XxXxX

8

Adam had promised his father he would spend the day on paperwork, but his thoughts kept drifting much farther afield. What did he care about inventories and supplies? He wanted to be outside with Hoss and the other men, searching for signs that could lead them to last night’s intruder. He wanted to find the cowardly scoundrel who would terrorize boys while hiding from men. But he knew Pa had been right. It wasn’t so much about the paperwork as it was about keeping an eye on Little Joe anyway.

Yes, he needed to be right where he was, watching over his young brother–a boy he’d helped raise in some ways, yet whom he barely seemed to know, especially lately. Little Joe had been feeling his oats in recent months, eager to challenge just about everyone, even Pa. Joe had entered that frustrating stage between boy and man, a stage Adam had practically skipped, himself. When Adam had been fifteen, he’d had two little brothers to protect and guide. His father had relied heavily upon him. But Joe…. Joe had never had to protect anyone except himself. And he’d taken on that task by chasing danger rather than avoiding it. He would ride too fast, climb too high, swim too far and trade punches with any and all takers. None of it had ever made any real sense to Adam; but the changes he’d seen in the boy since Joe’s first encounter with Frank Carver made even less sense.

Or maybe they did make some sense, after all. Joe no longer needed to risk his well-being in order to prove himself capable of overcoming those risks. He no longer had to find danger. Danger had found him. And it continued to taunt him. He had no idea how to fight back…or how to prove to anyone, especially to himself, that he could.

None of them knew how. It’s as impossible to fight a man who stays hidden as it is to fight a ghost. If only Adam could make Joe see that, could get him to accept that his ghostly attacker was as real as any of them, that he was just flesh and bone, and therefore breakable–that he was real enough to be found, and when he was found, he would be stopped.

But Joe wouldn’t listen. Instead, he relived each encounter–the murder, the hanging, the shooting, and then, worst of all, the poisoning.

The poisoning…. How could that have happened? How could a man sneak into their home without alerting anyone at all? Not Pa, who’d always had an uncanny sense for trouble. Not Hoss, who could ferret out a problem by smell alone. Nor even Adam, who’d taken to sleeping lightly since his years in Boston, where theft was not uncommon and locks did little to deter men who would rather take what they needed than work for it. None of Joe’s “protectors” had known anything of the intrusion until hours afterward, hours in which Joe could very well have died.

Joe could have been lying dead while Adam, Hoss and their father laughed over breakfast.

Suddenly, Adam felt as sick as Joe had been when they finally had found him. Tossing his pencil to the desk, Adam pushed himself to his feet–and then locked eyes with Joe, who’d been dozing across the room on Pa’s leather chair, his injured leg resting on the table in front of him.

“Sorry if I startled you,” Adam offered.

“You didn’t,” Joe mumbled listlessly.

Adam would have been happier to find Joe irritable and ornery. “Look Joe….” Adam moved closer. “Why don’t you go to bed? Or at least stretch out on the settee? You’re as tired as I’ve ever seen you.”

“Don’t want to sleep.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be right here. I won’t let–”

“I’m not going to sleep, so just forget it!” Joe’s voice rose on every word, and his eyes flared with a rage that transcended mere irritability.

It was enough to catch Adam off guard. He had no idea what to say…what to do…how to help. Frustrated, he opened his mouth to shout right back at the boy, complete with a sweeping gesture to point out the pointless nature of Joe’s moroseness. But then he stopped himself, swallowing the words and running his hand through his hair, instead. Arguing would be equally pointless.

“How about a sandwich?” he offered then. “Hop Sing’s tending the vegetable garden, but he left some–”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Of course, you’re not,” Adam said through half-clenched teeth.

“If I want something, I can get it myself.”

The defiance Adam saw in Joe’s eyes was as unsettling as the boy’s earlier rage. But, again, what could Adam do? Part of him was encouraged that his brother was starting to slip out of fear and depression, and into anger. Another part of him was worried about that very same thing. Then he eyed Joe’s leg, and his worries faded. Joe wasn’t about to go riding too fast or climbing too high with that injury. It was hard enough for him to walk, even aided with a crutch.

“All right,” Adam said with a sigh. “Just holler if you change your mind.”

But the hollering he heard then didn’t come from Little Joe. It was muffled, coming from somewhere outside. “Hey, Adam! Adam? It’s Hoss! He’s been hurt!”

XxXxX

Anxious to join his brother at the door, Joe started to lift himself out of his chair. Though he moved cautiously as he slid his leg to the edge of the table, a twinge of pain flared up when the table gave way to air. His soft groan alerted Adam enough to make him swing back around.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Adam asked in a cold tone–the kind of tone that always got under Joe’s skin.

“I heard what he said,” Joe shot back. “Hoss is hurt!”

“There’s nothing you can do out there with your leg like that!”

Joe glared back at him, unable to respond. Heck, as soft as that shout had been, Hoss had to be somewhere past the tree line. Adam could be there and back in the time it took Joe to clear the porch, hobbled as he was. But Adam’s next words made Joe want to try anyway, just to spite his older brother.

“You stay right where you are!”

Tense with anger and that damnable, ever-present fear, Joe dropped his leg to the floor. But all he had to do was press his heel against the wood to remind him how foolish he was being. Defeated, he sagged back into his chair. “What if he’s hurt on account of me?” he asked quietly.

“Hey, Adam!” the voice called again, closer than before.

Adam glanced at the door, his jawline tightening, and then looked back at Joe. “Whatever’s happened, it’s not your fault. It’s a pretty safe bet the only one to blame is the man who did that to your leg.” He stabbed an accusatory finger toward Joe, but his gaze was softening. Joe noticed Adam’s brow curling slightly in consideration, and his eyes shifting toward the stairs….

No. Not the stairs. The gun rack.

“Here,” Adam said a moment later, taking a shotgun to hand. “Take this.” He checked the chamber and the barrel, loaded it and brought it over to Little Joe. “Just in case.”

Joe looked at him, dumbfounded. “In case what?”

Adam’s jaw tightened again. “You already know.”

Hesitantly taking the weapon, Joe eyed his oldest brother. He felt foolish and frightened and very much like the little boy he’d been trying so hard to outgrow. He wished Pa hadn’t gone to Virginia City. He wished Adam didn’t have to leave him alone. He prayed hard as he could that Hoss being hurt didn’t mean anything worse than…. Well, that it didn’t mean anything really bad.

And then Adam turned away, disappearing through the door in an instant. And that’s when the only thing Joe could think about was the ghost he knew had to be coming.

 

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