Summary:  A building so beautiful, so elegant, so deadly…and Cartwright and Sons Construction are to blame when it strikes, taking one of them….    A Cartwright’s in the 21st Century story.

Rated:  T  Word Count: 46800

21st Century Cartwrights Series:

Within the Circle
With a Two-edged Sword
Calculated Revenge
Passages
With The Best Intentions
The Art of Weaseling
With All Deliberate Purpose
Death Walked This Way Today
Is This Normal?
Withholding the Dream
Heavenly Intervention

Withholding the Dream

Adam Cartwright had to slow down as he approached the turnoff. Not because of the turn itself. The Jaguar XKE he drove could have taken the corner easily at twice the posted speed limit. No, he slowed down so that he could look again at the mountainside above him and marvel at what was there with that particular sense of ownership that a designer has.

The building rose like a crystalline dragonfly high above the shoreline of Lake Tahoe. Its glass wings reflected the sunlight, spinning it and turning it into every hue of the rainbow. From lake level the structure appeared to rise from the very treetops when in fact it sat upon a rock ledge nearly four acres square. The center, the body of it, was A-shaped, piercing the clear air and cloudless sky that day. There was a steady thrum to the very earth that one could imagine was the beating of the wings yet belonged to the very human workers that tended to the rising giant.

With a shake of his head, Adam shoved the car into low gear, determined not to let the awe he felt overwhelm him. That, he figured, would dissuade him from his task at hand that day. A distasteful chore that would sully the grandeur of this magnificent hotel he had designed and watched being born on this rocky slope of the Sierra Nevadas. With the Jag’s top down, he heard two distinct sounds as he wound his way up the tree-lined drive. The first he expected because they were the sounds of construction: the throaty purr of heavy equipment, the shouts of men giving directions, the hiss of a disgruntled mountain giving up a place for mankind to build. The second sound was no more than sharp click off to his left, and by instinct, he turned towards it.

Standing there between two tall Ponderosa pines was a photographer, the camera’s large single eye trained on him. He braked, turned off the motor and was out of the car headed for that lens before the thought ever crossed his mind to do otherwise.

“This is private property,” he shouted but the clicking continued from the camera. “I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing here but-” The camera lowered slowly and Adam caught sight of the woman behind the lens.

She wasn’t very tall. Blonde with shoulder-length hair, she would have had to look up to see into his eyes. Despite his apparent anger, she was chuckling softly. The camera in her steady hands rose once more, daring him to swat it away.

“Funny. Cartwright and Sons Construction hired me to do a photo shoot of this place and now the bossman is trying to throw me off? Got news for you, Mister Cartwright. I can’t take long range pictures and have them show what you want ’em to.”

In a blink of an eye, Adam realized his mistake and he apologized profusely. Yes, he understood now. “But you can’t get much of the building from this angle, can you?”
“Depends on what you wanna see.” She turned her back, squatted in the dry needles and pointed upwards at a sharp angle. Adam followed her example and what he saw took his breath away. It was the last ten feet of the building’s A-pitched roof. Or rather, the leaded glass that fronted the entire structure. There, in the light of mid-morning, was reflected the turquoise of Lake Tahoe and the far distant mountain peaks.

“Yep, kinda awesome, ain’t it?” When Adam hadn’t answered her, she smiled over her shoulder and asked, “Does this get me arrested for trespassing or can I use it as a get-out-of-jail free card?”

“If you can-” Adam started and stood to give her a hand up as well.

“I can, Mister Cartwright, I can. Name’s Faye McClellan.” She unwound her hand from the camera straps and extended it. Her grip was firm and sure. “You hired me to take shots of this fancy place, remember?”

The memory came back to him but vaguely. It had been several weeks ago that it had been suggested by none other than his father. Photos of the new Grissom Consortium hotel would be the preliminary step to entering the design in a nation-wide competition. A sure winner, Ben had prompted with a smile. In truth, Adam was immensely proud of the hotel with its soaring center and sweeping ells but he had thought of it as a parent thinks of a child: of course it was beyond comparison simply because it was his!

But that would soon come to an end. Within hours, in fact, it would truly become Grissom’s, a man that Adam Cartwright had come to think of as something less than wholesome and honest. Just to say his name now left a nasty taste in his mouth, making Adam want to drink something very strong and potent to erase it. Not long ago, he’d found himself in the Bucket of Blood down in Virginia City, drinking one too many whiskeys and spilling his guts to brother Hoss about the man.

“Excuses. Nothing but excuses is all I’m getting now. Again.” Once, months before this problem had arisen but Grissom had made good on his debts. Now, with the building in the finishing stages, Adam wasn’t so sure the man would. “Hoss, what am I gonna do? They only made half a payment in March. Said only half the work we were asking payment for was done. I was stupid and accepted that.”

“Why?” Hoss asked simply, picking up his beer to stop himself from saying any more.

“Because I figured that next month we’d ask for the missing half and then some. But come April, when we billed for that much, he said there was a problem at his bank and he’d get back to me.” Adam snorted into his nearly empty glass. “Ever since then he’s been avoiding my phone calls.”

“So go see him,” offered the big man. “Go camp on his doorstep.”

“Can’t run a business like ours sitting on someone’s welcome mat, Hoss. Besides, the building is about finished.”
“I don’t understand, Adam. What happens if he don’t pay up this time? Can he still take control of the buildin’?”

“According to the law, yes, but we can slap a mechanic’s lien on it. That pretty much snarls things up in court and opens us up to a countersuit. He can’t open his fancy hotel; he loses money and sues Cartwright and Sons Construction for more than he owes us. He winds up with his hotel at a discount price and we wind up with a black eye.”

“Sounds like you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”

Adam sighed and signaled for another round. “Bingo.”

Now, some three weeks later, Grissom had called and told him that he would meet him at the site with a check for the full amount. Of course, Adam had wanted to do handsprings down the corridors, shouting with relieved glee but he refrained. There would be no need to sign the legal papers he’d had drawn up to stop Grissom’s taking over of the property. At the end of the brief conversation, he’d found himself on slightly shaky ground. Would Adam kindly have Cartwright and Sons notify their insurance company to transfer the policy to Grissom Consortium? With reluctance, Adam agreed. It was, after all, common practice. Still, the little voice in his head warned him even as he made the call.

Today was the day. Nothing, Adam told himself as he found himself looking into the single dark eye of a camera lens, would ruin it. Except maybe this shutter-bug.

“Please, Miss McClellan. Your subject is the building. Not me. Can I give you a lift up to the top?”

The little blonde shook her head and he could see the smile peeking out from under the camera. He smiled again and heard the spin of tiny motors and the click of buttons pushed. Shaking his head, he decided that she could take whatever shots she wanted as long as he got what he wanted so he headed back to his car. Behind him, the camera continued its clicking and whirling.

