Destiny

by solista

An AR story . Johnny before Lancer. He is 18.

Al que ha de ser charro, del cielo

le cae el sombrero.

"Whoever is born to be a charro, has his hat

fall on him from the sky"

(There is no walking away from destiny.)

So he was on a fast train to nowhere. What else was new? It had

been that way since he was ten years old. When you add another

seven to that, add in his profession, well nowhere was where he

would soon end up, alone in some unmarked grave in a dirty

border town.

Johnny Madrid was on the upward swing of his

career, gun hawk, gun for hire, shootist, gun fighter; yeah he was

fast, cold, and never feared death. What does that say for a

eighteen-year-old man going on thirty.

When his mother was thrown out by the gringo that was her

husband, she was also told to take "buster" as well. So the two

year old half Mexican half white son grew up hard and fast and

became a legend in his own time. Waiting for the time for payback.

He didn't care anymore, what did he have to live for? Oh he

loved to wake up and see the beauty that was in nature

all around him, but he was tired.

Tired of the men who wanted what he had.

Was a reputation worth dying for? Was another

black mark on his soul worth defending his life, which was

destined to go to hell.

Johnny shifted in the bed; he looked over at one of the few men

he would call friend, Val Crawford. He was older, but they had

ridden together, saved each others sorry hides, and understood

each other on a special level. Val glanced at the boy in the bed

the bullet had lodged in his left shoulder, after he had dug the lead

out he stitched it. So far no infection, but the boy was getting

restless.

Holding a tin cup with water, Val bent over

the younger man and lifted his head for a drink. "Better?"

"Yeah, thanks Val. How long?"

"Been laid up fer two days, yer lucky ya ain't got an infection."

"What about McIntyre and Williams?"

They had been the two ranchers at a standoff on some water rights.

Val and Johnny worked for McIntyre; he legally owned the rights,

Williams wanted to take them by force. Val pulled a chair up by the bed.

"We did boy. That idea ya had worked right nice. Williams

gave up, turned tail and ran."

Johnny nodded. Val spoke softly, "When ya gonna give up this

life boy? You were lucky this time, luck, she won't always be

around, neither will I." Startled, Johnny looked up, "Ya gettin' ready ta leave?"

Val stood and moved away, looking out of the

window he crossed his arms over his chest. Not wanting to

look in those brilliant blue eyes. "Ya know'd I been talkin'

'bout it. I jess ain't got it in me no more. Guess I'm scared a

one day my luck'll run off. I need somethin' a bit more than

ridin' over tha next hill."

Johnny lay back, "Well, when ya pulln' out?"

Turning Val wiped a hand over his face, "Not till yer up and

fit." Not looking at his amigo the young gunfighter asked quietly,

"Whatcha gonna do?" Sitting back down in the chair, he smiled,

"Well, thinkn' a hirin' my gun out to a town, be a lawman." He

watched the face of his young friend twitch, then turn in to a smile,

"Val Crawford, sheriff. Well amigo, has a good ring ta it. Any place in particular?"

"Kinda like Arizona, little town near the border. Offered a little

house, a deputy." Johnny laughed, "That little house have a

white picket fence and a wife ta go with it."

Glaring at Johnny Val growled, "No it ain't got no white picket

fence and no woman. Jess might get me a dog and name it

Madrid."

Johnny laughed, and grew serious, "I'm glad for you Val. I

really am."

Bending towards the bed Val replied, "Come with me Johnny,

be my deputy. Get outta this." Johnny smiled, "No Val, got

too much more livin' ta do, gotta see what's out there.

You know I can't just walk away; an old bruja told me I had a destino."

Shaking his head Val turned away, "You'll be dead 'fore yer

twenty. That's yer destiny."

"Well then I got a few more years. I'm hungry, got anything ta eat?"

Knowing Johnny was through talking Val growled that they had

a cantina downstairs. After making the boy swear, he would stay

in bed, Val left to get their dinner.

Johnny sat up, wiped a tear from his eye, pulled in a deep breath

and let it out. Well he had been alone for a lot longer than he had

known Val. Johnny wanted so much to stay with his friend, give

it all up. He couldn't, not yet. Well Johnny, suck it up, be a man.

His momma always told him to be a man, he would. Bowing

his head, he would.

Val watched his young friend ride away; he had taken the trip to

Arizona with him, stayed long enough to see him settle in and

wish him the best. Shaking his head, the new sheriff looked up,

"Lord I ain't in yer best light I'm sure, but take care o' mi amigo

he's a good man; let 'im live long enough ta show ya. Amen."

