Chapter 2

And just like that, Little Joe Cartwright and Julia Bulette were back together, to the great distress of the good citizens of Virginia City.

It wasn’t that everyone disapproved of Julia. The firefighters, for example, thought she was delightful. Anyone who worked for her held her in high regard for both her acute business acumen and her innate sense of fair play, and they were generally sad when the circumstances of their own lives required them to leave her employ. For the most part, the men who frequented her Palace felt that she was out of their reach, although that didn’t stop them from admiring her. They enjoyed her establishment, the music and the laughter and the pretty girls, and they might have coveted Julia herself, but they had the good sense not to cross that line. Those who tried to take liberties were soundly reminded by the others of the impropriety of their actions, and once they recovered from whatever beatings they’d sustained, they were grateful enough to be allowed back in that they minded their manners.

But the respectable citizens—they were another story. Even they were not so distressed about Julia on her own. As long as she stuck to her own kind and stayed away from their husbands and sons, they were generally prepared to ignore her. In this case, though, she had stepped out of her place, to their way of thinking. She had ensnared the youngest son of one of Virginia City’s finest families in her sticky web of lust. And so, they felt quite justified in doing whatever they deemed necessary to put her back in her place.

At first, they restricted themselves to snubbing her on the street when she was alone. Since she’d spent her entire life being snubbed by such people, though, she noticed little and cared less. And so they stepped up their efforts, acknowledging Joe and ignoring Julia when the couple walked down the street. She could feel Little Joe’s anger as he would very deliberately speak to both husband and wife, and her hand tightened on his arm to keep him in check as she did likewise.

“Don’t worry about it, Joe,” she said when James and Amanda McCormack had greeted Joe as if he were alone.

“How can I ignore this? You’re the woman I love. I’m proud to be with you. If these ‘good people’ were half of what they claim to be, they’d be treating you like a queen!”

Julia sighed. Sometimes, his naïveté was touching, but other times, it was frustrating. He’d apparently swallowed whole his father’s teachings about how everyone was alike and deserved a fair shake. It was the type of notion that righteous people loved, right up until they came face to face with the need to apply it to someone they deemed unsavory. Joe’s innocent anger at the local gentry, and his nearly child-like conviction that he could somehow force them to change their minds, felt like a fast train to disaster.

“Evening, Little Joe,” said Clifton Randalls, and his wife nodded. They were just passing by when Joe stopped, his jaw clenched.

“Joe, let’s go,” said Julia in a low voice.

“Apparently, Mr. Randalls, you didn’t notice that I’m with a lady,” Joe said, his voice a shade louder than necessary. From her expression, it was clear that Mrs. Randalls took issue with that statement, but she said nothing.

“Joe,” Julia said again, tugging at his arm, but he was rooted in place, his eyes flashing.

The banker looked for just a moment as if he wanted to give the boy a sound thrashing. Then, discretion won out, and he touched the brim of his hat. “My apologies, Miss Bulette,” he said. “I didn’t see you. Good evening, ma’am.”

“Good evening,” Julia replied. As soon as the Randallses were out of earshot, she yanked her arm from Joe’s. “Do not ever do that to me again,” she hissed, fury scorching her words.

“Do what? Require him to show respect?”

“Do you think he respects me now, just because you forced him to speak to me? Don’t make me your battle, Joe. If you want to take on the town, you go right ahead, but leave me out of it!”

“Julia, I’m not going to stand by and let them treat you that way!”

“And how do you propose to stop them? With your fists?”

“If I have to!” His eyes were blazing, but no more so than hers.

She forced herself to calm down. “Joe, this isn’t going to work,” she said. “I am who I am, and that seems to be a problem for you.”

“Darling, I have no problem with who you are,” he said. “But I do have a problem with people who are disrespectful to the woman I love, and I will not apologize for that, and I will not stand for seeing you treated with any less respect than you deserve.” His face glowed with the intensity of his declaration, and Julia found herself touched by his loyalty.

And so, she didn’t remind him that these people felt that they were indeed treating her with all the respect that she deserved.

* * * * * * * * * *

Julia flattened herself against the wall as the punches flew. Joe had already leapt over the low divider between Julia’s private box and the stage, and from there, he leapt again from the stage to the audience, where the manager was trying to beat a hasty retreat. In moments, the entire opera house was a shrieking, shouting melee of fighting men and frantic women.

A single gunshot brought instant silence. At the rear of the theatre, Roy Coffee stood, eyeing the crowd. Next to him was Ben Cartwright.

“Now, what in tarnation is goin’ on here?” demanded Roy. He looked around for a likely culprit. When Little Joe got to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Roy seized him. “I might have known,” he said disgustedly.

It wasn’t the first time in recent days that Joe had been found at the bottom of a fight. He and Julia had been out nearly every night for the past week. The snubs continued, but the self-appointed guardians of Virginia City morality apparently found them insufficient to deal with such a crisis as the Cartwright boy with the Bulette woman, and so they increased the stakes. Barely-audible comments were muttered, and new rumors began to circulate about Julia’s past.

Julia was able to ignore such petty tactics, but Joe was not. When they tried to go out to dinner at a new restaurant, they were offered a table at the far back, out of sight of the other customers. Not until Joe, who was clearly holding his temper only by a mighty effort, reminded the owner of the business that the Ponderosa could bring in were they seated at another table—and then, the couple at the next table, a mine owner and his wife, asked loudly to be moved. The restaurant owner obliged, murmuring sotto voce that he understood. The damage to the restaurant from the ensuing brawl was nearly two hundred dollars.

This evening’s insult had been the most egregious. Julia had long had a private box at the opera house. When they entered it this time, they found that it had been draped. Julia tried to make light of the development, making salacious suggestions about what they could do with this unexpected privacy, but Joe demanded that the manager account for his actions. When the manager explained that the box had been draped so that its inhabitants would not be visible to the other members of the audience, Joe saw red.

Even Roy Coffee had to admit in all fairness that a man shouldn’t be required to put up with such insults to his lady friend. Still, he didn’t have the ability to stand by and just let Little Joe tear up the town until they all decided to settle down and behave. Before he said any more, though, Ben had grabbed Joe by the arm.

“Joseph, what are you doing now?” he demanded.

Joe met his glare squarely. Even from where she stood, Julia could see Ben’s anger soften slightly at the sight of the fresh bruises on top of the older bruises. She stepped forward. “Perhaps I can explain,” she said, her voice clear and strong. “The management determined that it was appropriate to drape my box. I accepted it, but my escort did not.”

Ben tore his glare away from Joe and fixed it on Julia, who held it, chin raised, without returning the same fire. After a minute, he turned his attention to the manager. “How much is the damage?”

“I’d say about four hundred, Mr. Cartwright,” said the manager.

“Fine, I’ll take care of it,” snapped Ben. “Now, let’s get out of here.” He started to leave, still holding Joe’s arm, but the boy dug in his heels. “Joseph, let’s go.”

“I’m not leaving, Pa.” Little Joe’s defiance was all the more startling for the manner in which it was delivered, controlled and dignified.

“Joseph, I said ‘let’s go’!” Ben’s temper was slipping its lead.

“And I said I’m not going.” The boy looked his father squarely in the eye as he spoke. If Ben’s tone and authority, which made grown men quiver, was having any effect on his youngest son, there was no outward sign.

Ben Cartwright was an intensely private man when it came to his family’s matters. There was no question in Julia’s mind that he found the notion of this public fight as distasteful as she did. He lowered his voice, clipped and controlled. “You will get on your horse and you will ride out with me, now. And when we get home, we will talk about this—situation.”