As he pulled into the parking lot he forced himself to not be lost again in the wonderment of what he’d designed. He chastised himself briefly even, reminding himself that he may have created it on paper but his brother Joseph had been the one to take the picture, the idea, and turn it into reality. Joe and about a hundred other craftsmen. He parked next to his brother’s red Jeep beside the gray office trailer that bore the logo and name of Cartwright and Sons Construction Company, Inc. Settling his jacket across his shoulders, he went up the few steps and into the office.

There was no one in the office. Not even the ubiquitous Jenny, the company secretary charged with keeping things on an even keel and moving forward despite her young boss. Adam checked the parking lot again and found Jenny’s gray station wagon there so she had to be somewhere about. He was a touch surprised when he saw that Hoss’ metallic blue pickup was also there. This, he decided, deserved an explanation.
Joe answered his cell phone on the third ring and greeted his oldest brother without the benefit of a salutation. Instead it was simply that he and Jenny were over in the atrium of the new building. Then the line went dead and Adam was left to roll his eyes and leave the trailer.

Stepping into the atrium of the hotel was not unlike stepping into the forest that surrounded it. The thick carpet was a pale russet gold, matching the color of old pine needles. The walls, where there were walls, were of massive pine logs. The field stone fireplace caught your attention even without cradling any dancing flames. Across the expanse of carpet to what would become the registration desk, Adam walked, feeling very much at home. Yes, he’d spent lots of time here during the construction of this glory but it reminded him – and others who’d been to both places – of the sprawling ranch house he called home, The Ponderosa. It was larger and grander in scale but it still gave him the sense of security. The one thing missing from home was what made this place different: the soaring glass front that gave an unprecedented view of Lake Tahoe and the majestic mountains surrounding it. That day the sunlight was streaming through those immense windows, bathing the interior with a rich golden tone.

In the middle of it all were three card tables set side by side. On them the blue-inked plans were spread but there was also a mishmash of other items: a set of keys Adam would bet his last dollar on that his little brother would need to get home, a hammer, a chewed on pencil and a cup of cold coffee. He heard men’s voices from the adjoining wings, putting on the finishing touches. From the back of building where the dining room would be there were flashes of light like someone was testing them. Adam strolled that way, pausing only once to check on the shelving under the registration desk.

Hoss Cartwright held a clipboard and pencil in his massive hands. Once more he tried the light switch and when the overhead lights came on, smiled and checked a square on the paper the board held. He muttered that why someone would have flipped the breaker off would escape him but then weirder things happened on a construction site. He looked up from his list just in time to see his brother Adam enter the room.

“Hey, Adam. What you doin’ up here?”

“I could ask the same of you but then I think I know the answer. Joe too lazy to do his own last inspection?”

“I take offense at that!” came Joe’s shout from the kitchen area behind them. He joined the pair. “I thought having a fresh set of eyes go over it would be a good idea. Hoss has already found a few things you and I missed, Adam.”

Adam could only begrudgingly smile and admit that it was a good idea. “The building inspectors are due later today so I hope those few things are being taken care of.”

“As we speak,” Joe nodded. “What about Grissom? You said this morning that he was coming out with the last check. It’s almost noon and I ain’t seen hide nor hair of him.”

“Well without someone down in the office,” Adam began, an eyebrow raised.
“Jenny’s running the cleaning crew up on the third floor. Said no one cleans like a woman. You gonna argue with her?” As he spoke, Joe’s sharp hearing caught the sound of Jenny giving orders to some electrician to move it or lose it. “I take that back. She’s in the kitchen.”

“Well, why don’t you and Joe go ‘way and leave me to my job?” Hoss protested gently. “There’s surely somethin’ the two of you got to discuss.”

Just then, Jenny came through the swinging doors that lead from the kitchen. She was a robust older woman with gray hair pulled into a twist that Joe swore was permanent. Never one to be caught in public wearing slacks, she always wore a navy blue or dark gray skirt and white blouse. In cool weather, there was always a sweater, brightly colored, either wrapped around her shoulders or on the back of her chair. She was a fixture and as such, never changed. In truth, she felt no need to. She had been with the company since its inception and was the only employee who gave no difference to the Cartwrights. Only Ben did she call Mister Cartwright, and Adam, because he appeared to run it all, she called Mister Adam. She respected Hoss and Joe, having worked with both of them over the years, but to them she gave a maternal eye – and opinion.

“Hoss!” she shouted and all three cringed at the strident and unpleasant tone her voice took. “What is that gizmo under the sink in there? If that’s a garbage disposal, it’s the queerest thing I ever saw. That doesn’t look -”

“I’ll go take a look, Miss Jenny. Did it growl when you flipped the switch?” Hoss crossed his fingers under the clipboard. Hopefully Jenny was in a teasing mood. If not he would soon be handed his head.

“Come on, Jenny,” Adam called, fighting the urge to laugh as Hoss slunk – the only word for it- back into the kitchen to check on something he’d apparently missed.”We need to go down to the office. Grissom will be here soon and we need to get some figures down on paper before we talk to him.”

Jenny and Joe walked ahead of Adam through the open double doors and he was about to tell Joe something when he was pushed from behind. Not on his shoulder but across his entire body with enough force that he was knocked into his brother. In falling he tried to turn his head to see what it was but it wasn’t until he was completely down that it washed across him. A roar so powerful that it consumed everything in its path. All sight, all sound was gone in an instant, replaced by an all encompassing roar and rush of hot air.

Beneath him, Adam could feel a body and knew it was Joe’s. He struggled to sit up, gasping for air. There were hands reaching for him that he could see through a bloody haze yet he couldn’t feel them. He fought for a grip on Joe but then everything faded into gray… then black….then….

“Take a deep breath,” someone was telling him when Adam’s world righted itself again. “Come on, Adam. Don’t do this to me,” it warned and he decided, once his ears stopped ringing, that he would tell Joe a thing or two. He took a deep breath. “That’s it.”
Adam pushed his eyes open to see the impeccable blue of the sky marred by a streak of dark gray. Then he found Joe bending over him, anxiety mingling with outright fear in his eyes.

“Help me up,” the older brother demanded and found an eager hand doing just that. Sitting up, Adam could see what had pushed him down, and what remained of his beautiful building. There was a pile of rubble where once the…his thoughts of sorrow cascaded into fear. “Hoss?” he croaked then coughed in pain.

Joe’s head shook then he turned and said something to someone Adam suddenly had no interest in knowing. He clambered to his feet, his vision swaying. He would have fallen if it hadn’t been for his brother grasping his shoulders. “Hoss!” he wanted to shout but couldn’t get enough air into his lungs to get it above a croak.

“Stay put,” Adam heard Joe’s shout as though from a great distance. “Help is coming! But I need to -.” The rest was lost in a blur to Adam for he was suddenly seated again, but this time on the rock wall that led to the pool area. He tried to tell Joe…but Joe was gone. He caught a glimpse of his back disappearing….

A glimpse at his watch- the crystal was broken, stopping the time at11:37. A touch to his face – his hand came away bloody. A deep breath to settle his nerves – the slash of pain that took his breath away instead. Another glimpse – insane, yes- to his watch, hoping it had all changed. It hadn’t. Yet as he looked up from his wrist, he saw that everything had changed.

