“His little brother is just adorable,” said Jeanie. “Now, he’s the one I’d want my children to look like.”

“Jeanie!” Gwendolyn Perkins was shocked by her friend’s audacity.

“Wouldn’t you?” asked Jeanie. “I mean, let’s face it. Hoss is a sweet man, and I like him and all, but–well, when it comes to courting, I’d rather be with somebody I can put my arms around.”

“Like Little Joe?” Gwendolyn sounded skeptical. “You don’t even know him, do you?”

“We haven’t actually been introduced, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Jeanie. “But I’ve seen him around town. In fact, Hoss even pointed him out to me one time when we were in the mercantile and Little Joe rode past. He’s a handsome one, he is.”

“He hasn’t asked her to the social, though, has he?” At Gwendolyn’s question, Hoss nearly stepped forward to hear who “he” and “her” might be.

“Not as far as I know,” said Jeanie.

“If he does, is she going to say ‘yes’?” Gwendolyn persisted. In the alley, Hoss nodded to encourage the answer.

“I don’t know,” said Jeanie. “I suppose we’ll find out if he asks her.”

“Maybe Mary Alice doesn’t feel the way you do about big men,” Gwendolyn pointed out. “Maybe she thinks a man Hoss’s size is just fine.”

Hoss’s heart leapt. They were talking about Mary Alice Stapleton. The girl with reddish-brown hair that shone in the sunlight and creamy skin with just a dusting of freckles on her nose. The girl he’d been watching and dreaming about for months, ever since her family moved to town and her pa bought the mill that Sam Durra used to run. For weeks, Hoss had been trying to get up his nerve to ask her to the spring social, and for weeks, his nerve had been failing him.

He could almost hear Jeanie shrug. “She’s a pretty girl,” she said generously, as though unaware that she herself was considered one of the prettiest in town. Blond hair always perfectly curled, big blue eyes, upturned nose, and a rosebud of a mouth. Not to mention a waist that a man could span with his hands and a grace to her walk that made her look like a flower swaying in the breeze. It was no wonder she wanted somebody like Little Joe. Together, they’d have the handsomest children in the whole of Nevada Territory.

But then, he caught the end of what Jeanie was saying. “I can’t imagine why she’d want to go to such an important dance with a fellow she couldn’t even put her arms around. I’ll bet if she waits, Nathaniel Miller will ask her.”

“Why would she want to go with Nathaniel Miller? He’s as dull as a worn-out chisel, and he hasn’t a lick of manners. Why, the other day we came up upon the dressmaker’s shop at the same time, and he didn’t even hold the door for me!”

“Was he going in?”

“That’s not the point,” said Gwendolyn. “The point is that he barely touched his hat, and he sort of grunted something that might have been ‘Good day,’ and then he walked on and left me to open the door myself. Hoss Cartwright would never leave a lady to open her own door, that’s for certain.”

“But Nathaniel Miller is tall and lean, and he’s got those long eyelashes,” Jeanie pointed out. “It doesn’t matter how nice a man is or how much money he has–if he’s not attractive, a girl’s just wasting her time.”

“So you don’t think Hoss Cartwright is attractive?”

“I’m sure he’s fine for some people,” said Jeanie. “I just wouldn’t like him–well, as a suitor. I like him well enough as a friend.”

“What about his older brother? What do you think of him?” asked Gwendolyn, sounding almost the tiniest bit possessive.

“He’s certainly good-looking,” Mary Alice allowed. “A girl could get her arms around him nicely.”

“Yes, she could,” said Gwendolyn darkly. “Is that really the only reason you wouldn’t want to be courted by Hoss, though? Because he’s so big?”

“It’s not so much the big part as the round part,” said Jeanie. “Tall is fine. I just prefer my men to be a lot more lean, that’s all. And you’re the same way. Admit it–you wouldn’t find Adam Cartwright nearly as attractive if he was as heavy as his brother.”

“I suppose you have a point,” Gwendolyn conceded. “It seems like a shame, though. Such a nice man, and nobody wants to go to the social with him just because he’s big and round instead of handsome like his brothers.”

Hoss stood still for what seemed like a long time after the two young women moved down the street. Eventually, their voices faded into the general busyness of Virginia City at midday. Then, he heard another voice.

“Hey, Hoss! Come on! We’ve got to load those supplies!”

His lithe younger brother loped across the street as he called to Hoss. Watching Little Joe in the sunlight, Hoss could see why a girl would rather have her children look like him. Lean and muscular, with a smile that melted the hearts of every girl for five miles around and a wink that finished off the rest of them. His easy grace reminded Hoss of the big cats he sometimes saw leaping from rock to rock up in the canyons. It was impossible to imagine Joe Cartwright being clumsy or stupid.

Or fat.

“Hey, Brother, come on! What’re you waiting for?” Joe’s grin was so contagious that Hoss nearly smiled. Nearly, but then he recalled what he’d just heard.

“Nothing,” he grunted. “Let’s go.” He pushed past Joe, feeling like a big, slow grizzly bear just before winter.

He could feel Joe peering at him as they loaded the wagon, but neither of them spoke until they were well out of town. Just as they came up on the old oak tree that had been struck by lightning when Hoss was nine, Joe reined in the team.

“What’s the matter?” Hoss demanded.