Johnny smiled as the saloon girl yawned and stretched in the bed. He put the money on the dresser and turned around. "Goin'

so soon honey?" She rolled over and pulled the cover up.

Walking over to the bed he bent over the woman, "Still think

I'm too young?" She let out a warm, "mmmm... honey you got

more to you than your years." Pulling his hat up he set it on his

head, "Got me a job, gotta get movin'" He turned to leave and

heard her get out of bed, she stood behind him, the sheet pulled

around her, "Johnny, any time ya get back this way. Stop in?"

He smiled, not turning, as he opened the door, "Just may do that."

He was a day out from his next job, but he didn't feel the

excitement. Point of fact he felt sick, tired, sad, lost. Dios

what was wrong with him? He laughed to himself, a washed up

gunfighter at the age of 18. The only true friend he had was now

a sheriff, the only love he could find was paid for, and he traveled

with a horse as his only companion.

Thinking back to his mother, she told him of his true father, not

the men who came into his life then left. Lancer, his name was

Murdoch Lancer, a rancher in California. One day maybe, he'd

go and see him. Ask him why he threw them out like so much

garbage.

Momma said he didn't want a Mexican wife and a son

who was mixed. Then why did he marry her, keep her for two

years, raise a son for two years? Dios, too many questions it gave

him a headache. Well the sun was going down, time to make camp,

and hope he could sleep, needed his best for tomorrow.

The job didn't take long, by the time he rode into town to the

time the ranchers settled their differences, was less than two

weeks. The name of Johnny Madrid calmed the bravado of the

opposing side. In a way he was glad, no blood shed this time.

Now he had time on his hands and money in his pocket and he

was just inside the border of California. Never been this far north

before, may as well see this valley the Lancer ranchero was in. Get

a look at this man who was his sire. Decide if he should waste a

bullet to avenge his mother. Well it'll be a while before he got

there, time enough to figure it out.

Was the old man married, did he have more kids, did he still have

a rancho? Do the questions ever stop? In a few days, it will be all

over. Then on to the next job.

After breaking camp, the young gunfighter continued north to

his destiny.

Scott Lancer set the brake and jumped out of the wagon, he entered

the hardware store and left his order to be filled. Coming back

onto the boardwalk, he continued to the bank and other errands.

Val Crawford, new sheriff of Green River, California, saw the

young blond Lancer as he left the bank. Moving to intercept

Val thought back to how he got here, he smiled.

He had seen an advertisement for a sheriff to the town in

California. Remembering his young amigo's supposed papa was

here, he wanted to observe the man before he laid into him.

This Scott Lancer was an ok kind of man, raised in Boston,

served with honor in the war, was a prisoner of war in some

God-awful excuse of a confederate prison, and was educated and

refined. He had been at Lancer for only three months, but the

Lancer ranch hands said he was fitting in.

Well Mr. Murdoch Lancer was gonna get an earful one day soon.

"Scott Lancer..." the voice growled out. Turning Scott saw the

Sheriff of Green river approach him, "Sheriff Crawford, how may

I help you?"

Val stopped in front of the younger man, "How's it goin' out ta

Lancer?" Folding his arms across his chest Scott studied the man.

He had come with good credentials, though to look at his unkempt

appearance he could just well have been some tramp. "We are all

well at the ranch. I've got a few more bruises to add to my

collection."

"Mr. Lancer gonna be there later this afternoon?" the gruff sheriff

asked.

"Yes sir he will be. Why don't you come to supper tonight?"

"Nah, jess need ta see him 'sall. You tell him I'll be by."

Turning he left the young Lancer standing there and smirked,

thinking to himself, let 'em guess.

The sheriff had just disappeared around the corner as the lone rider

entered Green River.

The rider sat easy in the saddle, left hand holding the reins his

right down by his side. Hat pulled low, no one could get a look at

his face. He pulled up outside the saloon, stepped slowly from the

saddle, and threw the ends of the reins on the hitching post. He

patted the horse's neck and stepped up onto the boardwalk.

Turning to the batwing doors, he stopped for just a few seconds

letting his eyes grow accustomed to the lower lighting, and making

note of every man in the saloon. Stepping into the room, he went

over to a table in the back, sat in the chair with his back against

the wall.