Where once a sparkling, towering building had stood, now lay rubble and debris. The soaring dragonfly of earlier was now a repugnant worm crushed on the face of the mountainside. His brain refused to take it all in as he watched screaming fire-trucks and ambulances race up the mountain. They shoved their way into the parking lot, slamming into cars to move them then the helmeted figures leapt from them, running towards what remained of Adam’s “child”.

Still numb, he scanned the other direction. The office trailer was laid on its side, spewing flames from window holes. Through the clanging swirl of men and machines, he saw Jenny, her hand to the side of her head. She’s hurt, he thought and tried to make his legs work but they wouldn’t obey. She turned slightly and he saw that she was on a cell phone, speaking – no, shouting. Their eyes made contact and she started for him.

He forced himself to look at the crumbled remains of the hotel once more. There was Joe, shouting and waving his arm, giving directions. One man near him, Adam thought he was an electrician, stumbled and Joe went to him, helping him towards a paramedic. There was a smear of blood across Joe’s back, Adam saw, but he appeared functional.

Oh my God….Hoss…Where’s he…blast was behind us…oh God, Hoss…This time when Adam told his legs to move, they did, but reluctantly and all too slowly for him and he staggered to the brother he could see.
The hand on his shoulder made Joe turn quickly. He caught Adam just as his long legs gave out and Joe lowered him to the ground, his brother’s back against a now useless piece of heavy equipment. With trembling fingers, he probed the bleeding gash on Adam’s head. Over and over again, Adam was saying the same word: Hoss.

“Easy, Adam. Let me get a paramedic,” Joe began but his brother held up his hand for him to stop.

“Have you seen Hoss?”

Joe shook his head slowly and grimaced at the pain the motion caused. “No, I tried to get to where I thought…the firemen shoved me back. Told me to get out of the way.”

“Any idea what happened?” mumbled Adam, his vision again swaying ominously.

“No. Explosion, but little fire. ‘Cept for the trailer burning. All I saw was -” he said, swallowed hard and looked beyond Adam. “-was the whole thing just slowly fall apart.”

“What do we have here?” a paramedic asked as she knelt beside Adam, her gloved hand already reaching for his wrist to check his pulse.

He turned his attention to her and told her he was just a little woozy. She smiled for him and he took a little heart that perhaps he was telling the truth. He started to tell her to check on Joe but he was gone. Adam tried to push her hands away so he could stand and follow him, but she was stronger than she looked. She pushed something into his hand and placed it against his forehead, telling him to hold it there.

“I’ll be watching you so you’d best stay put. We need the ambulances for others, the more seriously injured or I’d have you on a stretcher right now.” Her finger wagged in his face. He grabbed it with his free hand and asked her to help find Hoss. She gave him a weak promise and was gone.

For Adam Cartwright, the pain was threefold that day. His building, his pride and joy, his momentous accomplishment was gone- reduced to rubble in half a heart beat. His body, bloodied, bruised and painful, kept him at bay from it all. His brother, his big lovable brother, was missing in the debris and as the minutes stretched into an hour, he feared that when he was found…No, he couldn’t make himself go down that path. All he could do was keep watch and he did.

Several times he saw Joe. Each time it seemed to Adam that Joe was a little worse for wear but each time, he would carry on with what he was doing. He tried to make himself believe that it was less, but an hour had passed when Joe came back to where he sat. He slumped against the flattened tire beside him.

“Found Hoss?” asked Adam softly.

Joe’s shaggy head shook. He accepted the bottle of water Jenny offered him and she drew Adam’s attention. Like them, she was disheveled with a strip of something holding a bloody pad to her right forearm. There were smudges beneath her eyes that were tracked by tears. She had lost a shoe but didn’t appear to care. From her skirt pocket bulged a cell phone.

“Hey!” a voice shouted and a fireman came towards them. “Can you run that crane up there?” He pointed to one of the cranes they had used around the site. It had been scheduled to be moved out that day and sat still waiting on the flatbed of a tractor-trailer rig.

“I can,” Joe shouted back and rose to meet the man.

As his brother watched, Joe used the crane’s hoist to move beam after beam, swinging them out of the way. Centered in one location that would have been the back of the building, the activity held an aura of careful expediency. Hurry, it said, but be careful. Again and again, the massive hook dropped out of sight, only to rise with a tangled mess of wood and metal. The massive chandelier from the dining area. A metal box Adam assumed was one of the walk-in freezers. Timbers that from their very size he knew were the main structural components of the building. Then they waved the crane off.

Adam saw Joe leap from the cab of the crane and run into the pile. One paramedic raced forward carrying an oxygen mask, another a stretcher. Then Joe went back to the crane and with infinite slowness and deliberation, dropped the hook, then raised the boom but this time he held it steady. A direction from a fireman and Joe moved whatever it was the crane held no more than a foot. Unable to remain still any longer, Adam levered himself to his feet, the tension in his body replacing the pain for the moment. He watched and followed Joe’s movements, his own sweaty palm now running down his side.

Another waved direction and the crane lifted whatever it held another foot or so. Limping, Adam pressed up the slope, never taking his eyes from the beehive of activity churning at the crane’s hook. The paramedics, their yellow helmets making them easy to spot, seemed concentrated on one speck of white.

They’ve found Hoss, Adam’s mind screamed and he found the strength to join the rescuers. By hand, they tore at the timbers crushing down on his brother’s massive body. He was vaguely aware that what the crane held above them could come crashing down and kill them all, but Adam had faith and faith that day would be enough. With the last man out of the hole, and Hoss strapped to a stretcher bound for an ambulance, the load shifted and the crane’s hook lost its grip. Dumbfounded, all Adam could do was watch it. It was, he thought, like a dying gasp.

“Jenny’s gonna take you, Adam,” were Joe’s words. Adam could feel himself being propelled down the slope, his brother on one side and the woman on the other. “I gotta stay here and help some more. Jenny? Were you able to reach Pa? Thanks.”
Ben Cartwright was in his home office, catching up on some long overdue correspondence when the phone call came. It was Adam’s secretary, Rosalie.

“Mister Cartwright, there’s been some sort of accident over at the hotel,” she said and Ben heard the breathy quality to it and steeled himself.
“Anyone hurt?” he asked, already preparing a list of things to be done in his head.

“Yes, sir. Lots of ’em. From what Jenny said, Adam and Joe are okay but she didn’t know about Hoss. Sir, I need your help. I’m over at Carson-Tahoe Hospital where they are bringing some of the injured. Can you come?”
“Where are the boys? Where are they?” he all but shouted into the phone.

There was a sudden hitch in the voice on the other end of the conversation. “They’re still at the scene. Please, Mister Cartwright, I need you here.”

“I’m on my way to the hotel,” thundered Ben.

“You can’t get there. They have the road past Sand Harbor blocked to all traffic except emergency vehicles. Please?” she pleaded and now he could hear the tears in her voice. “Come here.”

“I’m on my way.” Even as he hung up the phone, he was moving for the door, shouting for Hop Sing. And whispering a prayer for his sons.