“That’s what I want to know,” said Joe. “You ain’t said a word in half an hour. What happened? Did Mary Alice turn you down for the social?”

“I didn’t ask her.”

Anybody else would have taken the hint and shut up, but Joe had never been any good at taking hints. “You didn’t? Why not?”

“‘Cause I just didn’t, all right? Let’s go!” He reached over to take the reins from Joe’s hands, but Joe slapped the reins on the horses’ backs, and the team moved out.

Hoss didn’t say another word the entire way back to the ranch. Ignoring Joe’s sideways glances, he thought about what he’d heard. It shouldn’t have hit him this hard. After all, he’d been hearing those kinds of comments his whole life. When he was little–well, little for him–the other kids had mocked him, calling him “fat” and “ugly.” Later, when he’d grown inside as well as out, he found it easier to make friends, but sparking girls had never gotten easier. It hadn’t helped to watch Little Joe charming girls almost as soon as he was old enough to walk. Hoss remembered Pa chuckling as he wrote to Adam, who was away at college, that nine-year-old Joe had taken to carrying Annie Davidson’s lunch pail for her. “That boy’ll be a heartbreaker yet,” Pa had said aloud as he wrote. Hoss, who was fifteen and had never carried a girl’s lunch pail, just watched his skinny little brother sitting Indian-style on the low pine table, eyes darting around the checkerboard as he figured out his next move. Joe would always be faster, Hoss thought then. Faster and handsomer. And thinner.

Joe drew the team to a stop in the yard. Hoss heaved himself out of the wagon seat as Joe jumped lightly to the ground. In smoldering silence, Hoss lifted four of the fifty-pound sacks of grain and carried them into the barn as Joe unhitched the team. Four fifty-pound sacks was more than Joe weighed. He probably didn’t even weigh as much as three of them. Some gals want a fellow who’s big and strong, he told himself as he stacked the sacks.

Too soon, the unloading was done. Ordinarily, he’d have helped Joe groom the horses, but today, he just watched. He felt unsettled and contrary, and if Joe had asked for his help, he’d have said “no.” But precisely because Joe didn’t ask, after a minute Hoss picked up a currycomb and started on Danny Boy as Joe finished up Oliver.

As Hoss combed Danny Boy, Joe forked hay into the stalls. It was a rhythm as easy and familiar as sunrise. They’d spent their lives working together, and they didn’t need to talk.

By the time they’d finished tending to all the horses, putting away the harness and wagon, and doing all the other little things that needed doing, Hoss felt more like himself. Working with the animals always made him feel like he was in his rightful place in the world. “There, now, you just eat up,” he muttered as he patted the powerful neck of his own mount, Chubby.

He turned to see Joe studying him. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Joe offered.

“I–oh, dadburnit, Joe.” Hoss never could keep anything from his little brother. He faced the younger man squarely. “I reckon I’m just tired of bein’ so big and ugly,” he said.

“What? What’re you talking about? You been chewing that loco weed?”

One of the best things about Joe was that Hoss knew he really meant it, but at that moment, his brother’s high opinion wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted a girl to look at him and smile and think to herself how handsome he was. And that was never going to happen as long as he looked like this.

Right then, Hoss made up his mind. He was going to change how he looked. It wouldn’t be easy, but when the girls came flocking to him the way they did to Adam and Little Joe, it would be worth it. His whole life would change. He just knew it.

“You gotta do something for me, Joe,” he said. “An’ you can’t laugh, an’ you can’t tell nobody.” Joe put on his most intense expression, eyebrows drawn together and mouth in a tight line, which Hoss knew from experience meant that he was about an inch and a half from busting out laughing. “I mean it,” he said, one enormous hand clamping down on Joe’s shoulder so firmly that he could have picked Joe up and flung him across the barn. The flicker in Joe’s eyes showed that he knew it, too, even though this thought was still competing with the great joke that must certainly be coming.

“Sure, Big Brother, whatever you say,” said Joe in his most fake-serious way.

“I mean it,” Hoss said again with a squeeze.

“Okay, you mean it. What are you talking about?”

Hoss drew a deep breath. “I want to go on a diet.”

“You what?” The whoop was out of Joe’s mouth before Hoss could squeeze harder, but in the next instant, the big man made up for his delay, tightening his grip until Joe’s eyes got big and he tried to peel Hoss’s hand away. “Hoss, that’s my bad shoulder,” he managed when his efforts to remove himself from Hoss’s grip proved fruitless.

“What? Sorry, Joe, I forgot.” Hoss released his brother, and Joe rubbed at the spot where he’d been shot in that hunting accident with Adam up at Montpelier Gorge last year.

“Now, what in tarnation are you talking about?” asked Joe when he’d massaged his shoulder enough.

“I want to go on a diet,” Hoss repeated. “An’ I don’t want anybody to know about it.”

“They’re gonna know when you don’t eat,” Joe said. “Why d’you want to go on a diet, anyway?”

Hoss snorted. “Look at me,” he said. “I’m big as a house. Big and ugly, and I’m tired of it.”

Joe squinted as though with enough effort, he might be able to see into Hoss’s head. Then, the light dawned. “Does this have anything to do with Mary Alice Stapleton?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Hoss, don’t do this for a girl,” said Joe. “She ain’t worth it. Just find somebody else.”