The bar tender watched the man enter, hat pulled low, gun worn

low on the hip... trouble, no doubt to that. He walked over to the

young gunfighter, "What'd it be?"

Looking up into the bartenders face, he gave a grin, "Tequila."

The bartender turned to get the requested drink. As he rounded

the bar the doors opened and Scott Lancer walked in.

"Hey Bill." The young man said as he walked to the bar, "Got

a cold one?" Scott watched as the bartender took a bottle and glass.

"Be right with ya Scott." He delivered the bottle and glass to a

table in the back. Glancing at the man Scott almost snorted, man

he was just a kid. He watched as the young man poured a glass

and drank it down. Poured another and let it sit.

Johnny felt the eyes on him and filled his glass again and let it

sit before him. He stared at the blond leaning against the bar.

Watched as the bartender grabbed the arm of the cowboy and

turned him around, "Here Scott got yer cold beer. Nothin' ta

interest ya there." Turning to the bar Scott smiled, "Yeah it's a

hot one today. Really need that beer."

Things quieted again as Scott drank his beer and the stranger

sat back on the rear two legs of his chair.

Quiet didn't last long as two dust covered strangers entered the bar.

Bill wiped at a supposed spill, the hair on his arms standing up.

The two men took a table and hollered for whisky, Bill served

them, "Hey barkeep, ain't ya got any pretty girls?"

"Too early for em. You gents passin' thru?" as he sat the bottle

down. One of the men grabbed Bill's arm and squeezed, "None

a yer business. Yer best bet though would ta wake up one or

two o those fancy girls an get em down here."

Scott made a move but a soft voice from the back stopped him.

"Even you payasos know no girls'd be up yet. Leave the man

go. Barkeep I need a beer." The man let go of Bill's arm.

Rubbing circulation back into his arm, Bill backed away, "Yes

sir, be right with you."

As he rounded the bar, he told

the swamper to get the sheriff. "Scott you stay out of this."

Taking the beer to the young gunfighter he said, "Please no

trouble in here."

Looking up into the eyes of the bartender, Johnny smiled, "Don't

start it, but I will finish it." lifting the mug to his lips, "Gracias."

Going back to the bar Bill stepped beside Scott Lancer, "Boy if

anything starts; you get round the other side of this bar."

Scott took another sip of his beer. He'd seen bar fights before, but

two against one didn't seem right.

One of the strangers got up, "Well lookie here Tom, we done got

us someone between hay and grass. You old enough ta be drinkin'

boy?"

Tilting his head up he locked eyes with the loudmouth

man, "Ain't no one called me boy for a long time, those that

have, well, the devil sorted em out when I showed em the way."

The other man, Tom stood, "Boy's got em a mouth on em Peck.

What ya 'spec we should do 'bout it?"

Putting a hand to his chin Peck thought, snapped his fingers,

"Like my old man always said a good ass warmins' what he

needs"

Tom smiled, "Yeah, I'm a think'n the same thing."

Johnny smiled, eyes sparkling, "You two a couple a tontopollas?"

Peck bowed up, "Why you little... You got a big iron

on yer hip. Let's see if ya can shoot it off as good as yer mouth."

Scott sat his mug down on the bar; this was getting out of hand.

Bill tried to grab the Lancer boy, but he was too late. "Gentlemen,

I think you can settle this without violence, why don't you..."

"Blondie, you'd best back off." The man named Tom said. Never

taking his eyes off the mixed breed.

Scott looked over to the

young gunfighter, the boy was now standing, his eyes like two

mountain lakes, cold, deep blue. His lips in a grin that showed

even white teeth.

The voice was soft, "You fellas started this dance, you got the

cojones ta finish it?"

It was just a second; three shots rang out, loud in the confines

of the saloon. The smell of gunpowder almost over whelming.

Scott had just seen a blur, but two men were down, blood pooling

on the floorboards. He looked at the young man, he was standing

but Scott saw something that wasn't right, the boy was holding his

side. Blood seeping between his fingers.

Rushing to the boy's side, he caught him as he began to slowly

collapse, looking up as the saloon doors banged open and

the sheriff flew in holding his gun, "What the hell happened

here?"

Bending over the bodies of Tom and his partner Peck, Val felt

no pulse. Standing and moving over to Scott Lancer he got

a look at the young man, "Damn." Hollering at the bartender to

get the doctor, Val knelt down. Scott saw the concern in the

sheriff's face, "Do you know him Sheriff Crawford?"