The emergency room parking lot was chaotic. As Ben parked his car on the street, he counted seven ambulances lined up, ready to back into the waiting bays. There was a state patrolman directing traffic. At first, he’d tried to stop Ben’s Lincoln but seeing the license plate and hearing the determined shout from the white-haired driver, he caved and allowed Ben to pass.

Inside was little better. Rising above the shouted instructions was a thick layer of foreboding. As he walked the short hallway, he looked for familiar faces and saw them – men he’d known for years both as a friend and as an employer. One man, Jeff Chandler, he remembered was one of the foremen. Jeff was sitting hunched over his arms. When Ben spoke to him, he turned dulled eyes up and shook his head. Ben next stopped a paramedic and asked about his sons. The man shrugged his shoulders and kept moving out the door.

“Mister Cartwright?” a voice called behind him and Ben turned to see Rosalie coming towards him. She carried a cell phone in one hand and held a clipboard to her chest with the other. “I’m glad to see you, sir.”

“The boys?” he pressed. “Adam, Hoss, Joe? Have you seen them? Heard from them? Anything, Rosalie, anything!”

She shook her head frantically. “Talked with Jenny. She’s still up to the site. Says Adam is banged up some. Joe’s been helping in the rescue, she said, so he must be okay.”

Ben keyed in on one word she’d said and he repeated it. “Rescue? Who? What about Hoss?”
Her face crumbled and she openly cried. Only then did Ben recall that she had been dating Hoss for the last six months. He gathered her to his chest and let her cry for a few moments then asked again, this time with gentleness. “What about Hoss? He was there, I know he was.”

“Jenny didn’t say anything about him. Then her phone went dead. Battery’s dead would be my guess.” Once more, she began to cry and Ben let her. He wanted to join her, dread washing over him like the pungent scent of blood all around them.

“Is that all of them?” The man asking the question of Joe Cartwright shoved his helmet back on his head. In the dying sunlight, the steaks down his sweaty cheeks looked like dirty tears.

Joe took a long swig of water from the bottle he’d been handed and nodded. At his side, Jenny held a ragged sheet of paper for him to see. It was a hastily put together list with check marks next to names. Many names and, thankfully, many check marks. He put an arm around her shoulders and drew her to his side, seeking comfort as much as giving it.

“We’ll have the bomb squad up here at first light. State boys have the road sealed so no one can come up. All I can say, Cartwright, is that I am sorry. Saw this place going up and told my wife that it was high time North Tahoe got something ritzy like this. Like I said, sorry.” The man turned and left.

“This isn’t over, Joe,” Jenny murmured, a cold hand pressing against his side.

“Not by a long shot. I’m gonna find the bastard -”

“That’s not what I meant. We need to get to the hospital. I’m sure your pa is in about nine shades of panic right about now. ‘Sides, my head hurts.”

Still holding her close, they walked towards what remained of the office trailer. Upon seeing what was left, Joe almost laughed aloud for all of the vehicles that had been parked close by were damaged, either by the fire or by flying debris. Except one – Adam’s Jaguar and only because Joe’s Jeep had taken the brunt of it all. The Jeep had been rudely shoved into Jenny’s station wagon.

“Come on, Miss Jenny. You and me are going for a ride!” He gestured grandly to the sports car.

“Oh my,” she gasped then also began to laugh as she assessed the situation. “What do you think Mister Adam’ll do when he finds out you drove his car again without asking?”

“Me? I thought you’d drive. Lord knows he wouldn’t say a thing to you.”

“What are you gonna do for keys? How you gonna start it?” she asked, slipping along the side of the Jag and opening the passenger door a crack.

“What? You never hotwired a car, Miss Jenny?”
In the end, Joe got behind the wheel and with muscles screaming in pain and exhaustion, wheeled the forty-year-old sports car away from the carnage. He could do nothing about the smell of fear, blood and filth he carried with them. Jenny sat slumped in the passenger seat, yet began to shiver uncontrollably as long pent up adrenaline rushed from her. Joe felt it too and it caused him to slam the car through the gears, revving the old engine unmercifully. The trip across the divide and down into Carson City would have taken them about twenty minutes but Joe made it in fifteen.

At the emergency room door, a different scene met them. Gone was the panic. Except for the nurse who greeted them, there was no one else. For a moment, Joe thought perhaps he’d dreamed it all and now he was about to wake up and find that he had to go to work. When the nurse touched his shoulder and pain burst upon him like a brightly colored light shower, he knew he wasn’t dreaming.

“Come this way,” she urged and Joe lost all fight.

A weary Doctor Paul Martin slid the curtain open to the cubicle Joe’d collapsed in. He turned on a side light and that woke the younger man. He noted the momentary confusion but went ahead with his inspection.

“Concussion.” Fingers probed across Joe’s collar bone then tore fabric. “Laceration here. Not too deep but it’ll need stitching. Any trouble breathing?” Gentle pressure down the rib cage made Joe want to gasp but he kept silent. Then the pressure increased across his stomach and that made him grimace. “We’ll take some x-rays but they’re probably just cracked. Worried about that one you poked through a lung not long ago but, seeing how you’ve been on your feet and going at it since the explosion, there’s probably no reason to worry. Any trouble with your hearing? Vision?”

“Yes,” he answered and the doctor raised eyebrows. Joe Cartwright was not one to admit to any pain of any sort. “I don’t see my brothers. Where’s Hoss? Where’s Adam? They okay?”

“Adam and your father are upstairs in the waiting room. Hoss is still in surgery. Broke his leg, banged him around real good but all in all, he is a mighty lucky young man. You, too. So then, if you’ll do what I tell you, you can join your family but first, let me take those x-rays -”

“Just get it done.”

Twenty minuted later, Joe found his father and brother right where Paul Martin had said they were. His father met him halfway through the door, concern stamped on his face. Ben grasped his youngest’s face and held it in both hands as he asked how he was. When his father held him like that, Joe knew he couldn’t lie and not have Ben see it, so he told the whole truth.

“Banged up. Tired. Sore. Doc said he’d admit me for observation but said they were out of beds. Said Adam here had taken the last one. Any word about Hoss?” As soon as he said the words, he wished he hadn’t.

“Nothing,” came Adam’s voice. “Been in surgery for six hours.”

“And?” Joe’s single word seemed to shake as he said it.
Adam merely shook his head and gestured to the sofa across from him. He watched Joe as his brother sank carefully into it. Ben took one of the armchairs, the one with the clear view of the hallway.

Silence fell into the room as outside the streetlights came on. The summer dusk deepened, becoming night. Without meaning to, Adam fell into a dreamless sleep, the corner of the sofa all that was holding him up. Joe also slept but he’d managed to stretch out, one arm across his eyes.

Alone and silent, Ben waited. Once his sons were asleep, he paced the floor. Worry filled him too full to remain still. There had been other times when he been imprisoned here in this corner room on the third floor of the hospital. Too many times, he told himself and tried to laugh. But each and every time, he reminded himself, things had turned out much less worse than he’d imagined. It would be the same this time. It had to be.