“That’s easy for you to say!” Hoss burst out. “You got more girls than you can shake a stick at! You just don’t want to help me ’cause you want to keep ’em all for yourself!”

“You’re loco, you know that?”

“Just forget it!” Hoss shoved Joe aside so hard that his brother nearly fell over, and he stormed out of the barn as Joe ran after him.

“Hoss! Hoss–would you wait a minute? Hoss!” Joe caught up to Hoss and grabbed his arm. “Listen to me,” he insisted. “I just–would you stop and listen to me for a minute?”

“Leave me alone,” snapped Hoss, shaking Joe off like he was a mosquito. “I don’t need your help.”

“What the–Hoss!” With no warning, Joe landed a frustrated fist deep in Hoss’s gut. The big man doubled over, then straightened, fire in his eyes.

“Why, you little–” He reached for Joe, but his little brother had moved just out of reach.

“Just sit down and listen to me, you big ox,” said Joe.

“‘Big ox’ is right,” Hoss muttered, all the fight suddenly gone from him.

“What the devil–what’s got into you?” said Joe. “Come on, sit down and let’s talk about this.” He waited until Hoss had sat down on the porch step before he continued. “If this is really what you want, I’ll help you.” His voice dropped. “Is it really what you want to do?”

Hoss nodded. “I’ve been a big, fat galoot all my life,” he said. “I’m sick of it.”

“There are some girls who like big fellows,” Joe offered.

“You ever had a girl turn you down because you weren’t big enough?”

“Well–no, but–” Joe planted one foot on the step beside Hoss to rest his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“I reckon I am,” Hoss admitted. He couldn’t look at Joe. His little brother would never be caught wallowing in self-pity like this. “I’m just plain tired of lookin’ like this. I want–I want girls to look at me the way they look at you an’ Adam.”

“And you think losing weight’s gonna do that for you?”

“I know–it’s dumb. But what else can I do? It ain’t like I can change my face.”

“You don’t need to change your face. You look fine the way you are.” Joe sounded irritated, but Hoss knew it wasn’t directed at him.

The brothers were silent for a long time. Finally, Joe said, “Okay. What do you want me to do?”

Hoss shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I never tried to lose weight before.”

“Me neither,” Joe said. Hoss rolled his eyes at that understatement. If anything, Joe had the opposite problem: whenever he was upset or sick, the first thing to go was his appetite. Hoss had spent a fair bit of his life listening to Pa trying to get Joe to eat or watching him come downstairs from Joe’s room with an untouched supper tray. Maybe Joe was the wrong person to ask about how to lose weight.

Before he could say anything, though, Joe said, “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna eat exactly what I do, and no more. You watch me at supper. As much as I put on my plate, you put on yours, and that’s all. If I don’t have seconds, you don’t have seconds. Same with dessert. After supper, we’ll work your exercise.”

Joe was sounding more sure by the moment as he outlined his plan. By some coincidence, Hoss was feeling less and less sure.

Supper did nothing to reassure him. As Hop Sing brought out a large platter of roast pork, Hoss licked his lips in anticipation. The savory scent wafted to him like a lover’s perfume, beckoning him to indulge. The bowl of rich brown gravy on the table invited him to bathe mounds of creamy mashed potatoes in its goodness. By comparison, the dish of string beans was unappealing, the plain girl in a room full of beauties.

As Hop Sing began to hand the platter of roast pork to Hoss, Joe said, “Aw, Hop Sing, don’t! If you give it to Hoss first, there won’t be any left for the rest of us!” Hoss started to glare at Joe, but with a meaningful stare from his little brother, he understood.

“All right, then, you just have as much as you want, Little Brother,” said Hoss, sitting back with his arms crossed. “I’ll get mine when you’re done.”

“What?” Adam nearly spit out his water. “Since when do you take that kind of guff from the puny one?”

“Who’re you calling ‘puny’? I could take you any day, Older Brother!” snapped Joe, the pork and Hoss’s diet forgotten.

“You want to try right now?” invited Adam.

“All right!” snapped Ben Cartwright. He glared at his sons as he accepted the platter from Hop Sing. “I don’t know what gets into you three some days,” he muttered as he served himself. “Here,” he added as he held the platter out to Hoss.

“Uh–thanks, Pa.” Hoss looked helplessly across the table at Joe. Slowly, he speared a piece of meat and put it on his plate. He looked at Joe in question, and when his brother didn’t move, he placed a second, smaller piece next to the first. As his fork hovered over the platter again, Joe caught his eye and frowned. Reluctantly, Hoss lowered his fork and passed the platter to Adam.

“That’s all you’re eating?” Adam commented, eyebrow raised. He dropped several slices of pork onto his own plate.

“I ain’t hungry,” said Hoss even though it was probably the biggest lie he’d told in a long time.

Ben turned to Hoss, his earlier irritation vanishing as fatherly concern took its place. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine,” said Hoss. “I just ain’t very hungry, that’s all.”

“Sometimes a fellow just isn’t hungry,” said Joe as he dropped two pieces of pork onto his own plate. He reached for the potatoes as he spoke, but Hoss saw the puzzled look his father directed toward the son who would normally have jumped on Hoss’s comment and ribbed him mercilessly.