"Yeah I do. What's he doin' this far North."

Holding a bar towel over the wound, Scott questioned the sheriff,

"Who is he Sheriff?"

Val looked at the blond Lancer, licking his lips, he ran a hand

down his face, "Johnny Madrid."

Scotts stomach flipped, no... Was it... "Oh God. Not now."

The doctor came in and knelt down, "I've got him Scott, move

back." Val had a couple of cowboys tote the bodies to the

undertakers. He stood beside Scott as they both looked on.

Scott turned to the sheriff, "You know Johnny?"

"Yeah, for a few years. Why you so interested?" Val knew the

answer, but did young Lancer.

"My father told me that was the name my brother was going by."

Scott said in soft tones, "I need to get word to Murdoch."

Val looked at the face of young Lancer, "Matt." he hollered at

a man standing inside the saloon doors. "Ride out ta Lancer, tell

Mr. Lancer his son needs him." Without a word the man ran out

the door.

Doctor Sam Jenkins stood, "Sheriff I need to get him to my

office." Looking at the man next to him, Val told the younger

Lancer, "Scott, get his legs I'll

get under his arms." Scott bent and rose as Val did the same,

holding the boy close Val whispered in his ear, "Ya hang on

Amigo. Doc'll get ya fixed up right as rain."

Scott looked back at the face of Johnny Madrid, so young,

dangerous, his little brother. Please Lord let him be all right,

let him finally come home. People parted as the lawman and the

rancher carried their burden to the doctor's office.

Murdoch Lancer looked up as he heard hoof beats and saw

the cloud of dust. He recognized Matt Hooper from town.

Reining in Matt bent down to the big rancher, "Mr. Lancer,

sheriff sent me ta tell ya your son needs ya in town."

"What is it Matt?"

"All's I know there been a shooting."

The blood drained from the ranchers face, "Scott?"

"No sir some gunfighter... Johnny Madrid."

"Thank you Matt rest your horse, go up to the house and have

Teresa fix you some lemonade."

"Thank you Mr. Lancer." As he watched the young man dismount

and walk to the hacienda the rancher let out a sigh, Johnny, he said.

"Walt" Murdoch called out to one of the hands, "Saddle my

horse."

"Yes Sir Mr. Lancer." The young hand ran to do his bosses

bidding.

Doctor Jenkins wiped his hands and turned to the two men in the

room, "Well he'll live. Need to lay up for a few days, then nothing

strenuous till the stitches come out in a couple of weeks."

Scott cleared his throat, "Can he be moved?"

Sam looked at the young Lancer, "How far are you talking Scott?"

"To Lancer." He moved around the doctor to stand looking at the

patient. Sam looked at the sheriff then to Scott. "Won't your

father have something to say about that, son?"

"He will Sam." The three men hadn't heard the big rancher come

into the room. Val moved off the wall he had been leaning on.

Murdoch Lancer looked around at the three men his eyes settled on the patient.

As he moved to the sheet covered man, Val came up beside him.

"I could take him ta my place Mr. Lancer." Turning to the sheriff

Murdoch shook his head, "No Sheriff I want to bring my son

home."

Scott smiled at his father, Val's mouth dropped open and

Sam Jenkins nearly fell into a chair, looking from the form of his

patient to his old friend, Sam asked one question, "Is it Johnny?"

Murdoch put a hesitant hand out to brush a strand of hair from the

boy's face. "Yes Sam my baby boy."

Val snorted, "Some baby. You sure o this Mr. Lancer?"

"Yes sheriff I am sure." He left the boy to talk to Sam. Scott

moved beside the bed, Val on the other side, "Scott," Val looked

at the blond man, "What do you know of Johnny Madrid?"

"Not much just hearsay, but sheriff this is my little brother. He's

home now. His mother left with him when he was two my

father searched, but never found him. She broke my father's

heart."

In for a penny in for a pound Val pressed forward, "On the border

heard tell he and his Momma was tossed out by his Gringo father

didn't want a Mex wife no more or the half breed kid."

Scott's eyes snapped up, "If you were not the sheriff I would thresh you.

Johnny's mother left with another man, why is any ones guess.

She took their son leaving Murdoch heart broken, it is a long story

sheriff. But Johnny is coming home to Lancer."

Seeing the anger in Scott's eyes Val backed off, "Ok don't get

yer back up. Just wantcha ta be careful. With Madrid ya gonna

get the whole kit and caboodle."