He had made about his one thousandth trip to the window when he saw the doctor coming down the hallway. Ben smiled into the reflection in the glass and turned to greet Paul Martin. Dressed in surgical scrubs that were sweat stained, the good doctor seemed cautious at first.

“They’re just sleeping. Adam wouldn’t go to his room until we knew something,” Ben said with a smile as he caught Paul’s worried look towards the sofas. “How’s Hoss?”

The doctor gestured that they speak in the hallway and Ben followed, sure to hear the encouraging words the doctor always spoke.

“He’s in intensive care, Ben.”

“Intensive care? For a broken leg?” He shook his head then went on. “Can I see him?”

Paul couldn’t look his friend in the eye so he studied the waxed floor instead. “He wouldn’t know you’re there. Why don’t you just go on home? Get yourself some sleep and come back in the morning,” he encouraged but even he heard the insincerity in his words.

A tightness settled in Ben Cartwright’s chest. Like a fist, it grabbed at him and held him. “I want to see my son, Paul.”

“He wouldn’t know you were there, Ben,” Paul repeated, and this time, studied the man. “He’s on life support.”

“You mean like a ventilator? Something to help him breathe?” Not two months ago, he’d stood looking down at his youngest attached to a machine to help him breathe. Now Hoss? The world tilted.

The doctor shook his head and wrapped both hands around Ben’s arms, holding him in place as he said, “Just what I said, Ben. Life support. Hoss…. Twice in the OR he stopped breathing on his own.”

The smell of fresh brewed coffee came to Ben Cartwright’s nose and he inhaled deeply before he opened his eyes. Surprised, he found himself staring at the ceiling of his own bedroom. It was all a dream, he thought. The boys were all right. But even as he thought that, his heart told him different.

“You want this now?” Joe’s voice softly asked and Ben turned to find his youngest son standing by the window, the sunlight streaming through the open drapes.

No, Ben cringed. This son was barefoot and shirtless, showing the long line of neat stitches across his shoulder and the broad wrap- just in case, Paul had said- protecting damaged ribs. Joe tried to hide his limp as he turned to his father and brought him a cup of coffee.

“How did I wind up here? Last thing I think I remember is standing in the hospital hallway with Paul. Hoss, is he-? Adam?” Ben accepted the coffee then pressed suddenly tired shoulders into his pillows.

“Hoss is fine. And the last time I saw Adam, Doctor Conover was taking him to his room,” admitted the younger man as he perched on the edge of his father’s bed. “And I brought you home after Paul convinced you that there was nothing else you could do last night -er- this morning. He told me to let you sleep but there’s a problem.”

“Problem?” echoed Ben, his brow rising. Just the thought of Joe saying the word was enough to bring him fully awake – and worried.

“Yeah, we only have one car, so unless you want to ride into town in Hop Sing’s -”

Ben waved him silent. “Where is -?”

“My Jeep is crunched up beside Jenny’s station wagon and Hoss’ pickup over at the jobsite. I drove the Grape to the hospital and we came home in it last night.” Out of sight, Joe crossed his fingers, praying that his father hadn’t seen the dangling wires from the Jag’s ignition.

Snatches of memory returned to Ben. The cool night air as he folded himself into the old Jaguar’s passenger seat. The pull of gravity and the words of caution as his son took a curve too fast, he thought. An ache that settled into his knees as they were pressed against the dashboard. Then it ended. A sip of coffee brought him back to the morning sunshine.

“And Roy Coffee called earlier. Wants to see me up to the site. So, if you don’t want to have Hop Sing-”

“Where is my Lincoln?”

“Hospital parking lot. Thought it was a better idea to drive Adam’s car home last night. So? What is it? I give you a ride into -”

“I’m getting up. Have Hop Sing fix something we can take with us for breakfast. And I’ll meet Roy with you.”

“I’ll meet Roy on my own. You need to get to the hospital.” Joe took the cup his father was handing back, the coffee in it sloshing over the rim and onto his hand. Ben’s startled and fearful expression told Joe he’d used the wrong words. “I mean, Adam is probably going to be released and Hoss. . . .” He let his brother’s name fall into the growing silence that tightened his own chest. “Besides, the name of the company is Cartwright and Sons.” He emphasized the last word. “And I’ll bet you dimes to donuts that I know more about the building than any other person going. After all, I built it. So I’ll meet with Roy after I drop you off at the hospital.” Gathering the cup along with his own courage, he straightened his back and strolled out of the room.

When only a thump of feet hitting the carpeted floor was followed by the creak of bedsprings, Joe eased away from his father’s closed bedroom door where he’d been leaning. Luck seemed to running his way that morning. Now all he had to do was get the Grape out of the garage and be sitting in it waiting for his father to come out of the house. And manage to get the tell-tale dangling wires tucked up somehow. As he headed for his own room and shirt, he wondered if he could pull the seat up close enough that his knee would hide the empty ignition while his foot rested on the gas pedal. Or maybe just pedal-to-the-metal and put up with Pa’s complaining about how I drive. Take the curve by Hidden Lookout at about sixty and that should keep him preoccupied.

The hospital parking lot was crowded. If you happened to miss the vans mounted with satellite dishes parked at the very edge of the sidewalks, the crowd of people- those facing the building and those confronting them at the doorways- confirmed that the press was there. And waiting. It was enough to make Joe Cartwright ease off the gas and downshift as they swung into the driveway.

Joe glanced only once at his father and saw the concerned look he wore. Ben pointed but Joe needed no words of explanation. A weight-lifting sculpted arm covered with tattoos was waving at them from the delivery entrance side of the brick building. Both recognized it as belonging to Ed Mueller, part of Ben’s official-yet-un-official campaign organization. The younger Cartwright swung the Jag towards it, nudging the gas pedal gently so as not to attract attention. It was enough to alert the press and the crowd surged in that direction.

Ben was getting out of the car as it came to a barely rolling pause. Up the stairs beside the emergency vehicle ramp he went then quickly ducked through the door Mueller was holding open. He paused at the door, knowing the one way glass shielded him. He saw Joe smile and nod then the purple sports car literally jumped away from the threatening crowd and he was gone. No explanation, no words traded, no plans made; just the sight of the car disappearing around the corner said all that needed to be said between father and son. Each would take care of their particular responsibilities that morning.

“Thought you might not want to talk with those vultures just yet, sir.” The tenor of the big man’s voice always surprised Ben. If nothing else, Ed Mueller looked like a pro-wrestler yet he sounded more like a college professor at times. This was one of them. “Ted is preparing a statement for you for the press. He told me he’d have it ready anytime you asked for it. And….” He let the word dangle.

Ben looked back at his companion as they hurried towards the bank of elevators. “And what?” He reached to press the up button to take him to the third floor but Ed’s massive hand blocked him.

“And he said that he’d have two versions for you. One to say that because of this happening, you would be withdrawing from the senatorial race.” Ed gazed steadily at the big white-haired rancher-businessman-politician.