A second later, though, Hoss wasn’t at all interested in his father’s expression. Joe had dropped only two spoonfuls of mashed potatoes on his plate before passing the bowl to their father. Next, he deposited a medium-sized pile of green beans onto his plate. Finally, he reached for the rolls and took just one, breaking it open so that the fragrant steam rose.

Hoss followed suit. Within minutes, his plate was a duplicate of Joe’s. “Hey, Joe, you want some gravy?” he suggested hopefully.

“Huh? No, thanks, Big Brother,” said Joe with a small shake of his head that said as clearly as words that neither of them was having gravy.

“Not even a little?” Hoss wheedled.

“None,” said Joe firmly.

Hoss harrumphed under his breath. No gravy. How was a man supposed to eat potatoes with no gravy? Not that there was much to put the gravy on. Two tiny spoonfuls of potatoes and two measly pieces of pork. The only thing there was much of was the green beans. Dadburnit, a man needs meat and potatoes if he’s gonna get his work done,Hoss fumed. Across the table, Joe looked irritatingly smug as he tucked into a meal that would barely have been enough for a mouse.

“Mistah Hoss want more meat?” asked Hop Sing. Hoss was about to shout with gratitude when he caught Joe’s stern frown.

“No, thanks, Hop Sing,” he muttered.

“What the matter? You no like Hop Sing cooking? Hop Sing slave over supper, Mistah Hoss no eat? All Hop Sing hard work for nothing! Hop Sing leave, go where people eat!”

“No, Hop Sing, wait! I like your cookin’, I truly do! I just–I just–” Hoss looked helplessly at Joe.

“Hey, Hop Sing, I’ll bet Adam wants more,” Joe offered.

“Actually, I’m fine, thank you,” said Adam. “But perhaps you’d like more, Little Joe.”

“Yeah,” said Hoss, brightening. “Tell you what, Joe. If you have more, so will I.”

Joe raised his eyebrow at Hoss. “I’m full,” he announced. At Hoss’s pleading look, he crossed his arms and fixed his brother with a defiant smirk, adding, “In fact, I’m so full that I don’t think I’ll have any dessert.”

“But–but–” Hoss had smelled the cinnamon in the apple pie as he’d cut through the kitchen after washing up, and he’d been looking forward to its warm, spicy flavor.

“No, thanks, Hop Sing, I’ve had plenty,” Joe continued as Hop Sing brought the pie to the table. “What about you, Hoss? You’ve had enough, haven’t you?”

“I’ve had enough,” grumbled Hoss.

“Mistah Hoss not have pie?” The little Chinese man stared in disbelief.

“Son, are you sure you’re feeling all right?” Ben peered at his middle son, concern creasing his brow.

“I’m fine,” said Hoss, biting off the words. “I got some stuff to do in the barn.” He shoved back his chair and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

He was saddling his horse when Joe came into the barn. “Good work, Brother!” Joe applauded.

Hoss glared at him. “You enjoyed that.”

“What’re you talking about? You said you wanted to lose weight by eating what I ate. Well, don’t you think you’re gonna lose if you keep eating like we did tonight?”

“But, Joe–no pie!” It was painful even to say the words.

Joe picked up a piece of straw and chewed on it. “You tell me, Big Brother–is Mary Alice Stapleton worth a piece of pie?”

“Doggone it, Joe!” Frustrated, Hoss looked around the barn for something to throw. He grabbed the horse collar, but Joe moved close.

“You throw that, and every horse in here’ll be spooked,” he warned.

“Dadburnit!”

“Tell you what, Hoss,” said Joe. “You clean the whole barn, starting right now.”

“But that’ll take hours!”

“Not if you do it fast enough to work up a sweat,” said Joe. “Clean the whole barn in an hour, and we’ll have some pie before bed.” At Hoss’s fierce expression, Joe said, “Mary Alice Stapleton.”

“All right,” muttered Hoss.

He soon recalled the reason that cleaning the barn took so long–there was a lot of barn to clean. Joe sat cross-legged on the feedbox, whistling and occasionally shouting encouragement as Hoss swept straw and lugged grain sacks and cleaned wet, smelly hay out of stalls. Finally, he set the pitchfork in place and wiped his face with his forearm.

“There,” he said. “You happy now? Can we get some pie?”

“‘Fraid not,” said Joe placidly. “You took almost two hours. Maybe you’ll do better tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow! Joe, I gotta eat somethin’ or I’m gonna just fall down and die!”

“You’re the one who wanted to lose weight,” Joe pointed out.

“I know, but–I didn’t get much supper, an’ now I’m so hungry I could eat ol’ Chubby there!” The big black gelding tossed his head at the plaintive sound of his master’s voice.

Joe sighed. “It’s up to you,” he said in a voice that sounded like a warning. “If apple pie is more important to you than Mary Alice Stapleton, we can go and have pie right now. In fact, you can eat the whole goldarned pie yourself, and you can eat another one tomorrow, and one the day after that–and then another one while you’re sitting at home and Mary Alice is dancing with somebody else at the social.”

Hoss regarded his little brother for a long minute. Lean and muscular, without an ounce of fat any place. No wonder all the girls wanted him.

“You ain’t very nice,” he muttered.