“And then what? Are you going to restrict me to the ranch? Are you planning to forbid me from seeing Julia? You can’t, Pa. I love her.” He looked at the silent crowd and announced loudly, “That’s right. I love Julia Bulette. Any of you who have a problem with that, I’ll be happy to settle it with you.” He turned back to his father. “You can’t make me leave her, Pa. You can drag me back to the Ponderosa, but you can’t make me stay.”

“Little Joe, you listen to your pa now,” began Roy, but Joe cut him off.

“Roy, this isn’t your business,” he said.

“Well, I ain’t so sure about that,” said Roy. “You’re only eighteen. Under the law, your pa’s got the right to say what you do and don’t do. Now, if’n you ain’t gonna—”

“Roy.” Ben looked at him, and the lawman fell silent. To Joe, he said, “You are going home, Joseph. Now.”

“Well, you’re right about that, anyway,” said Joe. He jerked his arm from Ben’s grasp and turned to Julia. “Let’s go home, darling.” He took her arm and turned to his stunned father. “Good night, Pa.”

Only by a mighty effort did Julia keep her expression level. She wanted to ask the boy if he was sure about what he was doing, but she couldn’t. His announcement was too big, too public. She had no choice. So, she smiled up at Joe and nodded as she handed him his hat. As they turned to go, she looked over her shoulder and said, “Good night, Ben, Roy.”

Ben said nothing. His face was white with shock. As they left the wreckage of the opera house, Julia found that, for the first time in her life, she felt sorry for Ben Cartwright.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was nearly ten o’clock the next night before Joe appeared at her door. Julia had headed upstairs early, leaving Amelia and Ellie Sue to handle matters downstairs. She’d had a lot to turn over in her mind, and she needed quiet.

After they left the opera house, she waited until they were in her rooms before asking the obvious question. “Are you sure about this, Joe?” She handed him a whiskey, and he tossed it back with a practiced ease that she hadn’t expected.

“Of course, I’m sure,” he said, sounding anything but. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“We’ve never really talked about it,” she said, pouring a brandy for herself and another whiskey for him. She washed the blood from his face as she spoke, grateful for something to do.

“What’s there to talk about? I love you, I want to be with you, and I don’t care what anyone else says. Unless—” A dart of fear flashed in his eyes. “Don’t you want me here?”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, kissing him gently to forestall further questions along those lines. The truth was that she hadn’t lived with a man since Jean-Paul, and she’d never thought about it. On the other hand, considering how many nights a week Joe already spent here, a few more wouldn’t make much difference. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?” He held her hand still, green eyes probing for the truth.

“We’re talking about you living with a woman you’re not married to,” she said. “No matter how you look at it, this is not something people take casually. Not for a Cartwright, anyway.”

“If you’re talking about my father—”

“He’s one of the people, yes,” she said. “But he’s not the only one.”

“Well, that’s easy enough to solve,” said Joe. “Marry me, Julia. First thing in the morning, we’ll go over to the preacher’s and get married.”

Julia rose and walked to the window. It took every ounce of will to keep from shaking. “I can’t marry you, Joe,” she said finally.

“Why not?” He was behind her, and he turned her to face him. “Do you love me?”

She looked up at him. “It’s not that,” she said.

“Then what is it?”

She opened her mouth, and then closed it. “I can’t explain it,” she said helplessly. “I wish I could.” There were things she simply couldn’t say, not even to herself.

“Tell me,” he said gently. “Whatever it is, just tell me.”

She looked into his beautiful, innocent eyes. The love that shone there was so pure and unvarnished that she wanted to crawl into a corner and hide. “I can’t,” she said finally. “I’m sorry, darling, but I just can’t.”

“Julia, whatever it is, it doesn’t make any difference to me,” said Joe, smoothing her hair.

“But it makes a difference to me,” she said quietly.

He drew her into a tender embrace, kissing her hair. “I wish you could tell me,” he said after a while. “But if you can’t, that’s all right. We won’t get married now. But Julia, you need to know something.” He paused, and she looked up at him questioningly. “I’m not going to stop asking,” he said. “I promise, I won’t hound you, but someday, when you’re ready, you’re going to give me a different answer. Until then, we’ll be together, and that’ll be fine.”

“But what about your family?”

“They’re just going to have to understand,” said Joe with a bravado that was almost convincing.

When he finally appeared, his eyes were red-rimmed. He carried a satchel in his hand. He tried to force a smile, but she took him in her arms and held him, and he clung to her. When they finally released each other, she said simply, “The top drawer is empty.” He nodded and went into the bedroom. She sat on the bed as he placed his clothing in the drawer. He set his brushes and shaving equipment by the washstand. Then, he took out a framed picture.

“This was my mother,” he said, handing it to her.

“She was very beautiful,” said Julia truthfully.

“Is it all right if I put it on the bureau?”

She was oddly touched by the question. The night before, he’d been so confident of his place here, his assumption almost brazen. “Go ahead,” she said. He set the picture next to Julia’s jewelry box and slid the satchel under the bed. Then, he sat down on the end of the bed, and she slid over next to him.

“What did your father say?” she asked at last.

“Nothing,” said Joe.

“Nothing?”

“He said the time for talk was over.” He looked away, but not before she saw the tears welling up in his eyes.

She rested her hand on his leg. “What else did he say?”

“Nothing,” said Joe. “I tried to explain, and he just looked at me like I was talking Greek. So, I went upstairs and got my things, and when I left, none of them said anything—not Pa, or Adam or Hoss. It was like I wasn’t even there.”

“Oh, Joe, I’m so sorry.” She knew that Ben Cartwright was a proud man, and his son had openly defied him, but even she had never imagined that he would respond so. She wondered if perhaps this was his way of making sure that he didn’t say anything in his pain and anger that Joe would deem unforgivable. She could easily picture Joe’s brothers cautioning their irate father to hold his tongue, assuring him that discretion was the best way to ensure that the whole thing would blow over quickly and that the boy would be home soon. She wished that they had seen that their silence, however well-meant, had hurt Joe deeply.

She rubbed his back, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “He’ll get over it, darling,” she said. “He’s your father, and he loves you. Right now, he’s just upset. You’ll see. He’ll come around.” Joe swiped at his eyes before he turned to her, and she kissed him tenderly. “You’ll see,” she repeated. “It’ll be all right.” She increased the intensity of the kiss until she sensed that she had distracted Joe from his immediate concerns. She straddled his lap as she began to unbutton his shirt, grateful that boys Joe’s age were so—distractible.

But as the days passed, distraction was harder to come by. Joe continued to work at the Ponderosa during the day, but he reported that he saw little of his father. It sounded to Julia as if Ben was deliberately setting the boy tasks that would keep the two as far apart as possible. When they did see each other, conversation was terse, restricted to the work at hand. Joe’s brothers were clearly on their father’s side, although Julia suspected that they were more sympathetic to their younger brother than they were letting on.

With each passing day, Joe looked more and more beaten down. He’d come into the Palace in the evening and sit down with a bottle of whiskey, and he didn’t get up again until it was time to go upstairs. Unless she specifically arranged for supper, he didn’t bother eating. When she touched him, his smile was genuine and his response sincere, but it took more and more effort to reach the closeness they’d once had. For the first time, they had nights when they shared a bed without making love.

Nearly two weeks after he had moved in, Julia came downstairs to find Joe already ensconced at a corner table, whiskey in hand. Deliberately, she approached his table. “I think we should go out,” she said.

Joe regarded her. His gaze was disconcertingly cynical. “Really?” he said. “Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere,” she said truthfully. “I’d just like to get out of here for a few hours.”

Joe tossed back another shot. “Okay,” he said finally. “Let’s go.”

“Maybe you should clean up first,” she suggested. Joe had settled himself in without even washing up after the day’s work.

“You want to go out, or you want to go upstairs?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I want to go out,” she said. “But if I’m to smell cattle over dinner, I’d like it to be the steak on my plate.”

