Conclusions

by solista

Will Johnny stay or go after his past comes gunning for him. Will Scott be able to convince him to stay.

Conclusions

con·clu·sion

con·clu·sion [kən kl 'n]

(plural con·clu·sions)

n

1. decision based on facts: a decision made or an opinion formed after considering the relevant facts or evidence

2. final part of something: the part that brings something to a close (formal)

3. logic part of argument deduced from evidence: the portion of an argument for which evidence is presented

(**********)

The dark haired son of Murdoch Lancer pushed open the glass doors opening from the patio unto the great room of the hacienda. Looking around he sighed no one was here. Quickly moving over to the liquor table, he put his hand to his side and drew in a gulp of air. Pulling his hand back, he felt the sticky warm blood as it seeped through his shirt.

Wiping his hand onto his leather calzoneras, he picked up the bottle of tequila pouring a glass.

With shaking hands, he downed the fiery liquid and sat the empty glass back on the table. One more glance around he staggered to the stairs.

Hand on the newel post Johnny looked up, it would be a struggle, but he had to get up to his room and pack.

Squaring his shoulders, he took a deep breath and pulled himself up the stairs using the smooth handrail.

By the time, the younger Lancer pulled himself up to the top of the stairs he was breathing heavily. Wiping a hand down his face, he dried the hand off on his shirt, which elicited another hiss of pain through gritted teeth.

Placing a hand on the wall, he forced his feet to move, even though each step jarred his side.

He could not think about it now, had to get to his room, had to get away before they came home and tried to stop him, he had to leave before it was too late for all of them.

Finally reaching the door to his bedroom, he glanced back the way he had come, good still quiet. Putting his hand on the knob, he turned and pushed through the door.

Once inside his bedroom, he closed the door and leaned back against it. Shaking his head, he had to move, when all his body wanted to do was slide down to the floor and curl up into a tight little ball.

Just a little longer, his weary mind tried to tell his rapidly slowing body.

Pulling his saddlebags from beneath his bed elicited another hiss of pain, using the bed to help lift him from a kneeling position on the floor; he sighed and rested his head on the edge of the bed just a second, just a second to catch his breath.

Beads of moisture on his face and running into his eyes he stubbornly wiped his arm over his face his shirtsleeve adsorbing the sweat.

Pushing himself up he staggered, standing still, he regained his balance, saddlebags clutched in his hand.

Throwing the bags on his bed, he turned to the chest of drawers. Yanking he opens the first drawer pulling out a shirt out and tossed it on top of the bags, then socks joined the shirt.

Opening and closing the drawers had the young man gasping for breath. Putting a hand to his side as a spasm racked his body; he bent over trying to stop the pain.

Using his shirtsleeve to wipe more moisture from his face he looked at the pile of clothes on the bed.

So much for traveling light, he mused. Bending over the bed, he stuffed everything into the bags. As he stood, his world began to tilt, not now he could not pass out now just a little longer he told his deteriorating body.

Backing into his table, he knocked over the lamp crashing it to the floor. Lamp oil permeated the room, Maria will be mad about that he grinned. If only he could stay long enough to hear her rant in Spanish, but he had to go now.

Grabbing up the bags and draping them over his shoulder he picked up his rifle and held it in his hand as he moved to the door.

Standing and listening through the closed door, he did not hear running feet to check out the sound of the breaking lamp. Reaching for the knob it turned in his hand and the door pushed back into him.

He dropped the bags and reached for his gun in the holster. Before he touched the butt of the gun, he saw the Mexican woman with a frying pan held in her hands ready to do battle.

Surprise on her face she lowered the pan, "Juanito, por que' tu' austada..." her tirade stopped when she took in the outward appearance of her Niño.

She dropped the fry pan and moved to him, he backed up and shook his head, "I am fine Madrecita, now let me pass, I have ta leave."

Her hands went to her face when she spotted the blood dripping from his side, "You will stay and I will send for el medico, Sam."

He side stepped her and moved around her as her hands reached out to grab him, "Maria por favor, let me be."

It had taken most of the strength he had left to pick up his dropped saddlebags and reach the hallway.

The housekeeper, surrogate mother was rooted to the spot; her Niño was hurt muy malo. Turning her eyes to heaven, she made the sign of the cross over her shoulders and heart then ran into the hallway and made her way to the back staircase.

She had glanced once toward Juanito as he held on to the wall making his way down the front staircase.

She would get her primo, Cipriano; he would contain the Chico until Sam could fix her stubborn Nino. Madre Dios, where were his padre and hermano?

Murdoch Lancer, patron to one of the largest estancias in the valley, rode under the Lancer arch. He was proud of what he had built, an empire a legacy for the two sons he was finally able to bring home. He was proud of his two sons, as different as the women who bore them.

He had stopped trying to compare them, for they were each their own man, each had qualities that they seemed to share between them.

Trust given and taken freely between the two brothers', he hoped one day to have that trust from his sons. He trusted his boys to stay and work the land, to prosper with children to continue the name of Lancer.