“You didn’t ask me to be nice,” Joe pointed out. “You asked me to help you lose weight. Now, what’s it gonna be? Pie or Mary Alice? Five minutes in the kitchen, or an evening with a beautiful girl in your arms?”

“Sometimes, Little Brother. . . .” Hoss’s voice trailed off as he glared at his brother, and a broad grin spread across Joe’s face.

“Good for you,” he said. “Now, you should probably go to bed before you give in. The more time you spend sleeping, the less time you’ll spend eating.”

“Is that why you never get up in the morning?” Hoss grunted as he stormed out of the barn.

“Good night!” came Joe’s voice from the barn.

* * *

The house had that special middle-of-the-night quiet that Hoss had always liked. When he was a boy, he used to go down to the kitchen and make himself a sandwich out of whatever was left over from supper. Then, he’d have a nice big piece of cake or pie. The kitchen was quiet except for the occasional hiss of wood breaking into coals in the stove. In the winter, the kitchen was the warmest place to be at night. Hoss would pull up his chair right next to the stove and enjoy his snack, wondering idly why they didn’t just live in the kitchen. Practically everything they needed was right here. If they shoved the table out of the way, they could have laid down bedrolls right here. It really was the most perfect place to be.

This time, though, it didn’t feel perfect. It felt sinful, like the forbidden fruit from the Bible. Hoss stood in the doorway, waiting for the kitchen to welcome him as it always had. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply to catch the faintest aromas of supper.

“What are you doing here?”

Hoss whirled so fast that he knocked Little Joe right over. Grabbing for something to keep from falling, Joe pulled down the shelf that held the tinware that they used on chuck wagons. Tin cups and tin plates clattered as Joe crashed to the floor.

“Dadburnit, Joe, can’t you keep quiet?” hissed Hoss as he reached down to pull his brother to his feet.

“Me? What’re you doing here in the first place?” Joe demanded as he knelt to collect the tinware.

“Who’s down there?” came Pa’s authoritative voice from the stairs.

“It’s just us, Pa,” called Joe.

Pa came around the corner as Joe handed Hoss the last of the tin plates. “What are you boys doing, making all this racket in the middle of the night?”

“Sorry, Pa,” said Hoss. “Joe here slipped.” He squeezed Joe’s upper arm as a warning.

“Sorry, Pa,” Joe said. “I guess we should just go back to bed.” He stepped back, his heel landing hard on Hoss’s instep. “Oh, sorry, Hoss,” he added insincerely as the big man let out a yelp.

Pa shook his head. “Joe’s right,” he said. “You two have a lot of calves to brand tomorrow. You should get back to bed.”

“Of course,” said Joe. “Let’s go, Big Brother,” he added in that firm tone that Hoss was quickly coming to hate.

* * *

As the days went by, Hoss found that there wasn’t much he didn’t hate. He hated the way his breakfast–two puny spoonfuls of scrambled eggs, one paltry slice of ham and a lone biscuit–looked so forlorn on that big plate with the rose-colored border. He hated how Joe wouldn’t let him have enough beans at lunch to make him feel like he’d eaten anything at all. He hated the way he dreamed of sumptuous banquets, only to wake up and know that he had another day of Little Joe’s diet ahead of him. He hated how his stomach growled even before he’d finished eating, just like it knew that it wasn’t going to get nearly enough food.

Most of all, he hated the way Little Joe watched him. Even when he couldn’t see those green eyes, he knew they were fixed on whatever he was eating. Not that there was much to be fixed on. For thirteen solid days, Hoss had eaten only what Joe had eaten and no more. He was half-sure Joe was deliberately not eating as much as he usually would, just to torture him.

“Mary Alice Stapleton,” Joe would whisper whenever Hoss felt like he was going to explode with sheer hunger.

By the end of the second week, though, Hoss’s pants were a little bit looser around his middle. Whatever cockamamie game Joe was playing, it was working. At this rate, Hoss would be able to ask Mary Alice to the dance, and she’d get her arms around his middle with length to spare.

Besides, there was that lovely respite on Sunday–the spring picnic after church. Everybody brought something to share, and the food was so good and so plentiful that even the likes of Hoss Cartwright were well-satisfied. All week, as Hoss tried to pretend that a single chicken leg was enough to keep him from fainting from hunger, he assured himself that he would eat well at the picnic. Joe couldn’t possibly mean to keep him on this diet in the face of all that good food.

On that rain-washed Sunday morning, Hoss woke with an enormous sense of relief. He’d had the strangest dream–Joe standing in front of the door, telling him he wasn’t allowed to go to the picnic. He’d tried to run Joe down in the dream, but his little brother was somehow bigger than the door, and Hoss couldn’t budge him. It was a downright pleasure to wake up and realize that for one day, Joe wasn’t going to keep him from eating.

Hoss was just buttoning his shirt when he heard the unmistakable sound of retching coming from Joe’s room. He closed his eyes, shaking his head. If it had just been his little brother having too much to drink, Hoss would have left him to his own devices and gone down to breakfast. But he knew Joe had stayed home last night, because they’d spent the whole danged evening sitting in the living room with Joe hovering over him like a guard watching his prisoner. Besides, it had been so cold and rainy that nobody in his right mind would have gone out if he didn’t have to. So, whatever was making Joe sick, it wasn’t a night on the town.