“And the other?” Ben tried to make his voice neutral.

“The second one, while bemoaning what has happened, stating that it was your intention to continue in the race to Washington.”

Ben thought for a moment, then maneuvered the other man’s hand out of the way. He pressed the button and the elevator door popped open. Mueller entered the elevator with him.

“Tell Ted to prepare a third version. One that says while we are confident that my son will come through this ordeal, we will not be campaigning. That my focus right now is my son, my family, and only them. Ask the press to respect-”

Mueller smiled and when the doors opened on the third floor, nodded succinctly to Ben. “Say no more, sir. I told Ted that’s what you’d want. You take care of your son. Let Ted and Amanda and me handle the press. By the way, tell your other son, Adam, that I am sorry about that beautiful building. It was a one of a kind.”

It was Ben’s turn to nod and smile. When he said “I will, and thanks” the doors were already closing, leaving him alone in the hallway. He shook his head, thinking how lucky he had truly been to have the Independents helping him – not with just his campaign but with a nuumber of other things. The rustled cattle that had not been found yet they had helped find those responsible for the theft of the Ponderosa’s prime Black Angus, as well as the near-death beating Joseph had taken. They had proved over and over again that they were just what they had told him the first time they’d met: Nevadans for Nevada.

He paused at the nurses’ counter, and asked if there had been any improvement overnight. The bright-eyed little nurse wiped the helpful smile off her face as she responded that there had been no change. Ben thanked her and headed on towards where his middle son lay surrounded by wheezing machines and all manner of items meant to keep him breathing, and alive, Ben noted grimly. Even as he took in the shockingly bruised face of his son, it came to him that he was not alone in the room. Stretched out across a series of chairs, his eldest slept. Unable to watch the bouncing lines on the monitors around Hoss, unable to help them cure his son, Ben turned his attention to the one son he could do something about.

When a sleepy dark eye greeted him through a bank of brain-fog, Ben chided him. “I thought Paul said you got the last hospital bed. Why aren’t you in it?”

Adam hitched an obviously pained breath as he sat up, his long bare feet daring to touch the cold linoleum floor. He adjusted the blue hospital gown over his shoulders, his dark jeans rasping noisily. “Just because they gave me a bed doesn’t mean I had to sleep in it,” was his explanation then he gave in to the impulse and stretched and yawned.

Ben moved back to Hoss’ side. Painfully aware of the many tubes and wires, along with the traction and cradle for the damaged leg, he found the only part of his son he felt he could safely touch was the back of one hand. Using the slightest pressure, he let his fingers rest there, praying that some how Hoss knew he was there.

“There wasn’t any change overnight,” Adam whispered as he came to stand with his father. “Alex – I mean Doctor Conover-”

“Alex is fine. I know who you mean.”

“Well she said that it wasn’t unusual in this sort of circumstances. The brain just has to take a step back and try and figure out what’s happening. They’ve been keeping a close eye on him; nurses in here every ten minutes or so all night long.”

“That means you didn’t get much sleep, did you?” Ben tried for a slightly teasing tone as he chided his son with an eyebrow cocked in his general direction.

“I got enough. Besides, I thought it was important to be here.”

“You are beginning to sound like another son of mine.”

Chagrined, Adam studied how his naked feet looked on the white floor. “Speaking of said son, where is he?”

“Meeting with Roy up to…up at the….” Ben hesitated. He knew how much the hotel had meant to Adam. As it had risen up through the pines, he’d recognized the actualization of a drawing his eldest had made when he was a boy and knew that it was a secret dream coming true. But now that dream lay in ruins and the pain of its death must hurt the dreamer.

Softly, Adam cursed as if to himself. “Don’t suppose Hop Sing sent me a shirt, did he?”

Ben faced him. “No, he didn’t. Besides, I don’t think Paul has released you, has he?”

“No, but I need to be up there. To answer Roy’s questions.” Astonishingly quickly, the room had become too small, too confining to Adam.

Ben sighed and looked away, back to his silent son. “I’ll tell you the same thing that was explained to me this morning.” He made the word ‘explained’ stand out. “The name of the company is Cartwright and Sons -plural- Construction. As your brother pointed out – rightfully so, I believe- he knows as much if not more about that building than you do.”

“But I designed-”

“He built it, Adam. You know what it looked like on paper but he put his hands on it at every step of the way. No, I believe he’s right – even if I hate to admit it. He’s the one that needs to talk with Roy, with the Arson Squad. He knows the most about it and can maybe show it to them in ways you couldn’t.”

“He’s not close enough-” Adam’s voice raised unconsciously and his father looked at him sharply.

“He is, Adam. And you are too close. ”

“Both of you are too close,” hissed Paul Martin as he made his way into the room. He glanced quickly at the monitors, absorbing whatever information they could give him in that single heartbeat. “But you, Adam Cartwright, aren’t within shouting distance of where you’re supposed to be. Last I recall, Room 214 is on the second floor of this institution. I think I saw one of my junior colleagues down there looking for you a few minutes ago. Now go. I’ll be down there directly after I talk with your father.”

“Pa,” Adam pleaded to stay with the single word but Doctor Martin would have none of it.

“I need to talk with your father alone,” he insisted.

When they were alone, Paul pulled Ben to one of the chairs Adam had used in his bed. “Sit, Ben.” Like the proverbial ton of bricks, it hit the physician as the two men – old friends- sat in the morning sunlight streaming through the window at their side. Once before he’d had to tell his old friend that a loved one’s life was in peril. While he would not express it at that moment, he felt that the outcome would be the same. He’d had the sad duty years ago of telling Ben that his beloved Marie….Survival was not a given in his business; most of the time it was simply Life’s odds playing themselves out. He steeled himself, willed himself, to think positive then he cleared his throat and began.

“We want to do some more tests this morning, Ben. Scans and such. I’ve asked Doctor Noah Ridley from Reno to come down. He’s a damn fine neurosurgeon and I’m gonna leave the testing and all up to him.”

“Neurosurgeon?” Ben echoed. “What sort of tests?”

“Tests that can help us make a decision about Hoss’ care. We need to know what’s going on inside Hoss’ brain. Is there damage that we can repair? Or is it too-” He slammed to a halt for he had gone down a track he’d told himself that he would wait to travel.

Ben finished the doctor’s words, seeing his own pain in the other’s face. “Or is there too much damage. If that’s the case, Paul, how long can he live like this?” He couldn’t help but look to the bed where his son rested.

“A long, long time. If that’s what you want for him. But this conversation is much too soon. That’s why we need to do the tests, Ben.” Paul’s whole being screamed silently, willing his voice to carry hope to the listening father.

His hand shook as it creased his trouser leg but Ben’s voice remained strong. “Do your tests, Paul. When we know the outcome, then we’ll make whatever decision we need to make. Not just you and I, but I want Adam and Joe-” His strength faltered and his words crumbled into silence.

“I’ll tell the desk. Now then, what about you? Did you sleep last night like I told you to? You’ve got to take care of yourself so you can help Hoss get through this.” Paul rambled on for a few minutes, cajoling and mock-threatening the father but he was sure Ben didn’t hear any of it.