A moan from the patient had both men looking down. Eyelids

fluttered and blue eyes looked up. At first Johnny saw only blurry

faces, it was the one voice he recognized, "Val?"

Val bent over the semi conscious man, "Right here amigo."

"Mierda, where am I?"

"Yer at the docs. He done patched ya up.'

Trying to rise he fell back, "No more medicine Val."

"Ok compadre. There's somethn' else, yer Papa is here."

Johnny tensed, reached to his right hip and groaned pain lancing

through his side. "Val my gun."

Putting a hand on Johnny's shoulder, he pushed the boy back,

"Jess lay still, yer ok I got yer back. I heard some things. Ya

need ta listen. Promise me you'll listen first." When Johnny

didn't answer he shook the shoulder, "Ok Val, I'll listen."

A look of confusion came across the boys' face, "Who's in here

with us?"

Patting the shoulder Val released his hold, "The doc Sam Jenkins,

and... Scott and Murdoch Lancer." Johnny closed his eyes, Lancer

and he couldn't defend himself. Looking into his friends eyes

Johnny sighed, "I hope you got my back Amigo."

"Para siempre, Amigo, para siempre." Val moved back.

Johnny wasn't sure that this was wise. He'd be in a place weak

at a disadvantage. But it was why he'd come. Confront the

bastardo. Then put a bullet in the old man's head.

He endured the wagon ride to Lancer; he let them think he was

still pretty bad off. In reality, he'd had worse and rode away. This

little scratch was nothing. Doc had cleaned it and stitched it, he'd

be just fine.

The wagon and Lancer's passed underneath the Lancer arch,

gazing up at the stone arch with Lancer across the top, Johnny

thought the old man had an ego, didn't even have a fancy name

for his rancho.

He sat up, pulling himself up on the wagons side.

He saw the activity of a well run ranch, cowboys, vaqueros, white,

brown. If Murdoch didn't like Mexicans, why did he have them?

Working for him as cattlemen and not servants. These were not

peons, these were full vaqueros. Something wasn't right.

A large Mexican approached the wagon, his eyes measuring the

the young man in the back, his lips drawn in a frown under the

bushy mustache. "Patron."

"Ah Cipriano." Putting one of his big hands on the young mans'

shoulder he smiled, not feeling the tenseness in the young man.

"This is Johnny. He's come home." Johnny looked into the eyes

of the Mexican he could see the man was cautious and something

else. Johnny felt that this man was loyal to a fault. What! To a

gringo. Well guess Lancer paid very well.

"Johnny this is my Segundo, Cipriano." After the introduction he

moved around to help the boy from the wagon, "Come on son

let's get you inside." Johnny shrugged off the hand, "I can do it."

The two older men stepped back, watching the younger man push

himself from the wagon. His booted feet hitting the dirt he nearly

collapsed. Holding onto the side of the wagon, he waited to get his

equilibrium. Nodding he walked to the big door. His father right

beside him. What he thought he'd fall flat on his face?

Scott opened the door and watched his brother. Smiling, Scott

thought he liked that word, his brother slowly walked by himself

to the hacienda. The young man holding his side grabbed the

doorframe, his face pale and sweat on his face. Just before he

stumbled Scott grabbed him with an arm around his waist, a

small grin he whispered, "You can ask for help. That is what

family does."

Johnny snorted, family, never really had one, really didn't need

one. "I get along just fine, Boston." Scott helped the boy up

the stairs and opened the door to a room, taking a fast look, he saw

it was just a bedroom.

Iron bed with a colorful quilt, chest of drawers, nightstand, and washbasin. Just a room, but something felt...

"This was your room, son." The booming voice startled the young

man. Scott sat him down on the bed. "Doctor Jenkins will be out

this afternoon to check on you. You look tired. Lunch won't be

for a while. Want to take a nap?"

Johnny laughed, was he for real? A nap? Like he was two years

old. Seeing the disapproval from the Segundo, and a smile from

Scott, Johnny nodded his head, "Yeah guess I'd better." Looking

around he spied his saddlebags. "Where's my rig?"

Scott moved to the dresser and opened the top drawer, "Right

here." Holding up the gun and holster. With a growl in his voice

Johnny spoke softly, "Bring it here." A frown crossed Scott's face.

"You only had to ask, brother." Walking the short distance to the

bed and the young man, Scott handed him the gun. Johnny pulled

the gun and checked the chamber. Sliding it back in to the holster

he hung it on the bedpost.