“Whatever you say, my lady,” Joe said, doffing his hat and making a low, slightly drunken bow. As soon as he was upstairs, she took the bottle and glass over to the bar.

“Don’t give him any more,” she said to Tom in a low voice. At the unspoken question, she said, “You can tell him I said so.” No reason for Tom to take the grief for her decision.

Getting out seemed to be a good idea at first. It was a lovely, mild evening, and they walked along the board sidewalk in companionable silence. They encountered few people, and those they met were polite enough. Hopefully, they could have a pleasant evening, with no untoward incidents.

Then, as they went around a corner, they stopped abruptly to avoid running smack into Ben, Adam and Hoss.

The five of them stood in silence. Then, Adam tipped his hat. “Evening, Miss Bulette, Joe,” he said.

“Evening,” Hoss echoed, doing likewise.

“Evening, Pa,” said Joe. Ben looked from Joe to Julia and said nothing. The agony in his eyes was evident. It occurred to Julia that she’d never before seen Ben Cartwright look helpless.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” said Julia. She waited for Joe to say something more, but he seemed to be frozen by his father’s silence. After a too-long minute, she said, “Well, if you’ll excuse us. . . .”

“Of course,” said Adam, and the Cartwright men stepped aside to let them by.

Julia and Joe walked along as if nothing had happened until she was comfortable that they were out of sight. Then, she stopped, and Joe looked at her quizzically.

“Are you all right?” she asked quietly.

“Sure,” said Joe. “Why wouldn’t I be all right? My own father won’t speak to me, but why should that worry me?”

“Joe, I—”

“Julia, I don’t want to talk about it,” said Joe. “Let’s just go over to the International House and get something to eat.”

Julia regarded him for a long moment. He appeared to be teetering on the edge between brittle anger and tears. Maybe he was right. He’d had enough whiskey; maybe what he needed now was food. “All right,” she said. “Let’s go.” And she laid her hand on his arm, and they walked up the street together, neither saying anything more.

* * * * * * * * * *

She couldn’t have said what woke her. Reflexively, she reached for Joe. When she felt nothing, she opened her eyes and sat up.

His side of the bed was empty.

Just as she was assuring herself that he’d merely gotten up to attend to his personal needs, she heard a sound in the parlor. She listened, but she couldn’t identify it. Silently, she donned her dressing gown and opened the bedroom door. As she padded to the parlor, she began to recognize the sound, and a chill came over her.

He sat in the armchair in the far corner, by the window. In the moonlight, she could see the glint of the decanter. His glass sat on the sill. His shoulders shook. His head rested in his hands as he tried to choke back his sobs. Over and over, he whispered one word.

Pa.

She stood motionless in the doorway. Dear God, he really is just a boy, she realized, her own tears threatening. All this time, he’d insisted he was fine, that he could handle this rift in his tight-knit family, that everything would be all right because they belonged together. And because she didn’t want to lose him, she’d allowed herself to be convinced.

Blind. She’d been selfish, and so blind.

She watched from the shadows as he poured more brandy into his glass. At least now, she knew why they always seemed to be running low lately. She wondered how long she’d been sleeping through his nocturnal agonies.

She waited until his sobbing quieted. Only then did she turn and move silently back into the bedroom, slipping into bed and closing her eyes. Eventually, she heard him return, and she felt him lie down beside her. He didn’t reach for her, as he normally would have. After a minute, she pretended to waken. With mock sleepiness, she shifted, drawing him into her arms, and he clung to her like an abandoned child. She kissed his hair as she stroked his back, and eventually, she felt him relax into sleep.

Tomorrow, she promised silently. Tomorrow, I’ll see to it that you go home, where you belong.

* * * * * * * * * *

She leaned against the piano, brandy in hand, listening to Frederick play. She’d been doing the same thing every night for the past week. Ever since Little Joe had walked out of the Palace, it was as if someone had dimmed the lights. People told jokes and laughed and tried to get her to join in, but she shook them off. She knew she couldn’t keep this up. It was bad for business.

Who’d have thought that an eighteen-year-old boy could get to her this way? It wasn’t just the sex, either. It was the other parts of being together, too. He told the worst jokes she’d ever heard, and still he made her laugh. He paid rapt attention when she talked, as if her words were important. Waking up next to him was delicious—warm and sweet and unexpectedly lovely. She always tried to wake up first so that she could watch him: as soon as he opened his eyes and saw her, a smile would spread across his sleepy face, as if someone had just given him the best present in the world. When he looked into her eyes with that marvelous intensity, she felt special, beautiful, good.

She’d never told him about her past, of course, but she almost felt that she could have, and he’d have listened and not run away.

He’d made her happy—an eighteen-year-old kid. If that didn’t beat all.

Thank God she’d never told him she loved him.

“Miss Bulette?”

She hadn’t heard that voice in weeks, but she knew it. Deliberately, she turned to face Adam Cartwright. “Yes, Mr. Cartwright?”

“May I speak with you?” It wasn’t quite a question, but she nodded and led him to a table in the corner.

“More brandy, Tom,” she called. They sat silently until Tom had brought a bottle and fresh glasses. She poured and passed a glass over to him. “What shall we drink to?”

“The death of innocence,” said Adam, raising his glass.

She shook her head ruefully. “First, you wanted me out of his life, and now I’m to be taken to task because we’re no longer together. You’re not an easy man to please, Mr. Cartwright.”

“It wasn’t my impression that pleasing me was of any interest to you,” said Adam.

“It isn’t,” she said. “Now, do we need to continue this conversation, or may I bid you good evening?”

“You can do whatever you want,” said Adam. “Just answer me one question: why?”

“Why did I end it?”

“Why did you have to end it that way?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She set down the glass so that hopefully, he wouldn’t see her hands shaking.

“Do you have any idea what you did to him?” On the surface, Adam Cartwright was icily controlled, but Julia could see blazing fury beneath the surface. “When he walked into the house that night, he couldn’t even tell us what had happened. All we knew was that the kid was devastated. We thought somebody must be dead. Then, he started crying like I’ve never heard him—and all he kept saying, over and over, was ‘Why?’”

Julia forced herself to keep looking at him, just as if his story meant nothing. Years of holding her emotions in check stood her in good stead now, as her mind’s eye saw Joe shattered, cradled in his father’s arms as he sobbed out the heartbreak she’d inflicted. Deliberately, she refilled her glass and drank deeply.

“He’s just a kid,” continued Adam. “We all told you that, but you wouldn’t listen. He’s a kid, he was in love, and you broke his heart. And I want to know why. If you got tired of him, fine, but you didn’t need to be cruel. He didn’t do anything to deserve that kind of treatment.”

“How do you know what he did or didn’t do?” Her voice was so tightly controlled.

“Because I know my little brother,” said Adam. “My father and Hoss and I have spent the past week trying to put him back together. The kid’s a wreck. He doesn’t eat, he doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t talk to anybody. He barely does his work, and at night he just sits there, staring into the fire.”

A shiver ran down her spine. The boy he was describing—this wasn’t her Joe. His chatter over breakfast, his laughter at supper, his passion at night, his energy and sweetness and joie de vivre—that was Joe. I tried to do what was best for him, she wanted to say. She’d expected him to be upset, of course, but somehow, she’d thought his grieving would be suffused with anger, with life. She’d anticipated stories of how Little Joe Cartwright was tearing up the town, drinking and fighting and raising all sorts of hell. Not this—death. As if his spirit had been uprooted and tossed over with the other weeds to wither away. Part of her wondered if she’d miscalculated, but she pushed the notion away. In her world, it didn’t pay to second-guess.

“What is it that you want from me, Mr. Cartwright?” she asked.