He was right.

The old Jaguar growled as Joe downshifted into first gear to finish climbing the sloped drive. Then, purring like an overgrown housecat, it obediently stopped just beyond the parking lot. Yesterday there had been twenty to thirty vehicles of every make and model sitting there waiting for their owners to finish work and come back to them. When Joe had left there that same evening, those same vehicles looked like a giant child had lost interest in playing with his Match-box cars and had dumped them into a pile. Now, as he levered himself out of the sports car, three tow trucks were sorting through them, hooking onto them and pulling them away. In the midst of the shrieking metal stood Jenny, a clipboard and pen in her hand. Off to one side milled a knot of about a dozen men. They all started towards Joe when they saw him.

One man, a painter, was first to speak. “The cops won’t let us get our tools, Joe.” He gestured up the hill where yellow plastic crime scene tape encircled the remains of the building, spreading out to include everything- machinery, trees, even a black metal lunch bucket that sat on the wall of the empty swimming pool.

Another man, one of the young Paiute carpenters, chimed in hotly. “How are we supposed to work without our tools? Ain’t fair, man.”

“I agree with you but from what I know about such things – which ain’t much, mind you- they have to have things pretty much left alone to do their investigation.” Joe tried to put a large dose of adult conviction in his voice – anything to overcome the childish desire to scream and cry that dwelled in his heart. He tried a wry smile. “Besides, Jimmy, I thought you were gonna give up carpentry ’cause it bit too deep into your beer-drinkin’ time.”

Jimmy, a young black man with two gold-capped front teeth, smiled back and nodded that Joe was right. “That’s right! I was! But that was last week and this is this week. Speakin’ of which, how we gonna get paid this week?”
“Well, come down to the Carson office on Friday and pick up your checks. Tell others that aren’t here. You’ll all be paid for a full week’s work. Where we can, we’ll get you onto to other crews, other projects. This one,” he gestured weakly to the rubble behind him. “This one is closed down.”

To a man, they all looked away, ashamed. Even as he studied a tow truck hauling away a wrecked car, the painter spoke the words the others felt. “Don’t know ’bout the others but workin’ on this here hotel was somethin’ to brag about. Been a painter a long time, I have, and most jobs is just a pay check. Not this one. I was proud of this one.”

A murmur went through the gathered men, agreeing with him. It touched Joe.

“Like I said, end of the week if you can wait that long. Takes the money-girls at the office that long to get it put together. If you can’t wait, let me know and I’ll figure something out. If your ride is in that pile Jenny is helping get sorted out, we’ll get that fixed too. I’ll get what of your tools I can from up there. If there’s some missing, I’ll see to it that they’re replaced. Spread the word, will you? Friday at noon I’ll meet with everyone at the Carson City office. ”

To a man, they shook Joe’s hand as they left. He felt drained standing there alone on the black asphalt with the mid-morning sun beating on his head. He’d played the brave words over and over in his head that morning and thought he would come through it all right. He had and he hadn’t. Saying the words out loud had pulled much out of him and there was still more to come.

“Joe?” Jenny’s soft call brought him back from the edge of sorrow he’d stood on. “How’s Hoss?” When he said that he hadn’t heard anything, she continued with “we need to talk some.”

With a sigh and a tight smile, Joe turned to face her. Give her credit, he thought. She looks the same way she does every day. Completely unflappable. “I’m all yours, my dear madam. By the way, how did you get up here this morning? Last I saw you were at the hospital last night.”

She smiled the same tight smile. “Rosalie took me around to the company lot last night and I took the last Jeep there. I hope you don’t mind. Guess I should have left it for you since Adam is gonna want his car back and you’ll be walkin’.”

“No. You keep the Jeep. Wait. Maybe I should give you the Grape -” he began to tease. She slapped playfully at his arm, all the while telling him that it was going to be his flesh frying when Adam saw the hot-wired ignition.

He put an arm across her shoulder as they walked together up the slope towards the tape barricade. “You mean to tell me that you can’t fix that? Jenny! I am surprised. I thought that there wasn’t anything you couldn’t fix.”

Jenny fingered the plastic tape. Uncharacteristically, her voice quivered as she spoke softly. “Wish that was true, Joe. I’d start with Hoss and when I got finished with him, I’d be right here setting things to right. This is bad no matter how we try to say it isn’t.”
“We’ll take care of you, Jenny. You have my word on that.”

“It ain’t me I’m worried about. I been around long enough to know what’s gonna happen. All those hurt men, those damaged cars and trucks and most of all, this beautiful hotel. I can see trouble from now to when your grandchildren are old and gray.”

Despite the wisdom in her words, Joe tried to make of light of the situation by telling her that she’d better find him a wife first. “That is unless you’re proposing to me.” He couldn’t help but wink at her upturned face as he pulled her closer to his side. She shook her head and was about to tell him to be serious when Roy Coffee’s shout took it all away.

Together the grizzled old county sheriff and the young construction superintendent walked what was left of the glorious endeavor. From where Jenny stood watching as she gave barely half her attention to the vehicles the tow trucks were taking away, it seemed a cordial discussion. Only once did Joe turn and appear to brace the sheriff but Coffee’s hand had delivered a gentle pat to Joe’s arm before they turned and walked further into the debris field. She made note of a license plate number on a battered red pick-up at the same time she saw them both drop out of sight into the wreckage.

“Lady? Hey, lady? You get the plate on the Jeep?” a driver called out, startling her.

Rather than tell him that she didn’t need it, that she knew the Jeep was Joe’s from the company fleet, Jenny smiled and nodded. Left alone now with only the remaining trucks, Jenny found her legs shaking too badly to hold her up. She took the short walk to the upturned trailer and sat on the steps that had once led to her office.

How long had she worked for Cartwright and Sons Construction? More years than she could count and back before it had the “and Sons” attached. They’d built more projects than she could remember. She chastised herself. It never felt like work to her. Instead it was just something she did. Lord knew, she’d needed something to do all those years ago after her mother had finally died. It had never occurred to her to go back to college and finish the degree she’d started before her mother’s declining health had called a halt to it. But Ben Cartwright had hired her right off, knowing she had no experience and no secretarial skills to speak of. Had she thought that perhaps some day the widowed rancher…no, she knew better than to tack on any romantic notion to their relationship. Yet she had treated his sons like they were her own – or almost like they were hers. Seeing the youngest one’s head poke up from the rubble, she laughed to herself. Okay, maybe she’d treated that one like her own. And maybe Hoss….

She forced her thoughts away from Hoss and his condition yet it came crashing back into her heart. To lose the hotel had been one thing but to lose a beloved son was another – even if he wasn’t hers.

“Lady? Hey, lady! ‘Scuse me but I’m looking for someone from the construction company. One of the Cartwrights here?” The man speaking was what Jenny always thought of as a “medium person”- medium size and nothing to make him stand out in a crowd.
She dashed a hand across her face, trying to make it look like her hair was giving her trouble while she wiped tears away. “Joe Cartwright is up there with the sheriff but if you’re the press, you’d best not cross him this morning.”