Murdoch frowned, "You don't really need that here son."

Looking up Johnny grinned, but no joy lit his blue eyes, "You

don't know what I need old man." He noticed the segundo moved

just an inch closer. Johnny knew they would have a long talk.

He smiled, "I'm tired. Think I will take that nap."

With that, Johnny lay back, and closed his eyes. He felt and

heard the three men leave the room and close the door.

Sitting back up he ran a hand down his face, mierda what was he doing?

He was here at Lancer, now what? He sure wasn't gonna get

the old man to draw leather, least till he goaded him some.

Then it'd be a fair fight. He snorted, yeah fair, the old man didn't

stand a chance. What of the Boston dandy. Dandy, Johnny didn't

think so, that man had some grit to him. He didn't have a beef with

him, as long as he didn't get in the way. That segundo, now he

would have a problem with him.

Dios all this thinking was tiring him out. He laid back, boots on

the quilt. Whatever will be, will have to wait. He couldn't

do it just now. Sleep came to the troubled young man, and he

drifted off thinking of his first look at the place that had been home.

Johnny woke to his door opening slowly, holding the gun in

his right hand he waited till the person come through the door.

Pulling the gun back and hiding it beside him he looked at the

young girl, dark hair, dark eyes, sun kissed skin. Small almost

skinny. He smiled, his blue eyes dancing, "Hey!"

The girl walked up to the bed and looked at him, "Hi. I'm

Teresa O'Brian."

Still smiling Johnny nodded, "And I'm Johnny. So where do you belong here at Lancer?"

Teresa pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat down. "My father

was the Segundo here, but he was murdered by Land pirates, a year

ago. I was born at Lancer fifteen years ago, Murdoch took me in

as his ward. He and Daddy were best friends."

She stopped and held back tears. Johnny put a hand out and tilted up her small chin. "Don't cry querido."

She smiled at the dark haired man; she could fall into his eyes.

The door was pushed the rest of the way opened, a gruff

voice made the girl turn around, "Teresa. You need to go

help Maria." The young girl stood and looked back at Johnny,

"I'll check in on you later." Smiling up at her guardian, she left

the room. Murdoch moved over to the bed, "Teresa is sixteen,

so don't do anything to hurt her."

Johnny grinned, but no joy was in his eyes, "Listen Old man,

I don't attack little girls, nor force myself on any woman."

Not knowing to believe the young man Murdoch nodded, "I

came to tell you lunch will be ready in half an hour. Did you

need any help to clean up or any other necessities?"

Johnny still grinning thought to himself, 'yeah be good

enough for him to hold the bed pan' "No I'm fine. Sumthin'

ta eat'd be good."

Murdoch just said, "Good; Scott or I will bring you something

soon." The big rancher turned and closed the door.

Johnny scooted up in bed to rest against the headboard. A

quick in take of air the only sound of the true pain the boy

felt. 'Well,' he thought, 'I've had worse.' Thinking back on

Lancers' mood when he found Teresa in his room, Johnny knew

he'd found something to goad the old man into challenging him.

Leaning back, he smiled. 'Yeah. Gottcha now Old Man.' Johnny

waited for his lunch, and his revenge.

Scott had ate his lunch with his brother, and watched as the eyes

of the younger man began to droop. Gathering up the tray he

left the room. The brothers had talked, Scott felt easy talking

to the young man. He didn't know about other gunfighters, but

his brother was not a cold blooded killer. He saw it in his eyes.

There was something else there, pain, but not from his wound. A

need in those blue eyes, but a need the boy would never put into

words.

Johnny threw the covers back and sat up. He moaned and held his side. Closing his eyes, he willed the pain away. He'd gotten good at doing that. Can't show your weakness, can't let any one see the pain.

His momma told him about never showing pain. It only made you look weak and easy. Well Madrid was not easy, not controlled, not needing anyone. He did, as he wanted, when he wanted, wherever he wanted.

Pulling on his socks and pants, he stood. The lightness in his head went away; he nearly fell back in the bed when the door to his bedroom opened quickly, Dios he didn't even have time to reach his gun.

The petite whirlwind bounded into his room, a big smile on her face, "Johnny! You're up. How do you feel today? I know Maria wants to bring you some breakfast. Do you want to go down stairs or eat here? I bet..." Teresa's chatter was stopped by the booming voice of Murdoch Lancer, "Teresa, what did I tell you about bothering Johnny?" The big man entered the room behind the girl.