“An explanation, Miss Bulette,” said Adam. “My father seems to think that you wouldn’t have done something like this without a reason. Me, I don’t really care about your reasons. I just think it might help Joe a little if I could explain to him why the woman he loves just decided one day to rip his heart out.”

She focused intently on her glass. No good deed goes unpunished, she thought. All she’d wanted to do was to send him home. If there’d been another way to do it, she’d have taken it, but she knew him too well. He would never have left her willingly. She had to shove him out the door.

Every detail of that night was burned in her brain like a brand. The low-cut red dress she wore, the extra rouge, the feather in her hair, the large diamond earrings. Joe had looked puzzled, but he hadn’t said anything. She’d suggested that he go somewhere else, even though she knew he wouldn’t. When she got downstairs, she did her best to whip the place into a frenzy, laughing and flirting and dancing with every man she could find.

Every man except one.

She’d felt his eyes boring into her as she moved through the room like the hostess at a brothel. His stare grew more intense when she didn’t discourage the men who touched her. Ordinarily, when they tried to kiss her, she laughed and moved away; tonight, she laughed and moved closer.

Finally, he grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?”

“Having fun!” she trilled, as if life were one big party. She slipped out of his grasp and moved toward the next table, but he grabbed her arm again.

“I want you to stop it,” he said.

She made a mock pout. “You want me to stop having fun? You’re so mean!” She tried to pull her arm away, but he wouldn’t release her. “Let me go,” she said in a low voice that would brook no interference.

“Why are you doing this?” he demanded.

“Doing what?” she challenged.

“Behaving like a—” He broke off, and she felt a stab of pain in her triumph.

“Like a what, Joe? Say it. Like a whore? Is that what you meant? I’m a whore? Go ahead, say it. Julia Bulette is nothing but a dirty whore, and she’s not good enough for a Cartwright!” Her glare pierced through him as she forced the words out.

“No, Julia, no, that’s not—I would never—I don’t think—” Panic squeezed his voice. “Julia, please, let’s go back upstairs. We can talk about this. Julia, I didn’t mean—that isn’t what I meant—I would never, ever think—I love you, Julia.” He broke off, trembling.

“Let go of me.” It took everything she had to sound angry. He was on the verge of tears. For a moment, all she could see was how he’d looked the night before, weeping in the dark for his lost family. The memory gave her the push she needed. “Now, go upstairs and get your things. I want you out of there tonight.”

“No, Julia, please,” said Joe. He was trying to maintain his dignity, but his voice was shaking, and the tears were welling up. “Please, let’s talk about this. I would never say—I would never think—”

“Get your things,” she said. “Or leave them. I don’t care. Either way, I want you out of here tonight.”

The room had gone silent. She summoned up the energy to glare at him. A roomful of men watched Little Joe Cartwright standing there, fighting back tears as she pointed to the door. He swallowed hard, straightened as much as he could, and walked out the batwing doors into the night.

As the doors swung behind him, she turned to the bar. Without being asked, Tom handed her a brandy. Then, he shouted, “Let’s have some music!” Frederick started the loudest, bounciest tune he knew, and the men went back to their fun as Julia gripped her glass and tried to remind herself that she had, after all, done what was best for Joe and that one day, he’d thank her for it.

 

A week later, the agony was as fresh as if he’d left only moments ago. It was enough that she had to live with herself. She shouldn’t have to give an account to Joe’s brother. “There’s nothing I could say that you’re going to find acceptable, Mr. Cartwright,” she said.

“Try me,” said Adam.

She was almost tempted. Almost. The truth was that it would have been nice for once, not to be thought of as that terrible, horrible, scarlet woman. But if she told Adam what she’d been doing, he might not keep it from Joe, and the whole fiasco would start again.

“There’s nothing I can tell you,” she said finally. “What’s done is done. Now, you can all move on and hope that this dark chapter of his life stays well buried.” She rose. “Good night, Mr. Cartwright.” She started to walk away, but Adam caught her arm as he stood.

“Not so fast, Miss Bulette,” he said. “I came here for an answer to my question.”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you one,” said Julia, raising her chin defiantly.

“I don’t believe you,” said Adam. “I don’t believe that my little brother would fall in love with somebody this cold. Maybe if you’d heard that kid crying his heart out—”

“I’ve heard him,” she snapped. “Why do you think—” She broke off. Involuntarily, her hand went to her mouth. She could feel Adam’s eyes, questioning, probing. She didn’t dare look up. The silence between them stretched out. Finally, when she was confident that her voice was under control, she said, “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Cartwright. . . .” She slid her arm from Adam’s grasp and headed for the stairs.

“Miss Bulette.”

She paused partway up the stairs. He was at the bottom. “Yes?”

His expression was sad and oddly gentle. “There were other ways.”

“He’s home, isn’t he?” At Adam’s nod, she said, “Good night, Mr. Cartwright.” She watched as he touched the brim of his hat and headed out the doors. Slowly, she headed up the stairs. She’d never felt so tired in her life.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Nate, the floor needs to be done again.” One of the biggest annoyances about winter, in Julia’s opinion, was the amount of dirty snow that men tracked into her Palace. She knew that Bruno over at the Silver Dollar and Fred at the Bucket of Blood weren’t nearly so concerned about such things, but she prided herself on the notion that Julia’s Palace was a cut above the rest.

Not that there was much business today. Christmas Eve wasn’t a time when most men sought out the entertainment of her establishment. The day after Christmas, business would be booming, but today and tomorrow, men would all be at home with their families.

Men at home with their families. It was strange how stray thoughts could still remind her of Little Joe. He was at home with his family now, thanks to her. She’d barely seen him in town throughout the autumn. Word was that the Cartwrights had been busy with driving cattle to market and other such chores. She didn’t ask, but people occasionally mentioned these things in her presence.

She’d only seen Joe around town a few times. The first time was only a few weeks after she’d thrown him out. She was walking along the sidewalk when she came face to face with the entire Cartwright family. Joe had been smiling, but his face froze when he saw her, and his steps slowed. His father and brothers moved closer around him, almost as if they thought he needed to be physically supported, or protected. Barely-cordial greetings were exchanged among the others, although Joe didn’t speak when she wished him a good afternoon. He opened his mouth, but no words came out, and so he merely touched the brim of his hat. Once past, she looked back to see that Ben had his arm around the young man’s shoulders.

Another time, she was up in the parlor, looking down at the street, when she saw Adam and Joe approaching the Palace. For a moment, she thought that they were going to enter its doors, and her heart began to pound. Then, Adam clapped Joe on the shoulder and guided him across the street, to the Silver Dollar.

That was the way it went in a place like Virginia City: you had to figure out how to co-exist with people you might rather not see, because you were going to see them. She hadn’t spoken to any of the Cartwrights, other than the most casual of passing greetings, since the day after Adam had come to see her. That day, Ben had appeared at her door.

“Julia,” he said, with no trace of warmth.

“Ben,” she responded. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve come for Joe’s things,” he said, stepping into her parlor.

“Of course,” she said. She handed him the satchel that Joe had carried in only a few weeks earlier. “I believe this is everything.” She knew it for a fact, because she’d gone all over her rooms, checking. She’d folded his clothes more precisely than she would have her own, luxuriating one last time in his scent. His brushes and shaving equipment were carefully packed. His mother’s picture, which had sat on her bureau for weeks, rested on top of the stack of his belongings. Julia had looked one long last time at the picture before closing it in the satchel, wondering if this woman would have despised her for what she’d done, or whether she might just have understood.

“Thank you.” He took the satchel, but he didn’t turn to leave.

“Would you like a brandy?” she offered.

“No, thank you,” he said. She poured one for herself and waited. Little Joe’s father clearly had something to say to her. “I just don’t understand,” he said finally. “I don’t understand how you could do a thing like this.”