He rode up to the barn expecting a ranch hand to take his horse, looking around at first perturbed that no one was working the yard, and then fear. Something had happened; he could almost feel it in the air. He did not see any other horses, Cipriano should have been here to oversee the delivery of a new breeding bull, and Frank should have been here healing from a fight with a cantankerous steer.

Looking up to the hacienda, he saw Maria his housekeeper, long time friend and stand-in mother to his children.

She was wringing her hands and he could see conflicting emotions on her face, he knew of only one person that could cause that, his younger son Johnny.

Dropping his reins, he moved hurriedly to her side, "Maria, que'?"

He grabbed her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake, "Maria por favor."

Maria looked at her patron, mind and eye finally working in conjunction again, "Madre de Dios Patron, su hijo, Juanito..."

Murdoch was frightened now, "Maria what about Johnny."

She turned tear filled brown eyes to the rancher, "He is muy malo, manchado de sangre, malo enfermo."

"Maria stay with me, tell me what's happened," the father, if truth were told, was getting petrified.

Maria, tears streaming down her face, told the patron what she saw. Murdoch kept his hand on his chin as he listened, swallowing he nodded, "Where is Johnny now?"

Maria gulped back a feeling of anger, "Cipriano tried to hold tu hijo, Juanito would have none of that, he...Madre de Dios...he pulled his gun and pointed it at his tio. Juanito then rode off; Cipriano has followed him, at a distance. Patron the muchacho will not get far."

Murdoch looked at nothing in the direction his son and segundo had taken, "You said Frank rode to get Sam?"

Nodding Maria pointed a finger, "I do not believe my eyes, el medico Sam is coming now. It is too soon for Frank to have arrived in town."

Murdoch watched as the familiar buggy rolled down the lane at a ground-eating clip. Scott was sitting in the seat beside Sam, and Val Crawford, the sheriff of Green River, rode behind holding the reins of Scott's sorrel gelding.

Pulling on the reins Sam nearly had the horse skid to a stop, Scott barely let the buggy stop before he jumped to the ground? He bent over as his shoulder was jarred from the impact of his feet hitting the solid ground as he straightened he looked into his father's eyes, "Where's Johnny?"

Murdoch put a hand on his older son's back, "What happened to you?

By that time, Sam and Val joined the father and son. Val was glancing around, "Mr. Lancer where's Johnny?"

Murdoch shook his head his voice forced, "Will some one just tell me what the hell is going on."

Sam put a hand on his friend's shoulder, "Murdoch we have to find Johnny. If the blood loss doesn't kill him the men after him will."

Nodding, "Cipriano is trailing him, to the south, cross country." As Val moved to remount Murdoch spoke up, "I'm going with you. Scott you get in the house, Sam will you make sure he stays put?"

Scott opened his mouth, at his father's glare he slammed it shut, "Scott please we can't help Johnny if we have to look out for you as well."

The older son bowed his head, "For Johnny I'll do as you ask," looking into his father's eyes, "Bring him home, sir."

Murdoch patted his son's arm, "Sam, I have a feeling we are all going to need strength to take care of my younger boy."

Sam stood beside Scott, watching, as the Sheriff and concerned father rode in the direction the stubborn boy had taken.

Maria touched Scotts arm, "Senor Scott, come into the hacienda. You look muy cansado, come inside, ahora! Por favor Senor Scott."

Scott looked down at the petite woman, concern on her face, tears in her eyes. Taking her hand her smiled, "Si Maria I will come. Sam..."

One last look at the fading riders Scott sighed and followed Sam and Maria into the house hoping they found his brother very soon.

Cipriano had trailed behind Johnny for five miles; he shook his head as the boy swayed once more and grabbed the saddle horn to stay upright.

Thinking back, when Juanito drew his pistola and pointed at him, Cipriano knew he would have to wait until the boy passed out to take him back to the hacienda.

Looking over the side of his horse, he could see the blood droppings, the boy would soon succumb.

Seeing Johnny sway once more the Segundo tapped his boots to his horse, "Bastante!" The man said as he moved his horse up to put a stop this tonterias.

He heard hoof beats pounding up behind him, as he turned in the saddle he recognized the patron and the Sheriff.

The echo of the rifle shot had him twist back, and as he watched in horror, Johnny slid from the saddle a plum of dust as he hit the dirt hard.

Cipriano fell in with the sheriff as Val swept past his fallen friend, he knew the boys father would see to him, he was hell bent for leather to get the s.o.b's and nothing would stop him. He grinned as the segundo rode beside him; he knew the bushwhackers would not escape, alive or dead they belonged to him.

Murdoch stumbled as he jumped from his horse to land on his knees beside his son, "Johnny." He carefully turned his son over and wiped the clinging dirt from the sweat-laden face. Standing he grabbed his canteen from his saddle he knelt once more beside his son.

Saturating a bandana, he wiped it over Johnny's face, "Come on son open your eyes." Fear took over the man as he directed his eyes to the blood covered shirt. Ripping the shirt open he saw the make shift bandage. Pulling it off he stood once more and grabbed Johnny's saddlebags, pulling out a shirt, he began to tear it into strips.