He saw his young son standing none to strong on his feet, his chest bare except for the bandaging around his middle. His pants half buttoned, feet in socks. He walked over to his son and took his arm, "Sit down Johnny, before you fall down." After seeing the boy nearly fall back into his bed, Murdoch turned back to the girl.

Pointing at Teresa he looked at her, "You young lady, we will have a talk about entering bedrooms without knocking. Now go back downstairs and help Maria prepare a tray for Johnny, have her bring it back up. After you help her clean the kitchen I want to see you in my study."

Teresa looked at Johnny then back to her guardian, "Yes sir. I only..."

His voice dropping, he turned the girl around and moved her to the open door, "I know sweetheart." Gently shoving the girl out the door, he closed it and turned back to his son.

Seeing the sweat on the boys' forehead, he walked back and stood over his son.

"You need to stay in bed; at least until Doctor Jenkins comes to check you over."

Johnny smiled and moved himself back against the headboard,

"Guess it won't hurt none ta have 'em poke and prod me." Looking into the eyes of his father Johnny began his goading,

"She sure will be a pretty thing once she gets some years on her."

He continued, seeing the red start up the man's neck, "Course I've known some real expierenced girls 'bout her age."

Murdoch glowered over the young man, "You will do nothing to that girl, understand?"

Smiling without any joy in his eyes, Johnny kept on as if he had't heard the threat. "It might just be ta my likin' ta stay awhile."

Bending down Murdoch grabbed the boy up by his arm, he didn't hear the sharp intake of breath from the boy, nor did he hear the door open. He did hear the sharp voice of the doctor, "Murdoch what are you doing?"

Murdoch looked down at his son, the boy was holding his side, pain evident in his face, and the white bandages begining to show red...Laying the boy down he backed off as Sam went to the boy.

Putting his hand to Johnny's forehead the doctor spoke to the young man, "I'll be right back Johnny."

Sam turned to the rancher and pointed to the open door, "In the hall. Now!" Following his friend out Sam closed the door, "What's wrong with you? You may have pulled those stitches."

Murdoch ran a hand through his hair, "I just... the boy...Ah Sam I don't know. He was spouting off and I lost control."

Sam stepped back and smiled, "Yes I found he is very good at that."

Sending Murdoch downsatirs, Sam turned back to Johnny's room. Squaring his shoulders, he opened the door, "Now son let's see..."

Murdoch ran a hand over his face and looked out of the great window overlooking Lancer. The boy was goading him he knew it, but the question was why. Johnny was a gunfighter; his little boy was a hired killer. What happened in his life to make him turn to the gun?

The big question was did he want this boy in his life. He had searched long and far for this boy. Spent money on investigators to find him. Something brought the boy home.

How many men did the boy kill, what were his feelings on killing? What made a man hire his gun to kill? Unsnawered questions, unknown feelings. He knew his feelings, the boy was his son, and he wanted him home. Here beside him, to be with his brother. Whatever Johnny had, had to go thru he would be here to make him a part of family.

Scott came in from outside and saw his father at the window, deep in thought. He cleared his throat to make Murdoch aware he was not alone. "How's Johnny, sir?"

Not turning Murdoch told him Sam was still up there. At the silence between them, Scott walked over to the liquor cart and poured two glasses of whiskey. Walking the short distance to his father, he handed one to the man.

Taking a sip the older man turned, "Thank you Scott." Murdoch went to sit behind his desk, took another sip and set his glass down. Scott sat in the chair in front of his father. Some thing was bothering the man.

"You're troubled about something, sir." Scott asked the older man.

"I am son. Your brother, he's beligerant, obstinate, down right mean. But he's my baby boy. What am I going to do? I don't want to lose him; I can't have his kind of danger around the ranch."

Scott took a sip of his whiskey, and looked at his father over the rim. Sitting the glass down on the desk, he sat back in the chair.

"Well sir for one thing, he's not a baby, not that two year old toddler you remember. Yes he is still young, but Murdoch he has lived a life outside of our understanding. I guess maybe he has had to in order to survive. I guess what I am saying is he can not be treated as a child. He's too grown up in many ways."

Murdoch closed his eyes for a brief second, and opened them, with a nod to his elder son, "I know Scott, it's just hard. To see him so young, with so much hate and pain. How do we reach him? How do we bring our boy home?"

