Chapter 9

The Call

Adam closed the door to the Territorial Enterprise very carefully, and while heading back to the International House to collect his horse he shook his head in silent amusement. To say that Joe Goodman had been fuming would be a major understatement. Living with his father for thirty-one years now should have prepared Adam for every stage of outrage, but Joe Goodman had proven that there were ways to express anger that would even have made Ben Cartwright at the top of infuriation look calm and controlled.

When Adam had asked Goodman to excuse Juliet for the rest of the day, the editor first had looked as if Adam had kicked him in his gut, and then had slowly lost every bit of control. He had refrained from shouting, though, whether from habit or deliberate self-control—Adam wasn’t sure. Goodman’s fury had all been on his face, which became redder and redder, and at some point Adam had been confident that Goodman’s head was about to explode. It hadn’t, of course; but the way his head had seemed to become bigger, with his red skin straining and an angry vein throbbing at his temple, had been quite impressive; and Adam had come to view what Juliet called her “accomplishments” in the daily combats with her employer in a fresh light.

In a lower voice, Goodman had raged about articles Juliet had promised to deliver right after lunchtime and which would never be written now. And how did Adam think he would be able to fill the white spaces? The editor had paced the office and accusingly pointed at Adam while he had ranted about how Juliet’s lunch meetings with Adam interfered with the newspaper’s business. This tirade had somehow reminded Adam of how his father had accused their lunch breaks of interfering with ranch business; and while Goodman had babbled on, Adam had wondered about why his father and Goodman attached so much more importance to a little meet-and-eat than the participants of said event themselves. Even though Adam had been less than amused about Goodman’s raging, he had decided not to get himself riled up but to rather ignore the man’s jabber.

And so Adam had taken his leave, telling Goodman he was sure Juliet would find a way to deliver the required articles just in time. The editor had merely snorted, and Adam had left the office without another word.

Knowing Juliet, Adam was sure he was right about her providing the promised articles. She was anything but unreliable, and she would do all in her power to keep her word. In this light he suddenly understood the way Juliet had practically thrown him out of Mrs. Hawkins’ house earlier. Of course, she wouldn’t consider writing as overexertion; he should have been more specific when he tried to order her to rest. Order her—as if ordering Juliet had ever led to anything but back talk. He should have known she wouldn’t comply with him when she hadn’t protested. Perhaps he’d better go back and take care—

“Cartwright! ”

Adam was startled out of his musing by what must have been the most provocative way he had ever heard his name pronounced. He looked up to find Langford Poole standing right in the middle of the junction of A Street and Union. Poole stood there as if rooted in the ground, his feet shoulder-width apart, his knees slightly bent, his head mockingly cocked, his arms hanging limply to his sides. He sure wastes no time, Adam thought as he groaned inwardly.

“Poole,” Adam sighed more than spoke. “Is there anything I can do for you?” Maybe, just maybe they all would be lucky and Poole only wanted to know how Juliet was doing. Adam knew this was a false hope, but a man should be allowed to have his dreams. Even if they only lasted a few seconds.

“Cartwright,” Poole announced with obvious pleasure. “I’m calling you out.”

Adam stood. About ten yards away from Poole, his arms crossed, he considered the sneering gunslinger for a moment, then closed his eyes and said, “No.”

Poole’s smirk fell. “What?”

“I said: no.” Adam let his arms fall to his sides, palms to Poole, hands slightly raised. “Listen, Poole: I won’t fight you. I don’t know what’s driving you, and honestly I don’t give a damn. Just go back to wherever you came from.” He slowly turned toward the hotel, his hands still open as if he was offering—what? When he passed Poole, the gunslinger spat on the ground.

“Are you a coward?” Poole spoke into Adam’s back.

Adam turned and gazed at him. Poole’s strange eyes locked with his, and the man bared his teeth like a mad dog as he repeated, “Are you a coward, Cartwright?”

“No,” Adam said so low it was barely audible. “I’m just not in the mood to kill you.”

He drew his eyes from the stunned man’s face, and before Poole had a chance to compose an answer Adam turned back and continued his pace to the International House.

He wasn’t in the least surprised when he met Jarvis Raymond in front of the hotel. Apparently I’m a very popular man today. And sure enough, Raymond didn’t let him pass but merely blocked his way.

“Mr. Cartwright,” Raymond purred with a sickeningly friendly smile. “I see you had an encounter with your friend Mr. Poole—”

“Poole and I are hardly friends, Raymond, and I’m pretty sure you are perceptive enough to see that for yourself.”

“Well, yes, I just assumed—”

“Stop assuming and start thinking, Raymond. Now get outta my way.”

“Oh, I see you are in a bad mood, Cartwright, but I will forgive you. Our dear Juliet’s accident seems to have put some stress on all of us, hasn’t it?”

Adam balled his fist but willed it to stay at his side rather than jumping into Raymond’s pompous visage. Pretentiousness from Juliet was something unavoidable, like death and taxes, and at times even endearing; from Raymond it was just misplaced and annoying. For Juliet’s sake, though, Adam chose to ignore Raymond’s impertinence. Which didn’t mean he would waste another second on him.

“Raymond. Get. Lost,” he emphasised.

“My, my, Cartwright,” Raymond said placatingly. “You haven’t told me yet how our dear Juliet is.”

Adam wasn’t sure he would be able to hold his fist back any longer if Raymond said ‘our dear Juliet’ one more time, but he had a certain sympathy for Raymond’s inquiry.

“Juliet is fine. The doctor stitched her wound and sent her home. She’ll be all right in no time.”

Raymond nodded. “I knew she needed a doctor. I’m glad, though, it turned out to be a minor injury.” He put his hand out. “Well, if you excuse me, Cartwright, I’ll go and look after Juliet now. She shouldn’t be alone after an ordeal like that.”

Adam ignored the hand. He didn’t know what was bothering him more: Raymond’s dismissal or the indication behind his words; but he knew that Raymond wouldn’t have his way. “You can’t see her now; she’s resting,” he said and winced inwardly at his defiant tone.

Raymond gazed at him with a crooked smile. “All right…I’ll see her tomorrow then.” And with that he finally stepped out of Adam’s way and back into the International House.

Adam untied Sport, mounted and slowly rode down C Street. For once he was glad about the long way home to the Ponderosa. He had a lot to think about, not the least of which included the reason he so desperately had wanted to keep Raymond from visiting Juliet. You can’t see her now; she’s resting; really, he honestly didn’t know where that had come from.

It hadn’t been a lie, though. It had been…a guess. For all Adam knew Juliet could be resting. He had explicitly told her to rest. And usually no one contradicted Adam Cartwright.

From the corner of his eye Adam saw Mrs. Hawkins hurrying down the street in the direction of the Enterprise’s office. He suppressed a grin. No, no one contradicted him.

No one but Juliet, that was.

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Nothing is so aggravating than calmness. ~ Oscar Wilde