“Say good-bye, you mean?”

“Is that what you call it?” His laugh was harsh, almost bitter. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to my boy?”

“Yes, I do.” The last thing she wanted was the retelling. Adam’s description had kept her up most of the night.

“And yet, you have nothing to say.” He sounded almost incredulous at her temerity.

“It’s all been said,” she replied. “Your son is better off without me, as you’ve undoubtedly been telling him since the moment we met. Maybe now, he’ll believe you.”

“What are you saying?” Ben peered at her suspiciously.

“I’m not saying anything you haven’t said a hundred times,” she said. “You told me once that you wouldn’t gamble with your son. Well, congratulations, Ben. Somehow, you won anyway.”

“Julia, what are you saying?” Ben grabbed her arm. “What did you do?”

“You know perfectly well what I did,” she snapped, jerking her arm away from him. “And don’t even try to pretend that you’re not glad. You’ve got everything now—Little Joe’s gone back to you all, and you don’t have to worry about him coming back to me ever again. I gave you exactly what you wanted, Ben Cartwright—I’m surprised you haven’t written me a bloody thank-you note!”

Ben stared at her for what seemed like forever before he spoke. “Just tell me one thing, Julia,” he said slowly. His deep brown eyes pinned her to the spot. “Do you love Joseph?”

She felt as if he’d punched her in the stomach. Of course not, she wanted to say, but somehow, the words wouldn’t come out. Don’t be ridiculous. Me, in love with a boy? Absurd. Finally, she said, “Get out of my home, Ben. Out of my home, and out of my saloon. If you or any member of your family ever sets foot in my Palace again, I’ll have you jailed for trespassing.” She opened the door and stood by it.

“Julia—”

“There’s nothing more to say, Ben,” she said coldly. “I suggest that you try to be gracious in your victory.” He stepped past her, into the hall, and turned back.

“Julia—” he began again, but the words failed him.

“Good-bye, Ben,” she said, closing the door firmly behind him.

 

By six o’clock, she’d let Frederick and Tom go home. “All right, boys, that’s it for tonight,” she announced to the stragglers. She knew that they were only there because they had no place else to go, and another time, she might have let them stay, precisely because she knew how that felt. Tonight, though, she wanted to go upstairs, put on her dressing gown and pour a brandy. She had absolutely no plans for Christmas Day, and she needed to prepare herself for this.

When she heard the door close behind the last of the customers, she stopped wiping down the bar. It occurred to her that, if she were one of the respectable folks, she would be getting ready for the Christmas Eve service. Just as she found herself wondering what it would be like to go, she heard him.

“Merry Christmas, Julia.”

She whirled about, much faster than she’d have done if she’d been prepared. “You startled me,” she said. “I thought everyone was gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Little Joe said. His hat and jacket were dusted with fresh snow. He looked down apologetically at the melting snow he’d tracked in. “I’ve made sort of a mess here. I’m sorry.”

“It’ll dry.” In another time, another lifetime, she would have offered him a seat and a drink. Now, they stood, regarding each other cautiously.

It had only been a few months. Not long enough for a boy to change into a man, not by any stretch. Even so, something in his countenance was different. The carefree boyishness was gone, replaced by a certain wariness. The eyes that had sparkled and danced were darker, more serious now. The smile that used to light up her world was subdued and held more than a touch of sadness.

“Would you like a brandy?” she asked finally.

He shook his head. “I’ve got to meet my family at church,” he said. “I just wanted to stop by and give you this.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small box. “Merry Christmas, Julia.”

Her hand was at her throat. “I don’t have anything for you,” she said.

He smiled his new, sadder smile. “You don’t have to,” he said. “I had this—I’d gotten it for your birthday, but—well—I missed your birthday, and I wanted to you to have it.”

I missed your birthday. Her birthday had been three weeks to the day after that fateful night. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Then, she opened her eyes to see him looking at her kindly. “Please, take it,” he said, handing the box to her.

She opened it and caught her breath. “Oh, Joe, they’re beautiful,” she said. Nestled in the box was a pair of delicate earrings, small emeralds set in gold.

“You really like them?” Suddenly, he looked again like the uncertain boy she’d known.

“I love—them,” she said. “They’re absolutely lovely.” She took the earrings from the box and held them up. “Thank you, Joe. They’re just beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like them,” he said. “I was afraid they were—well, kind of small—but they were all I could afford. I couldn’t give you diamonds, but I thought maybe you might like a change anyway.”

His words pierced her heart. Another memory surfaced. . . .

She’d walked into the bedroom to see that he had spread her jewelry on the bureau. Diamonds, mostly—necklaces and rings, earrings and bracelets. A teardrop ruby pendant, rimmed with diamonds. A bracelet of sapphires and diamonds. A pearl choker with a diamond clasp. Thousands of dollars’ worth of jewels, given to her over the years by men who believed that the giving of expensive gifts entitled them to her favors. Men whose names she barely remembered after they had left her bed.

Joe looked up when she came in. His eyes were unusually somber. He said simply, “I could never afford to give you anything like this.”

She regarded the pieces. “None of it means anything,” she shrugged.

“They’re valuable pieces,” he said, fingering a gold ring set with a rectangular diamond.

“Not to me,” she said honestly. “They’re just baubles. Or something to sell, if money runs short.”

He picked up a gold chain from which hung a large oval sapphire. A large family could eat for a year simply by selling such a piece. “I just wish I could give you something half as nice as this,” he said.

She brushed his hair back and took him in her arms. “You never have to give me anything more than you’ve already done,” she said, and she didn’t mean flowers, or dinners, or even passionate lovemaking.

“But that’s not anything at all,” he’d protested.

Julia had held his face in her hands. “You have no idea,” she said. For a moment, she let him see her eyes. Then, before he could understand everything, she pulled him close for a tender kiss that culminated in an afternoon in bed.

Now, she removed the large gold earrings she’d been wearing, laying them on the bar. She donned the emeralds and turned to Joe. “How do they look?”

For a moment, his eyes glistened. Then, with a deep breath, he regained control. “Beautiful,” he said. He nodded toward the mirror behind the bar. “Go look for yourself.” She bustled over to the mirror and smiled at her reflection. The earrings were definitely smaller than what she was accustomed to wearing, but there was no question that they were exquisite.

“Thank you, Joe,” she said. Impulsively, she kissed him on the cheek, and he froze. “I’m sorry,” she said, the easiness of a moment earlier vanishing like so much mist. “I didn’t mean to presume.”

He forced a smile. “Well, I should be going,” he said. “Pa’s going to wonder where I am.” He hesitated before asking, “Would you like to join us? It’s just the Christmas Eve service.”

She shook her head. “No, thank you,” she said. “I’m not a churchgoing sort.”

“You don’t have to be,” he said. “It’s Christmas Eve. There are a lot of folks who only come at Christmas and Easter.”

“Even so, I don’t think so,” she said. “But thank you, just the same.”

He nodded as if he hadn’t actually expected any other answer. “What about—I don’t know if you’re doing anything tomorrow, but if you’re not—we’re having a whole bunch of people out to the Ponderosa. You’re more than welcome—that is, if you don’t already have other plans.” He did such a good job of controlling his hopefulness that someone who didn’t know him the way she did would have thought it a casual invitation.

“Actually, I already have plans,” she lied. “Dinner with friends. But thank you. I do appreciate the invitation.”

“Well, if you change your mind, we’ll be there,” Joe said with studied casualness. She felt a pang at how well he covered his disappointment. The boy she’d known just a few months earlier could never have done such a fine job of hiding his feelings. In a way, it was sad. Joe’s transparency was one of the things she’d loved about him.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said lightly.