The heard a sound on the stairs as Sam Jenkins came down into the great room. "Got anouther one of those." He said as he saw the two men with drink glasses.

Scott rose and passed the doctor, as the physician went to sit in the second chair in front of Murdoch's desk. Scott returned with the man's drink. After taking a healthy sip, he too sat his glass on the desk.

"Sam?" Murdoch asked.

"Oh he'll be good in a few days." He pushed a hand through his thinning hair, "That boy is, I don't know. I like him. However, I can see how he got to you Murdoch. He seems to be an expert in goading. Guess that's an edge he has for the life he leads."

Scott took another sip of his glass, "What do you mean Sam?"

Murdoch stood and went back to the window, "He is that Sam."

Turning back, he looked down at his son, "Johnny knows Teresa is important to me, he's suggested things to me that I will not tolerate, and I did what he wanted me to do."

Sitting down he looked to Sam, "What can I do?"

Sam sipped his whiskey and lowered his head, softly he told his friend what the young man hinted at, "You know I will not divulge anything Johnny and I dicusssed, but Murdoch he told me Maria hated you, she told him you were more interesed in this ranch than in her or a Mexican half breed."

Sam held up his hand, "No, just listen. I know it's not true, but Johnny does. He wants to put a bullet in your head, to avenge his mother and the pain he has had to endure growning up mixed in the border towns."

"My God, Maria did that to our son. How could she, she knew I loved that boy. That my reason for building this ranch was for my sons." He looked at Scott, "I love both of my sons. She left me; she took my son away to hurt me. She ran off with another man, she threw away our wedding vows, she..."

"Liar!" The three men stood and turned to the doorway, Johnny stood, right hand holding his left side, shirt undone. He had his pants on and white socks peeked out from his pants bottoms. He looked tired and weak. Face almost white, pain around his cold blue eyes. "No you threw us out. You couldn't stand to be married to a Mexican and have a mestizo for a son."

Sam moved towards the boy, but was stopped when Johnny reached behind him and drew his gun from the back of his waistband. He aimed it at the three men; though he could barely stand, the gun was held in a solid grip.

"No, no one move." Grinning, Johnny looked at the men. He moved a little more into the room, "My momma wouldn't lie to me Old Man. She did the best she could after you made her leave. She cared for me in her own way."

Murdoch did move towards his son; Scott tried to stop him by putting a hand on his father's arm. Murdoch smiled at his older son and gently removed the hand. Keeping eye contact the father moved towards his younger son.

"That's not how it was son. If I did not love your mother, why would I marry her in her own religion? Why would I keep her safe here at Lancer for two years? Why would I love you so much for two years then throw you out? No Johnny I loved you and your mother so much. My heart broke when you were taken from me. I followed you both into Mexico, days turned into months. For almost a year I travelled every border town looking for my baby."

Johnny's head dropped; the gun down by his side. He looked at the floor, his white socked feet was all he saw. Then a pair of large booted feet stood toe to toe with his. If Murdoch had not been standing so close, he would not have heard the soft voice of his son,

"But she told me...how could she..."

Murdoch put his gentle but big hands on the shoulders of his son,

"We can talk later son. Let's get you back to bed."

Johnny looked up into his fathers' face, concern, hope, love. He saw it all. He was good at reading people. It's what kept him alive.

Nodding, he let his father and doctor help him back up the stairs, and to his bed. Scott followed; yes, they had their work cut out for them. He had never been a big brother before. They did not have classes for that at Harvard.

He stood at the doorway as the two older men settled the boy in bed. The gun safely back in the holster, which hung over the headboard.

New expierences for all of them; a father and two sons never having the chance to raise them. Brothers who neither knew the other existed for years. Too many lies told by people who were suppose to love you.

Sam and Murdoch left the brothers alone, Scott pulled up a chair beside his younger brothers' bed. Looking at the closed eyes, the relaxed face, he seemed so much younger. He watched as a small smile broke the slack face, "Hey, Boston. You gonna watch me sleep?"

Scott smiled back, "Well never had a little brother to watch. Thought I'd catch up to lost years."

Opening his blue eyes, Scott saw the laughter dancing in the younger mans' eyes. "Well big brother, guess we both got some lost years ta catch up. Be here when I wake up?"

Scott tucked the blanket up around Johnny's neck, "Right here little brother, right here."

A soft sigh escaped the now slack lips. A smile fading. The boy was content; would his destiny finally catch up to him?

Time would tell.

The end and the beginning.