The medium man said that he wasn’t the press and that he’d go on up, that he wasn’t leery of crime scene tape. Or a cranky sheriff.

“You part of Cartwright and Sons Construction?” he asked when Joe and Roy turned to him.

“Yeah. I’m Joe Cartwright. Who are you?” Joe asked, extending his hand as if to shake hands.

“Doesn’t matter. You’ve been served.”

The blue-folder burned his hand as it was slapped into Joe’s palm. The other man turned and walked away, oblivious to the daggered glare Joe shot at his back. When he figured it had no effect on the process-server, he opened the folder. He swore, not lightly, and certainly not softly but loudly and elegantly, using words that made Roy Coffee uncomfortable hearing.

“Easy, boy,” the sheriff warned.

Joe would have nothing of it. “That son of a bitch Grissom is suing us.”

The headache that pounded right behind his left temple was what made Adam Cartwright swear softly. No, it was the legalese he was reading, he told himself. Then he corrected the thought – it was the legalese he understood that made him swear. The first few paragraphs he got through before he hissed a muted “damn.”

Joe, having simply handed his brother the blue folder, had walked to the hospital window and stood with his back to Adam. “Said that,” Joe sighed to the blue sky after hearing the single word.

Adam glanced at his brother’s back yet returned quickly to the document, scanning the next page. Another pair of blasphemous words escaped him when he saw a dollar figure.

“Said those, too.” Joe leaned against the window sill and looked down towards the parking lot
and the mishmash of news trucks still there. He’d come in the back way to avoid them and wasn’t sure he’d been completely successful.

Again Adam looked up but then quickly folded the papers back together and slammed them down onto his hospital bed. “That son of a -” he began but Joe cut him off with a waving finger and a cautionary ah-ah-ahh.

“Say that and Roy Coffee will threaten to wash your mouth out with soap.” Joe leaned against the window, his arms now across his chest and the sunlight streaming passed him.
“Will you be serious for a minute?” his brother growled.

“Sure, because Roy’s threat seemed pretty serious to me.”

“I mean about this.” Adam picked up the blue folder only to let it drop back onto the sheet covering his legs. “This is serious stuff, Joe, so quit clowning around.”

Even as his brother demanded it of him, Joe became serious-minded. He took the few steps that put him at the foot of his eldest brother’s hospital bed and he leaned down, planting his fists on either side of his brother’s feet. “All right, I’ll be serious. This is the sort of thing we keep a lawyer on retainer for, Adam. I brought it here to you so you wouldn’t think I was keeping anything from you. I know it’s serious business but it doesn’t change what we need to do.”

“Yes, by all means take it to John Mears,” Adam’s words seemed to jump at Joe as he named the attorney who handled many things for the Cartwrights, including business matters when necessary. He dropped his head back onto the hard pillow. His head was beginning to really pound now.

“That’s not all.” When Adam hadn’t taken the bait, Joe continued. “We don’t mention any of this to Pa. He’s got enough on his plate right now with Hoss. He doesn’t need this too.”

“But his campaign-”

“I’ll talk with that guy Ted, and Amanda What’s-her-name. I’ll fill them in but otherwise, I say we don’t say a thing to Pa.”

“It’s his business, Joe,” Adam countered, all fight draining away with his strength.

“No. It’s our business. Yours, mine, Hoss’ and Pa’s. It belongs to all of us. You may run most of the engineering-type things and it may look like I work for you but we know the truth. All of us, we all work for the family. We all have equal say in how things are handled, right?” He barely let Adam nod before he plunged on. “If you and I decide on a way to handle something, that’s pretty much what’ll happen because right now Hoss can’t vote. Besides, there is only one way to handle this: give it to our lawyer. Comply with the investigations. Hold nothing back.”

“Nothing but not telling our father? Joe – you have no idea about the magnitude of this! Grissom is looking for a hundred and thirty some million dollars in lost revenues alone! Add to that what he feels the value of building would have been.”

“He had insurance that would cover that! You said we’d released the building to him.”
“No, if he can prove that the building was worth more than what it cost to build – and he can easily do that – he can ask for whatever the insurance didn’t cover dollar-wise. And, God help us, if he can prove that it was shoddy workmanship, or a design flaw, he’ll eat us alive. And not just the construction company. The ranch, the cattle, the timber – everything, Joe. He’ll own the Ponderosa right down to the fire in the fireplace. And he can put a lien against any monies the lot of us earn until we die of old age. We have to tell Pa.”

Sobered, Joe picked up the dreaded paper. “I’m taking this to Mears when I leave here. First one of us who sees Pa, tells him. Deal?”

“Why do I have a feeling I am getting the short end of the stick? Again? But you’re right. The sooner Mears has this in his hands, the sooner he can start making things happen. And Pa doesn’t have to read the damn thing to know about it. Go on, get out of here. Paul says I need to rest and I can’t do that while you’re standing there beating me at my own game.”

“While you’re surrendering to me, how about giving me the keys to the Grape?”

The request threw Adam off his stride and he was handing his brother the keys when it struck him that Joe seemed inordinately pleased with their impending easy acquisition. “Just take it home from the site and park it. Put the cover on it, please.”

“Can’t do that.” Joe reached for the keys only to have Adam’s hand close fist-tight over them.

“Why not?”

“Because right now, it’s either Pa’s Lincoln, Hop Sing’s station wagon or the Grape. My Jeep and Hoss’ pickup were wrecked the explosion and the aftermath. And since Doc Martin hasn’t let you go yet, you don’t need the Grape. I do. Gimmee the keys.”

Sensing something else was amiss, Adam tucked the hand holding the keys behind his back and away from Joe’s reach. “When Hell freezes over. Go get the Wayward Ford and drive it.” Adam named the ranch truck that had seen far better days and that their father had banned operating over twenty miles an hour.

Joe was about to further protest when Adam’s secretary Rosalie entered the room, a pile of papers in her arms. “You know that the folks out in the hallway can hear you two arguing. By the way, Joe, I saw the hospital’s rent-a-cop sticking something under the wiper blade of the Jag. Looked like it might be a parking ticket.”

To Adam’s credit, he didn’t shout. He couldn’t. Joe had already departed and he wouldn’t have heard it anyway.

“How did he do it?” Adam asked his arm, his palm resting on his forehead.

Rosalie, completely oblivious to all that had just gone on – after all, what woman can understand the importance a man places on his vehicle?- simply shrugged her shoulders. “Jenny said that he did something to the ignition.”

Adam groaned. Loudly.
“I swear, if I didn’t need him right now, I’d throttle him. May anyway just on general principle. Okay, Rosalie, what do we have to go over?”

Even though she started going through the many things that required Adam’s attention, she knew she didn’t have a hundred per cent of it. At least not until they both caught the distinctive motor sound of a 1965 Jaguar XKE at high revolutions. Adam shook his head and again muttered something about the need for revenge to be served cold.