They regarded each other for a long moment. Then, he said, “I should be going.” His expression was not quite guarded enough. “Merry Christmas, Julia,” he said for the third time since he’d entered her Palace. He leaned in to kiss her cheek, but she was lifting her head, and their lips collided. For a moment, the fiery passion of several months ago hovered, but they pulled apart. She looked up, and his eyes no longer concealed anything. “Julia,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry, Joe,” she whispered back. His face fell, and she reached up, laying a hand on his cheek and not correcting his misunderstanding.

But I love you. The words were as plain as if he’d spoken them aloud. More than anything, she wanted to take him upstairs and show him that she still loved him, too, even if she’d never said the words aloud.

“You’re going to be late for church,” she said instead. “The earrings are just lovely. Merry Christmas, Joe.” She held his face and this time, she kissed his cheek.

“You take care of yourself,” he said. He pulled down his hat and headed for the door.

“Joe.”

He turned back eagerly. Naked hope shone in his eyes. Her heart ached. So many things she wanted him to hear, and yet to say any of them would be to undo the one unselfish act of her life. And so, she said merely, “Wish your family a merry Christmas for me.”

“I will,” said Joe quietly. He touched the brim of his hat, opened the door, and stepped out into the swirling snow as she watched, the little emeralds twinkling on her ears.

* * * * * * * * * *

Snows melted, leaves unfurled, winter cloaks were tucked away. Business remained brisk at Julia’s Palace. Julia oversaw matters from the square table in the corner, beside the bar. It was her table, and men sat there only at her invitation.

No other types of invitations were extended, not any more. There hadn’t been a man in her bed since Little Joe. There was no point. She had enough income from the saloon to make such encounters unnecessary anyway. Occasionally, a passing stranger would look at her with the question in his eyes, and it was clear that it was not business, but she subtly discouraged such notions. In the solitude of her bedroom, she reflected on the irony that the infamous Julia Bulette had likely become one of the most chaste women in town.

She still saw Little Joe around town occasionally. When they encountered each other on the street, he would touch the brim of his hat, and they exchanged greetings, but neither stopped to talk. Occasionally, she saw him with a young lady on his arm, but it was never the same one twice, and Julia felt a combination of comfort and guilt to see that he never looked at them the way he’d looked at her. His eyes were too guarded now, even when his laugh and his beautiful crooked grin would have convinced most people that he was having a fine, fine time.

And then, Jean Millain returned.

She was sitting at her table, with a brandy, when he walked in. There was a time when she’d thought him attractive. Perhaps he had been; perhaps he still was, in other women’s eyes. But from Julia’s table, he looked thick and disheveled. His vest was missing a button, and his belly strained against the buttonholes. His cheeks were permanently reddened by drink. His hair needed to be combed. His teeth were yellowed, and his laugh was coarse. His hands were rougher than one would expect from a man who did no work, and they had always been clumsy on her body. She remembered his lovemaking—unimaginative and unrefined, but quite adequate nonetheless.

Or so she’d once thought.

She pushed the memory from her mind as Jean approached. “Ah, Julie, it has been too long,” he said, dropping down into the chair across from hers. She saw Tom’s brow wrinkle at his presumption, but she nodded that it was all right.

“Or not long enough,” she said coolly.

He laughed as though she were joking. “You thought I would never come back,” he said. “You and your little boy.” He looked around the room. “Where is he? I should like to have seen him again.”

“He’s not here,” she said.

“Such a pity,” said Jean, helping himself to her glass. “Quite the scandale, eh, Julie? Taking up with one so young. But he was a pretty one, eh? And I imagine he did—whatever you wanted.” His insolence was as broad as his smile.

“What do you want, Jean?”

“Oh, Julie, there’s no cause to be rude.” Millain leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs. “Can I not come to see my beloved Julie, simply for the pleasure of her company?”

“What do you want, Jean?”

“Nothing you cannot spare, cheri. A few dollars, perhaps a bauble or two. A few hours of your time.”

She rose. “Get out.”

Millain raised an eyebrow. “You misunderstand, my dear Julie. I do not suggest business, but pleasure. Pleasure, for both of us.”

Her eyes were riveted on the man before her. “Get out,” she said through clenched teeth.

Millain got to his feet. His eyes probed hers. “We are alike, you and I. We do not change. You do not tell me ‘no.’” He reached for her.

In the split second before his hand would have touched her, he was yanked back, and a fist landed squarely in his face, knocking him off balance. In the next instant, she saw Joe pummeling Millain for all he was worth. Millain recovered, and the fight began in earnest. Customers scattered as the two punched and grunted, sailing over tables and crashing into the bar. Julia pressed herself against the wall, watching, hardly daring to hope.

Finally, one of the men staggered to his feet. The other lay limp on the floor. The first nudged the inert form with his foot, and then he approached Julia, wiping his hand with the back of his mouth.

“Sorry to have messed up your place,” Joe said. “I’ll pay for the damages.”

“There’s no need,” she said. Blood tricked down the side of his face. Already, his cheekbone was starting to turn purple. Without thinking, she reached up to touch the tender area. “That’s a nasty cut,” she said. “Come upstairs, and let me clean it up.”

“That’s not necessary, I’m fine,” he said.

“I insist,” she said. Millain was starting to stir. She nodded to Tom, and he and one of the customers hauled Millain up, dumping him in a chair. To Joe, she said, “Come with me.”

Silently, he shook his head. The pain in his eyes had nothing to do with any blows inflicted by Millain. He started to turn, and then he looked again at the table, and she knew by his pause that he recognized it.

All of the other tables in the room were round; this was the only square one. This was the one he’d bent her over to take her from behind, the night they’d tiptoed down to the Palace after closing. Even though it was her own saloon, there was such a sense of the forbidden about it all that they couldn’t stop giggling as he lifted her onto the bar and hoisted himself up. The truth was that it was an extremely hard bar, and neither of them was particularly comfortable, but the idea was so titillating that they saw it through anyway. Then, she pleasured him at the poker table nearest the bar—the one where he always said that he felt especially lucky—and he laid her on the table itself to return the favor. And then, there was the square table, after which they gathered their clothing and crept up the stairs, sated and still giggling, and they fell into bed as the dark began to lighten into gray.

“Joe—”

“I’m fine.” He glanced over toward Millain. “If he gives you any more trouble, let me know.”

“Thank you,” she said simply. She wanted to ask why he’d even been here in the first place, but she couldn’t. It was too late to go back, and it wasn’t fair to him for her to try. She watched him pick up his hat and walk out. Then, she returned to her table and resumed keeping an eye on her saloon.

* * * * * * * * * *

Julia pushed her hair back from her damp brow with her sleeve. She took just a moment to close her eyes and lean against the wall.

“You all right?”

“Fine,” she said, straightening. She smiled tiredly, and Joe did the same as he carried pails of water past her, into the infirmary formerly known as Julia’s Palace.

The fever had been raging through the mines for days. Doc Martin needed space for the sick men. Without thinking, Julia offered her Palace. The gambling tables made perfect beds, and the truth was that all the miners knew where the Palace was. So, within hours, beds were made up, and feverish men were brought in as Julia coordinated meals, fresh linens, and countless other details in between sitting by their sides, sponging their hot faces and, when necessary, closing their eyes.

It came as no surprise that, when Doc solicited help, the Cartwrights were among the first to step up. It had been weeks since Joe’s fight with Millain, and she hadn’t seen him again, but as soon as the need arose, there he was, carrying sick miners in and dead ones out, bringing fresh water in and pails of waste and retch out. Hoss was hauling barrels of water in from the Ponderosa, and Ben and Adam were down at the mines, keeping tabs on the spread of the disease and recruiting additional helpers.