“Joe? What’s going on?” He pushed open his brother’s door to be greeted by the pungent odor of sickness. Joe was as white as his shirt, and bent over the washbowl, he looked almost as miserable as Hoss had felt for the past two weeks.

“I’m okay,” he managed.

Hoss rolled his eyes at the obviousness of the lie. “Come here,” he said. He placed his hand on Joe’s forehead and frowned at the warmth. “Your belly hurt?”

“A little,” Joe admitted.

“You eat anything you shouldn’t have?”

Joe grinned slightly at that one. “Everything I’ve eaten, you’ve eaten.”

“And I’m fine.” Hoss shook his head again. Trust Joe to find the only sickness on the Comstock. “You get yourself back in bed,” he said, picking up the washbowl. “I’ll get rid of this.”

“Okay,” Joe breathed, and his quick agreement told Hoss just how bad his little brother felt.

He’s fine, Hoss told himself as he carried the bowl down the stairs. Nobody needs to stay home with him. He just needs to rest, that’s all. He’s fine.

“Hoss, what’s the matter? Are you sick?” Pa was already rising from his seat as the big man approached with the dish and its sour-smelling contents.

“Not me,” said Hoss. “Little Joe. He’s got a bellyache and. . . .” He nodded toward the bowl.

“Is he running a fever?”

“Some,” said Hoss. “I told him to go back to bed.” But he might have been talking to the wind, because Pa was already on his way upstairs.

By the time Hoss returned, Pa and Adam were in Joe’s room, and Joe had shed his church clothes in favor of a nightshirt. “I’ll have Hop Sing make you some of his ginger tea,” Pa was saying. “Hopefully, that’ll settle your stomach.”

“I hate ginger tea,” Joe mumbled as he lay back in the bed.

“You’ll drink it anyway,” said his father firmly. He drew the blankets up over Joe and pressed his hand against Joe’s forehead. Over his shoulder, he said, “You boys tell Reverend Abbott I’m sorry, but it looks like we’ll have to reschedule our meeting.”

“What meeting?” asked Hoss.

“Pa and Reverend Abbott and the building committee were going to meet after church to talk about the addition,” said Adam. While Adam was the head of the building committee and had designed the plans, Ben Cartwright was in charge of raising the funds for the construction. Without Ben, the meeting would be largely pointless.

“You can go,” said Joe. “I don’t need anybody to stay here.” He closed his eyes, but a second later, they snapped open and he groped for the bowl. “Where the h–” But whatever he was going to say–and fortunately, no one found out just what it was–was obliterated as his stomach rebelled again.

“I don’t like the notion of leaving you here alone,” said Ben as he handed the bowl to Hoss. Even Hop Sing was planning to go to the picnic, and afterward to his relatives for the evening.

Adam nodded. “Pa’s right. You shouldn’t be alone when you’re sick.”

An oddly satisfied look came over Joe’s face, almost as though an idea had struck. He smiled as he lay back against the pillow. “I won’t be alone. Since you and Pa have that meeting, Hoss can stay here with me,” he announced.

“What!” The word ejected itself before Hoss could stop it. His father and older brother stared, but he couldn’t say any more.

Joe couldn’t mean it, he just couldn’t. For an instant, Hoss had visions of long tables crammed with platters and dishes of savory offerings, and more tables bearing dozens of pies and cakes. His stomach growled loudly at the thought of a plate heaped with ribs and fried chicken and sweet potatoes and cornbread and-

“That would work,” Adam was saying. “That is, if Hoss doesn’t mind missing the picnic.”

Hoss looked helplessly from his older brother to the younger one. Dadburn that boy’s ornery hide. Only Little Joe would manage to get sick on the one day Hoss had been looking forward to for weeks.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of keeping Hoss home from the picnic if he wants to go,” said Joe. Hoss was sure he was sounding weaker on purpose. “Yes, sir, that’s all right, Big Brother, don’t you worry about me. I’ll just stay here all by myself.”

“Joe-” Hoss’s stomach growled loudly.

“Don’t you fret none. I’ll probably be just fine. I’m sure there’s enough bowls around here if I need them. I just hope my fever doesn’t go up too high–”

“I’m gonna clobber you!” Hoss hissed.

Ben’s brow furrowed at his large son’s reaction. “Maybe I should stay after all. The building committee can wait.”

Hoss heaved a sigh almost as enormous as his disappointment. “No, Pa, you go on,” he said. “I’ll stay with Joe.”

Ben looked as though he was going to ask something, but suddenly, Joe was scrambling out of bed. “What on earth–?” his father began, but when Joe yanked the chamber pot out from under the bed, the rest of the family made a hasty exit, closing the door securely behind them.

Out in the hall, Hoss drew a deep breath. With more conviction than he felt, he said, “Don’t you worry, Pa. I’ll take care of Joe.”

“Thank you, son.” Pa patted Hoss’s arm like he might have understood.

In a low voice so that Joe couldn’t hear, Hoss added, “Just–bring me some of that fried chicken the Widow Melvin makes, would you? And maybe a piece of Laurie Mason’s gooseberry pie?”

