memories.

“Yeah, I know,” Little Joe admitted.  “Kind of an odd one for me to read.”

“Then why are you?”  He couldn’t imagine why his son would want to bring back memories of his own ordeal on the Sun Princess.

Joseph closed the book and looked at him.  “When I was out of my head that first time…”  The boy frowned.  A tooth gnawed his lower lip.  “The nightmares I had, they wasn’t – weren’t about Finch Webb, they were about Wade Bosh and what happened last year.”

He nodded.  “Adam told me.”

“Oh?’  Joe considered that a minute and then seemed to dismiss it.  “You know, Pa, since I’ve been ‘in’ my head….”  He laughed.  “I’ve been remembering everythin’ I went through and I just can’t make myself hate him.  Bosh, I mean.”

Ben shifted forward.  “It’s never a good thing to hate a man, Joseph.”

The boy turned his body slowly until he was square with him.  The intensity on his young face surprised him.  “I know.  But you know, Pa, I got every right.  Folks around here say what he did to me was unforgivable.  Taking me away from you, I mean.”

Oh, how he remembered that night.  Coming home to find Adam lying on the barn floor bleeding out and Joseph missing without a trace.

He’d had to come to grips with hate himself.

“It was certainly wrong.”

“I know.”  Joseph paused.  “But, Bosh, he was sick, wasn’t he?  And kind of out of his head too?  I don’t think he really wanted to hurt me.  He was just trying to find his son and he thought it was me.”

Yes, Wade Bosh had thought Joseph was Jude, but there was more to it than that.

“Go on.”

“When I was out of my head a while back, I heard myself saying crazy things and I couldn’t do anything about it.”  Those green eyes pinned him.  “Do you think it was like that for Bosh too?”

He thought a moment.  Then he nodded.  “It’s possible.”

“So hating him, when he was out of his head and doing things that maybe he couldn’t stop himself from doing, would be wrong.  Wouldn’t it?”

Now he understood.

“Who is it you do hate, Joseph?”  When his son said nothing, he added quietly, “Is it Finch Webb?”

Every muscle in the boy’s body went rigid.

Ben rose and went over to the settee to sit beside his son.  Knitting his hands together between his knees, he looked sideways at him.

“Well?”

Joe’s jaw was tight.  He drew in a deep breath and then let it out slowly.  None of the anger seemed to go with it.

“What makes some men good and others bad, Pa?  Real bad?”

“Nothing ‘makes’ them good or bad, Joseph.  It’s a choice they make.”

Confusion shone out of those wide eyes.  “But why choose to be bad?  To hurt people?  To take things that aren’t yours?”

Ben thought a moment.  “Do you remember what it says in Psalm 139?  ‘I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvelous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well.  My substance was not hid from thee, when I was made in secret, and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.’  Everything a man is, son, good, bad, and in-between was put there by a perfect and loving God.”

Joseph was frowning.  “I don’t understand.”

Ben sat back.  He smiled.  “Let’s take you for example.”

“Me?”

“That temper of yours.  God made it and He doesn’t make mistakes.”  Ben paused.  “So why do you suppose He gave that to you?  Was it to wreck havoc with?”

After a second, his son said, “I sure don’t know, Pa.  It’s like wrasslin’ a grizzly sometimes.”

Ben stifled a laugh.  “I believe God gave it to you so you would learn to control it.  Is that possible?”

Joe thought a moment and then nodded.  “I guess so, Pa.”

“So, the Lord giving you a temper means He gave you a challenge – one that, in the end, will make you a better man…once you learn self-control,” he laughed.

The wheels were turning behind those vivid eyes.  “So, what you’re sayin’ is that, whatever made Finch Webb go wrong, was what God gave him to make him go right – he just chose the wrong direction?”

“God made us perfect in His sight and gives us this life in which to be perfected.  Men like Finch, well, they’re rebels against God as much as men.”

“So what’d God give you to overcome, Pa?” his son asked innocently.

What indeed?  Fear.  Pride.  Ambition.  A hot head and a quick tongue.  A stubborn nature.  A need to do for himself.  All of these, more forty-plus years of walking the Earth had chipped away at, polishing the rough stone, refining it so it would be worthy of its final Heavenly home.

“Pa?”

It all boiled down to one thing.

“A lack of trust, son,” he replied.

Joe’s expressive eyebrows danced.  “You?  Pa, you trust God more than any man I know.”

Yes.  He did now.

But it had been a battle hard fought and harder won. a

“You ask me, you got that one wrong, Pa,” his boy said, with a shake of that curly head.

Ben chuckled. “Oh, I do?  So why don’t you tell me what I have to overcome?”

Joseph’s expressive eyebrows pulled down.  “Let’s see, a stubborn cook, a Yankee block head, and a big galoot with his head in the clouds.”

“There seems to be one missing,” he prompted.

Joseph puzzled over it.  “Nope.   That’s it.”  He affected a surprised expression.  “Unless you mean me?  But no, that couldn’t be.”

“And why not?”

He grinned that grin that had been missing – the one that reached from ear to ear.  “Because I’m perfect!”

Ben stared at his son open-mouthed and then laughed long and loud enough to bring Hoss and Adam rushing in from outside.  With tears running down his cheeks, he told them what their brother had said.

Joe wasn’t perfect for long.

Next Story in the Blood and Bread Series:  

Thirty-Six Ways to Get Out of Trouble
An Unspeakable Dawn

Tags:  Adam Cartwright, Ben Cartwright, Family, Hop Sing, Hoss Cartwright, JAM, Joe / Little Joe Cartwright, JPM, SJS