She hadn’t expected Joe to end up as the one staying in town. Under other circumstances, they might have been uncomfortable, but there simply wasn’t time to be awkward together. And so, Julia and Joe worked together with the doctor, needing surprisingly few words to know what each other required to get the job done. She would reach for water in which to dip a cloth just as he was pouring fresh water into the bowl. From his glance, she knew when another sick man needed her attention. As the days and nights blurred together, they functioned as a team to care for the miners.

Four days into the siege, unexpected rain began to fall. Joe and another man came in, dripping, carrying yet another miner. Without a word, Julia set up fresh linens on a poker table. They laid the miner down, and Julia covered him. The other man left, and Julia glanced at Joe with a frown. “Are you all right?” she asked quietly. He looked exhausted. He hadn’t even shaved in days.

“I’m fine,” he said, wiping the rain from his face with his wet sleeve.

“You should put on dry clothes. You’re going to catch your death of cold,” she said, even as she rested a hand on the miner’s face to assess his condition.

“No point,” said Joe. “I’ve just got to go back out anyway.” He nodded to her and began to make the rounds, collecting buckets to be emptied. She watched him for a moment, and then she turned back to the sick man before her.

Part of her role, as she saw it, was to try to cheer the men along. To this end, she teased and flirted and cajoled them into taking medicine. She even sang to them, every bawdy song she could think of, in the hope of making them smile.

“I never knew you could sing,” said Joe with an exhausted grin as he collected the pail next to her feet.

“There’s a lot we never knew,” she said lightly, refolding the compress on Frank Murphy’s brow.

Joe shook his head. “I told you everything,” he said simply. He picked up the pail and continued on his rounds without a backward glance.

Hours later, she felt a hand on her shoulder. “Julia, you need to take a rest,” said Doc. “I don’t need more patients. We haven’t had a new one in hours. This is probably a good time for a break.”

Julia stood, stretching. “You’re probably right,” she admitted. The rain was still falling outside, but the Palace felt dry and secure.

“When you see Joe, tell him I want him to take a break, too,” Doc added. At her expression, he added, “If he won’t listen to you, send him to me.”

She was heading for the stairs when she saw him. He was still wet and looked even more fatigued than before. “Joe, the doctor said you’re to take a break,” she said.

“I’m fine,” he said, but she caught his arm.

“You look exhausted,” she said. “Come upstairs and lie down.”

“I can catch a nap out in the alley,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied. “You’re already soaked, and there’s nearly no overhang out there. Just come up and lie down for a little bit.”

She could see the battle in his face. Finally, exhaustion won out. Without a word, he followed her up the stairs. She opened the door, and slowly, he entered her rooms for the first time since the night he’d left.

Brusquely, she went into the bedroom and reached into the back of the clothes press. She came out to where he still stood and said, “There are towels and a robe on the bed. You dry off, and I’ll put your wet things to dry by the stove.” She saw him flinch, and she braced herself for an argument, but none was forthcoming. Instead, he went into the bedroom, closing the door behind. A minute later, he returned, clad in the green robe, wet clothing in his hand.

“I’ll take that,” she said. “You go in the bedroom and lie down for a while.”

He shook his head. “You need to rest as much as I do. I’m not going to take your bed. I can sleep on the loveseat.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said again. “You’re too tall. It’s barely long enough for me.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’ve slept on it before.”

“Once, and you ended up with a terrible stiff neck,” she reminded him. “We don’t have time to argue. We both need to rest and get back downstairs. Now, go on in and lie down. By the time you wake up, your clothes will be dry.” She turned on her heel and headed into the kitchen. A moment later, she heard the bedroom door close, and she felt a small sense of victory.

She was awakened by knocking at the door. Blinking sleepily, she threw off the quilt she’d pulled over herself and opened the door to see Ben Cartwright, ready to knock again.

“Doc sent me to see if you were ready to come back down,” he said. He looked around the parlor. “He said he thought Little Joe might be up here, too.”

Julia nodded, yawning. “Excuse me,” she said. “I made him take the bed. He’s too tall for the loveseat.”

Ben smiled. “It’s hard to think of Joe as being too tall for much, but I imagine you’re right,” he said.

“His clothes should be dry by now,” she said. “If you want to go and wake him up, I’ll get his things.” Still yawning, she padded into the kitchen to collect Joe’s clothing.

A minute later, she heard Ben frantically calling for her. She hurried into the room to see him holding Joe’s head as the boy vomited onto the bedside rug. “He’s burning up,” said Ben. “Get the doctor!” She stood stockstill for a moment. “Go!” he hissed, and she ran.

The ensuing hours took on a nightmarish quality. There were still sick men downstairs who required her attentions, but the only one she cared about now was up in her bed, tossing and turning as the fever blazed. Ben stayed with him, wiping his face and trying to calm him, and Julia tried not to envy him. Whenever possible, she ran upstairs to see how Joe was doing, and each time, she was more and more afraid.

“How is he?” asked Hoss as he and Adam were heading up the stairs and she was heading down. Julia shrugged helplessly. Just this morning, Doc had said that they were saving two for every one they lost and that, in this type of situation, that was a victory. At the time, they’d all nodded their agreement. Now, such a statement sounded ridiculous. If one man died of this wretched fever, there was no victory.

Dark was lightening to gray when Julia entered her bedroom, bearing a pitcher of ice water. Ben was dozing in the bedside chair, and Joe slept fitfully. As she refilled the washbowl, she thought of all the times that she’d watched him sleeping in that bed. Tears filled her eyes, and she took a moment to blink them firmly back before she moved quietly around to the other side of the bed. She sat down next to Joe, lifting the compress from his brow and dipping it into the fresh, cold water. He started slightly when she laid it back on his hot forehead, but his eyes remained closed.

“A little cold, is it?” she whispered. “Well, it needs to be, so don’t you complain.” As she stroked his cheek, she tried to assume the same casually flirtatious tone that she’d used with the other sick men. “When you’re feeling better, you’re definitely going to need a shave—not that you’re not handsome with whiskers, but I prefer my men clean-shaven. Your father probably thinks that you should have a haircut, too, but to be honest, I’ve always liked your hair on the longer side. More to run my fingers though.” She combed his curls with her fingers as she continued, “And don’t even get me started about those gorgeous eyes of yours. I remember how you used to look at me—sometimes, I’d just forget what I was going to say.” She turned the compress and took a moment to wipe the tears that had spilled down her cheeks. “Look what you’ve done now,” she said. “I haven’t cried in years, and now I’m a mess, and it’s all your fault.”

She took his hand and kissed it. “You can’t go anywhere, you just can’t. I have to tell you how sorry I am. All my big talk to your family about how they needed to let you make your own decisions about us, and I just ran roughshod right over you. I heard you that night, when you were crying, and I couldn’t stand the idea that you were hurting so badly because of me. So I made up that stupid fight and threw you out so that you’d go back to them, and I figured you’d forget all about me.” She held his hand against her wet cheek. “But you didn’t, did you? You never forgot, and I never forgot, and I never got a chance to tell you how I was sorry, and now you’re sick, and I’m so afraid I’ll never get to tell you everything I want you to know. . . .” She clung to his hand, weeping.

Then, she felt his fingers curl around hers, and she looked up to see his eyes half-open. “Julia,” he managed.

“Sssh, don’t try to talk,” she said. She started to reach for the compress, but he caught her hand.

“Love you,” he murmured. “Always.”

“You just like to see me cry, don’t you?” she said, smiling through her tears.

The faintest smile tipped the corners of his lips. “I love you,” he whispered.

She laid her hand against his cheek. She didn’t know if she was strong enough to say it, but as she felt the warmth of his skin, she knew that she wasn’t strong enough not to. She’d come far too close to missing this chance. She took a deep breath and gathered every scrap of courage she possessed, leaning over so that her lips almost brushed his ear. For the first time in her life, Julia Bulette said the words. “I love you, too,” she breathed.