After Pa and Adam left, things just got worse. If Hoss hadn’t known better, he’d have figured Joe was just trying to give him more exercise. It seemed like as soon as he got back upstairs after emptying the bowl, the chamber pot needed emptying again. Down the stairs with various foul-smelling leavings, back up with rinsed out receptacles and fresh cups of ginger tea–Hoss trudged the staircase for hours, to the point where he didn’t even remember that he hadn’t ended up getting any breakfast.

“I don’t want it,” Joe protested around midday as Hoss brought him another cup of ginger tea. “Besides, there’s no point. It’s not staying down anyway.”

Hoss considered this as he regarded his little brother. The boy’s hair was damp with sweat, and his eyes were glassy. His normally tanned skin looked as pale gray as if he’d spent the winter floating in the lake and washed up on the shore in the spring. Hoss pressed one large hand against his brother’s forehead to test the fever. “I don’t know about you, Joseph,” he said, shaking his head. “How about some broth? You think you could handle that better?”

“I don’t want anything,” Joe said.

Hoss considered his brother. The boy needed to get something into him. He tried to think what Pa would have done. Then, it dawned on him. Grinning, he said, “You gotta try. If you don’t eat, I can’t eat.”

Joe managed a chuckle for the first time all morning. “You really want to stick with that today?”

“Well. . . .”

“Go on. You’re off the lead rope. Make yourself a sandwich or something.”

“Maybe later,” said Hoss. He poured a glass of water and pressed it into Joe’s hand. “At least drink this,” he said.

Joe took a tentative sip. “Here,” he said, holding the glass out, but Hoss shook his head.

“Keep drinking,” he said. Truth be told, it was nice to be the one giving the orders for a change.

The two brothers rested in companionable silence for a while, with Joe sipping the water as Hoss began to nod off in the bedside chair. Just as Hoss was ready to close his eyes for a good nap, Joe said, “You know, it’s not always a picnic to look like me, either.”

“What?” Hoss roused himself from near-slumber and rested his hand on Joe’s forehead to see whether the fever had gone up. “What’re you talking about?” he demanded once he’d ruled out delirium as the source of that bizarre comment.

“I’m just saying,” said Joe. “You act like it’s so easy to look like this, but it ain’t.”

“Uh-huh,” Hoss grunted. “You’re suffering, I can tell.”

Joe snorted. “You don’t get it.”

“Get what? That when folks talk about us, I’m the fat one and you’re the pretty one?”

Joe sighed. “Practically every fellow in town’s bigger than me, and I always have to fight them before they’ll take me seriously. All you have to do is walk into the saloon, and they’re ready to settle down and listen to you.”

Hoss considered this. “But all the gals like you,” he said, remembering the original issue.

“Even if they don’t know me,” Joe pointed out. “That’s nice enough when it’s a girl I like, but then there are the rest of them who want me just because of how I look–and some of them are mighty peculiar.”

Hoss thought for a moment and chuckled as he remembered. “Wasn’t there one–Annabelle Richter, wasn’t it? She thought you were sparkin’ her even though you didn’t know her?”

Joe rolled his eyes. “More than that–she was telling people we were promised, and all I’d ever done was hold a door for her. It sure made Luke Carson awful mad, too-he wanted to be sparking her, and she said she was spoken for.” He rubbed his jaw as if recalling Luke’s fist.

“There was another one, too–Sally McGee. Wasn’t she the one who thought you liked Shakespeare and so she kept sending you love poems?” Hoss was feeling better already. Joe sure had gotten mixed up with some strange girls in his time. Maybe he was better off not being quite so desirable.

“I tried to tell her she had me confused with Adam, but she wouldn’t listen. Said she knew in her heart we were meant to be together.”

“And there was one who sang to you, wasn’t there?” This was fun. Of course, Joe’s love life was always interesting to watch, but the odd ones made it a special treat.

“Daisy Albertsen,” nodded Joe. “We were just sitting there one night at the International House, having a perfectly peaceful dinner, and she started singing, real loud–and she’s not much of a singer.”

“What was the song?”

Joe shrugged. “Nothing I’d ever heard of,” he said. “For all I know, she made it up. I just remember there was one line she kept singing over and over–something about ‘and I love you, darling.’ Fellows were coming over from the Silver Dollar to listen.” The Silver Dollar saloon was next to the International House, with the two establishments connected by an open doorway. “I’m telling you, it was weeks before I could go out for a beer without some yahoo singing to me.”

“I remember,” Hoss grinned. It had been pretty funny to watch Joe trying to keep his temper when a bunch of drunken miners stood up from the poker table and began to serenade him. “Drink your water,” he added.

Joe took another sip. Another minute, and he shook his head as he set the glass on the night table. “Can’t.”

“You need the bowl?”

“Let me see.” Joe closed his eyes, breathing deeply. After a few minutes, he said, “I’m okay.”

Hoss sighed. “What’re we gonna do with you, Joseph?”

“Let me stay here,” said Joe. “At least I can hide from the likes of Jeanie McCurdy.”

Hoss sat up straight in spite of himself. “What about Jeanie McCurdy?”

“Mitch says she’s talking up the notion of her and me,” said Joe, not seeming to notice his brother’s reaction. “Like I’d want anything to do with her. She’s about as uppity as anybody I’ve ever heard of.”

“You know her?”

“As much as I’d want to. Mitch asked her to the social, and she turned him down. Told him to his face that he just wasn’t handsome enough for her.”

