XxXxX

7

Ben watched his middle son bound up the stairs looking almost like he was a child again. Or perhaps it was more fitting to think of Hoss as a young man with a child’s heart–a child’s heart that had been breaking over the torment his baby brother had been enduring.

“So what do you really think happened here?” When Adam pulled his attention back to the table, Ben turned a questioning eye on his oldest son as he refilled his coffee cup. “You don’t believe it was a drifter any more than I do.” Adam went on.

“No, son. I don’t. A drifter would have been careless. He would have left something behind. Footprints, dirty hand-marks on the door, something. We didn’t so much as smell anything strange. You and I both know Hoss would have picked up on that–unless our drifter had taken the time to bathe before barging in here.”

“Why didn’t you say as much to Hoss just now?”

“Hoss isn’t far past boyhood, himself. If you haven’t noticed, he’s been eying shadows and startled by unexpected noises nearly as much as Joe.”

Ben lifted his coffee cup for a sip when an unexpected thump from upstairs startled him, jerking his hand and causing the warm liquid to spill down his chin. “Sounds like things might just be getting back to normal after all,” he said with a quick shake of his head as he wiped the mess with his napkin.

Feeling Adam’s eyes on him, Ben looked up to see a familiar and welcome grin. His eldest boy might be farther past childhood than his brothers; but he hadn’t completely left his own boyish heart behind him, had he?

“Tell me the truth, Pa,” Adam said, his grin slipping just a little. “You didn’t really sleep all the way through the night, did you?”

Ben smiled warmly. “I kept expecting to hear Joe cry out. I’ll admit, the silence was a bit disturbing until I went in to check on him. He was sleeping more soundly than I’ve seen in quite some time. After that, yes, I did sleep well. And you?” He raised a questioning brow.

“About the same.” Adam sighed. “At least we’re not imagining ghosts like those brothers of mine.”

“Very true. Hoss has been trying to be reasonable, but it’s clear he’s putting far too much stock in what Joe’s been saying. I’d rather if he–”

“Pa!” Hoss shouted from upstairs. “Adam! Come quick!”

XxXxX

The sight that greeted Ben in Little Joe’s bedroom was sure to haunt him every bit as much as Frank Carver’s ghost seemed to be haunting his youngest son. Joe and Hoss were clutching one another’s arms, with Joe panting, his eyes wide, his face ashen, and Hoss…Hoss looked more frightened than his brother. His brows were drawn low with worry and his own eyes were white with fear when he turned toward Ben and Adam. That’s when Ben noticed the front of Hoss’s shirt…and the edge of Joe’s bed…. Both were wet with vomit.

Ben moved forward in an instant, needing to know, to understand…needing to help, to comfort, to–

When he reached Joe’s bedside, Ben’s foot kicked something, drawing his attention downward to where an empty bottle of laudanum had skittered past a small pool of liquid.

“Joseph?” Suddenly hot with horror and anger, Ben sensed Adam pulling Hoss aside, but he kept his eyes on Joe, watching the boy ease back to his pillows. “Did you drink that laudanum?” he asked reprovingly.

Little Joe looked every bit like a young man after his first experience with too much hard whiskey–or worse, too much of a dangerous, even deadly drug. But Joe’s eyes…. They were wide and watery, pleading and desperate. Ben saw no sign of regret, only terror.

“He was here!” Joe said through gasping breaths. “He was! He made me…. He told me….”

Clenching his jaw briefly in a vain attempt to hold in his anger–to give Little Joe an opportunity to explain–Ben forced himself to keep his voice low. “Joseph; I asked you a simple question. Did you—”

“He made me!” Joe cried out. “He…he poured it down my throat. I started choking, and…I tried to spit it out, but Pa! He…he put his hand over my mouth. He….” Joe swallowed heavily, leaning his head deeper into the pillow, exposing the underside of his jaw and two dark shadows….

No. Not shadows. Bruises.

In Ben’s mind, he reached forward, wrapping his hand around Little Joe’s throat and pressing his thumb and forefinger to either side of Joe’s jaw to force it open.

My, God…. Ben stiffened, his anger suddenly and thoroughly redirected. Ben didn’t need to ask about whom Little Joe was referring, to ask for the name of this mysterious “he” who had come to him in the night, who had come to poison Ben’s young son. He had no doubt how Joseph would answer.

“He said…,” Joe pressed on. “He told me I might never wake up….”

Ben’s fists curled into tight balls. No. He didn’t need to ask Little Joe. Instead, he asked God, Himself, silently. Tell me, Dear Lord! Help me to find him. Help me to—

A single phrase came into his thoughts like a whisper against a raging storm. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.

And then Little Joe’s frantic words redirected Ben’s focus yet again. “When Hoss grabbed me, I…I thought he was back. …Pa, he was here! And I thought I wasn’t ever gonna wake up again. I tried not to swallow. I tried to spit it out….”

There was an abrupt change in Joe’s eyes. His pallor grew pasty. Fortunately, Adam noticed it, too; he thrust a basin between Ben and Little Joe.

And for the first time in Little Joe’s life, Ben was grateful to see the sickness coming out of his young son. It meant the poison was being expunged. It meant the boy was still alive.

But would he survive a third encounter with this mysterious intruder?

Ben Cartwright had no intention of learning the answer. He was going to find that man. He was going to find him; and he was going to bring him to justice. Not vengeance. Justice. Whatever kind of justice came to hand.

 

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