“Really?” His voice was no stronger than hers.

“Really,” she affirmed, as casually as if she wasn’t trembling. “I love you, Joe Cartwright.” She watched his face carefully, lest her admission somehow diminish her in his eyes.

“Not just saying it—’cause I’m dying?” he managed.

She smiled tremulously and kissed his cheek. “You’re not dying, silly,” she said. She pressed her hand against his face. “I think your fever’s broken. Besides, I’ve never said that to anyone before, and I certainly wouldn’t waste it on a dying man.” She sat up and poured him a glass of water. “Come on, you need to drink something,” she said in her best matter-of-fact tone. She tried to help him to sit up, but he was too weak to manage. Finally, she set the glass on the bedside table and moved so that her back was against the headboard, and she lifted his head and shoulders into her lap. For a moment, she stroked his hair, luxuriating in the feel of him once more. Then, practicality asserted itself, and she supported his head as she steadied the glass so that he could drink.

“What the—what are you doing?” Ben struggled awake. The look on his face at the scene before him suggested that he thought he might still be dreaming.

Julia smiled as she set the glass on the bedside table. “He’s just having a drink,” she said. “His fever’s broken.”

Ben moved from the chair to the side of the bed, resting his hand on his son’s face. “You’re cooler,” he agreed. “How do you feel, son?”

Joe was clearly exhausted, but he smiled with perfect happiness. “She loves me, Pa.”

Ben’s eyes met Julia’s, and she nodded. Then, he smiled at his son. Quietly, he admitted, “I know.”

* * * * * * * * * *

She’d never thought anything could hurt so much. Even the times when she’d been beaten, it had never hurt this way. The doctor said that she had at least one or two broken ribs. She remembered the time when Little Joe had cracked his ribs in that fight when he was defending her. At the time, she hadn’t thought it was that serious. Clearly, she hadn’t understood.

“Julia.” Joe came into her room, his smile far too determined to be believable.

She forced herself to smile. “Darling,” she managed. She was so cold.

“Ssssh, don’t try to talk,” he said, pulling up the chair beside the bed and taking her hand. “Doc says you need your rest,” he added, stroking her hair.

“Did you catch him?”

“Not yet,” said Joe. “Hoss and Adam went out with the posse. They’ll get him, don’t you worry. He’ll pay for this.” She could hear the fierce resolve in his voice, and she knew that if she were dead, he’d be out there, riding in search of the man who’d robbed and stabbed her.

“Did he get everything?” she asked.

“Everything from your jewelry box,” said Joe. “I’m sorry.”

She smiled in spite of the pain. She’d outsmarted Millain after all. “Drawer,” she said. At Joe’s perplexed look, she gestured toward the night table. He opened the drawer, and it took him only a minute to find the box behind her collection of oils and lotions. She held out her hand, and he pressed the box into it, closing her fingers around it. “Always kept them hidden,” she said. “Just in case.” She took a minute to breathe. “Open it,” she said.

Joe opened the box. The little emerald earrings shone in the dim light. He looked from the earrings to her, tears glistening.

“Put them on me,” she murmured. When he hesitated, she said, “It’s okay.” Clumsily, he took the earrings from the box and attached them to her earlobes. “How do I look?”

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said, his voice breaking.

She reached for his hand. “Get me a brandy, Joe.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to have brandy now,” he said gently.

It was all she could do not to tell him that it wasn’t going to matter, one way or the other. All she wanted to do was to warm up, and maybe dull the pain. “Come on,” she urged. “Just a little one.”

“Maybe later,” said Joe. He poured a glass of water and supported her head so that she could drink. Then, he laid her back down tenderly.

“Where’s your father?” she asked.

“In the parlor,” Joe said. “Do you want me to get him?”

“Not right now,” she said. She was glad that Ben was here. Joe was going to need him.

It was so odd to think of how things had come together. As Joe recovered from the fever, his family had finally come to accept her place in his life. Ben had even taken her aside and told her privately that, if it was Joe’s wish, she was welcome to become part of the Ponderosa. She’d thanked him with such a gracious smile that he never inquired as to whether that was also her wish.

But the truth was that, even though she loved Little Joe as much as she was capable of loving any man, she could never marry him. Raoul was still alive. He shouldn’t have been. With his unhealthy habits, including drinking far too much, cheating at cards and flirting with other men’s women, he should have been dead twenty years ago. Still, she kept hoping. She had a connection through whom she periodically made discreet inquiry. When last she’d inquired, a few weeks earlier, she learned that somehow, Raoul continued to evade death. Irrefutable evidence of the old adage that only the good die young, she supposed.

And so, her hands were tied. If she tried to divorce him, he would find her. Her wastrel husband would parade the streets of Virginia City, announcing to one and all that Julia Bulette was, in reality, Juliette Renaud, whose drunken father had once bet his fourteen-year-old daughter’s hand in marriage in a poker game. Not that Raoul loved her; she was simply a possession. In fact, he had had no problem with the notion of sharing his pretty little bride with his friends, or with beating her if she refused to cooperate.

Then, when she was seventeen and Jean-Paul came to their home, he took pity on her and managed to extricate her from Raoul’s clutches. He hid her and changed her name, and he steadfastly denied to Raoul that he knew anything about her disappearance. While she had already learned enough about protecting her heart so that she never fell in love with Jean-Paul, she was genuinely fond of him. She eagerly learned everything he was willing to teach, including social polish and business skills. In return, she gave him what she believed was all she had to give. After he died, she felt certain that no man would ever touch her heart again, and for nearly fifteen years, it was true.

Until the night she met Little Joe Cartwright, and he looked into her eyes and knew what she was, and loved her anyway.

For him, she kept her secret. Bad enough that the good people of Virginia City had condemned them when they thought she was merely a prostitute seducing a boy. If word had ever leaked out that Ben Cartwright’s youngest son was living with another man’s wife, the disgrace for Joe and his family would have been irreparable. She might have been willing to face the contempt of the self-righteous for herself, but she would never subject Little Joe to such shame. Still worse, there was always the chance that she would be unable to keep Joe from going to New Orleans to challenge Raoul to a duel for her honor—and that Raoul’s luck might hold. If being unable to marry the man she loved was to be the price of keeping him safe from scandal and sword, so be it. She would gladly pay, and she would never reveal the cost.

She must have dozed off, because she opened her eyes to see Ben standing behind Joe, his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Good,” she murmured. If she’d done nothing else in this world, at least somehow, she’d mended what she’d broken. People could say worse things about her.

“What was that, darling?” Joe leaned over her. His face was streaked with tears. He looked so young, so innocent.

She reached up to stroke his cheek. “I love you,” she said, but there was no sound to the words. Even so, he seemed to understand, because he took her hand and kissed it.

Ben patted his shoulder. “I’ll be outside, son,” he said quietly, and she knew that the end was here.

“I never meant to see you again,” she managed.

“What do you mean?”

“After that first night,” she murmured.

“That first night that turned into three days?” He smiled through his tears, holding her hand against his cheek.

“But you came back.”

“I came back,” he nodded. “I’ll always come back to you. Always, my darling.”

She could feel herself slipping away. She didn’t want to leave him. She wanted to come back to him, too. “Hold me, Joe,” she whispered. He clutched her hand. “No,” she managed. “Really hold me.” He climbed onto the bed and took her in his arms.

“I love you, Julia,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me, darling. I love you.”

“Joe,” she murmured. She felt warmer now, and she didn’t hurt nearly so much. He kissed her hair and stroked her cheek, whispering her name over and over. The pain faded, and in the arms of the only man she had ever loved, Julia Bulette found peace at last.

 

THE END

 

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