“But Mitch is a real good-looking fellow.” Joe’s boyhood friend had routinely competed with Joe for girls all through school, and they’d come up pretty even most of the time.

“I know,” said Joe. “But Jeanie turned him down. Lord knows why she thinks I’d want to spark somebody like her after that.”

“Well–she’s mighty pretty,” Hoss offered.

“So?”

“So–a lot of fellows would want to spark her just because of that.”

Joe snorted. “I got news for you, Big Brother,” he said. “If a fellow wants to spark somebody like Jeanie McCurdy just because she’s pretty, I say he’s getting what he deserves. Me, I like a pretty girl, but if she ain’t got any more than a few curls and a tiny waist, I’m not going to be around for long.”

“Then, you think–”

“Give me the pot, quick!”

Seconds later, Hoss stood out in the hall, pondering this notion. If somebody who looked like Joe wasn’t willing to spark somebody who looked like Jeanie McCurdy, then maybe it was true what Pa had always said, that beauty was more than just skin-deep. Maybe he could have a chance with Mary Alice even if he didn’t starve himself half to death first. It might be worth finding out.

And if she turned him down because he was big–well, maybe Joe was right. Maybe a girl like that wasn’t worth having. Maybe he should be looking for somebody who wasn’t pretty just on the outside.

The sun had almost set when Hoss woke to see Pa perched on the side of Joe’s bed, his hand pressed against the boy’s brow. “Fever’s down some,” Pa announced. “How’re you feeling, son?”

“I’m okay,” said Joe drowsily. Somebody had lit the bedside lamp, and Joe didn’t look as pale as he had earlier.

“When did you get home?” Hoss tried unsuccessfully to cover an enormous yawn.

“Just now,” said Adam from the foot of Joe’s bed. “Glad to see you were keeping such a close eye on him.”

“He’s doin’ a lot better,” said Hoss. Before he’d dozed off in the bedside chair, he’d gotten a cup of broth and half a glass of water into Joe, and both had stayed down. “At the rate he’s drinking that broth, I figure he ain’t gonna waste away to nothin’ before at least Wednesday.”

“Hoss,” Pa chided him.

“He’s just jealous,” Joe said, yawning. “He wants to waste away, too.”

“Don’t waste away too much,” warned Adam. “I saw Mary Alice Stapleton at the picnic. She was talking to Wally Newton.”

“To who?” Hoss wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Wally Newton was practically the only man in Virginia City who was nearly Hoss’s height, and he was even bigger around.

“Wally Newton,” Adam said. “Apparently, she likes her men big. The way you’ve been eating for the past couple weeks, you might just be a little skinny for her tastes right now.” He raised an eyebrow as if he knew exactly what Hoss had been doing for the past two weeks.

Dumbfounded, Hoss opened his mouth, but no words came. He looked at Joe, and his younger brother laughed.

“Hey, it wasn’t my idea!” Joe protested. “Go butcher a beef and have yourself a snack.”

“What are you talking about?” Ben looked from one son to another, perplexed.

“Don’t worry about it, Pa,” said Joe. “Hoss just has some catching up to do.” He winked at his big brother, and Hoss grinned back.

“And as soon as you’re feelin’ better, we’ll start you eating like me!” the big man announced.

Joe cringed. “Don’t even suggest it,” he said. “At least, not right now.”

“I don’t expect you’re going to be eating much of anything for at least a couple more days,” said Ben, his hand resting on Joe’s arm.

“Just like my big brother,” said Joe. “Hoss, what’ve you had to eat today?”

Hoss frowned, considering. “Nothing,” he said, half in amazement and half in pride.

“Nothing?” Ben and Adam both looked stunned.

“Been too busy with this one,” Hoss shrugged. “Besides, it ain’t exactly been the kind of day that makes a fellow think about food–carryin’ all that smelly stuff downstairs and all.”

It was clear that Pa didn’t understand just what was happening, but all he said was, “Well, you go and get yourself something to eat. I’ll stay with Joe for a while.”

“Go on,” said Joe. “I reckon we’ve got an extra steer somewhere. That should tide you over until supper.”

Hoss winked at his brother. “I’ll see you later, Little Brother.” He headed down the stairs, but his thoughts weren’t filled with the temptations in the kitchen. In fact, when he reached the dining room, he stopped, considering. If he rode fast, he could get out to the Stapletons’ place tonight and ask Mary Alice to that social before Wally Newton did.

Then, he shrugged. He’d do better to wait until tomorrow. Joe was right: he had some catching up to do. It wouldn’t do to visit such a pretty girl with him looking like a half-stuffed scarecrow–especially not if she liked her men well-fed.

Hitching up his pants, Hoss headed to the kitchen to make himself a plate of sandwiches. If memory served, there was beef and ham in the larder. That would do for a start. He whistled as he sliced bread and meat and assembled his snack. Then, he carried his plate to the table and settled in. The first bite of roast beef on Hop Sing’s bread was so delicious that he closed his eyes rapturously. He savored the airy coarseness of the bread and the thick solidness of good meat. This was almost worth missing the picnic for. He took another bite and smiled wider than he had in days.

When he was done with his sandwiches, he’d figure out just how to ask Mary Alice out. And while he was figuring, he could cut himself a nice, big piece of apple pie.

Or maybe even two.