A quiet voice made him turn, "Hey that's ... my good...shirt... Ol' Man." A small grin greeted Murdoch, "Hey yourself, boy. If you didn't go around getting shot we wouldn't have to buy clothes so often."

Lowering himself once more to the ground Murdoch held up a bottle of tequila, "When you pack you think of everything, son."

Trying to stay awake the young man smiled, "I travel light but there are some things ya don't forget."

A moan escaped his lips and Johnny felt ashamed, "Lo siento Murdoch."

Sitting back on his heels the rancher looked at his son, "What do you have to sorry for son?"

Biting his lower lip Johnny he closed his eyes, "Everything, Scott shot, my past catchin' up with me you havin' ta put me back together. Don't know why ya bother."

Satisfied his doctoring skills would hold until they made it back to the hacienda Murdoch closed his sons' shirt back, and saturated the bandana again.

Wiping the cool wet cloth over the face of his son the rancher thought of what his son had said, "Johnny we bother because we love you, we need you in our lives.

Scott ..."

Before his father finished, "How is Scott, I saw the bullet hit, I couldn't stop the bleeding. Then Sam came and I...had ta leave."

Catching the underlying sound of fear in his otherwise fearless son, he patted his younger sons shoulder and smiled down at him, "Scott will be just fine, Sam stitched him up and he is waiting for you back home."

Brushing a stray lock of hair that had fallen in his son's face Murdoch sighed, "Johnny don't do this to yourself, we all agreed watch out for each other. Son look at me...Johnny"

Johnny reluctantly opened his eyes and stared up at his father, "Son Lancer takes care of their own. We all have something in our past that comes back to bite us. We also have family to help leash the beast."

Tapping his sons face with his fingers to get his boys attention Murdoch smiled, "You had best not forget you are a Lancer and we have your back."

Johnny nodded; he quickly closed his eyes to keep Murdoch from seeing his tears. They opened again as they heard distant gunfire, "Dios Murdoch if Val or Cip get hurt cause of..."

"Johnny..." he shouted the name to break the direction Johnny was once again taking. In a much gentler and calmer voice, Murdoch gently grabbed Johnny's chin, "Val is doing his job and Cip thinks of you as familia, so don't lessen what they do with self nodded, "Lo siento, I... just... well I just never had ta think of anyone gettin' hurt 'cause of me before I... come home."

Murdoch looked sad and Johnny wanted to kick himself for putting that look on his father's face. Why couldn't things have been different, why did fate, destiny or even God have to us him as an example of what happens if you live an evil life.

"Murdoch," The older man had been scanning the horizon for a sign of his two friends. Looking down at his son he smiled, "You need anything son?"

"No sir," he hesitated and licked his dry lips, "I just... I never had ta live by any one's rules but my own. This... family thing is... it... Murdoch it scares me."

Picking up his sons' hand Murdoch felt the strength there, this hand that held a gun and took the lives of so many men, a hand that worked building a future with his family.

He had seen this hand help Teresa hang laundry, this hand play chess with a much-loved brother. Watched as it grabs tamales from a plate set before him by an affectionate woman who showed how much she loved her Chico everyday. As Murdoch blushed, just a little, he had seen this hand caress the face of a young infatuated woman and he had felt this hand grasp his in a heart felt shake from son to father.

Smiling wider Murdoch squeezed his sons' hand, "We are all learning son, remember this is new to your brother and me as well. We will stumble and fall, but Johnny we will pick each other up and move on; building something so strong nothing and no one will tear it apart."

Johnny grinned back, "Promise Ol' Man?"

Laying a work worn hand on his boys' face Murdoch nodded and smiled, "Promesa mi hijo."

His strength used up Johnny closed his eyes with a smile.

Murdoch patted his sons' cheek affectionately and worried about his son and once more glancing in the direction where his friends had ridden he worried for them as well.

Johnny felt the softness underneath his bruised and battered body, 'Dios it felt like he had gone ten rounds with an ornery mustang.' He quickly assessed his situation, gunshot patched up, bruises when he fell off Barranca. He smiled the falling off saved his life when that bushwhacker's bullet missed its mark, his hard head.

Turning his head, he saw the familiar form of his brother.

The tall blonde-haired person was asleep, neck turned at an angle that would assure him of a stiff neck. A book closed over two fingers, looked as if he had marked his place before falling asleep. His brothers' long legs crossed at the ankle, his white socked feet up on the side of his bed.

Johnny grinned, an impish smile in his eyes, "SCOTT!"

His brother jerked awake, the book falling on the floor, his feet slipped from the bed and smacked the floor with a thud his hand came up and grabbed his neck and his grey blue eyes stared at his brother.

Confusion in his eyes Scott stared at his brother, "Johnny you alright, what's wrong, do you need something, are you thirsty...?

Johnny would have laughed, but it would only make his side hurt more, "No just lyin' here watchin' ya sleep, you know yer gonna have a sore neck sittin' there like that."

Standing and stretching the blond looked out the window, the sky was just beginning to lighten, " If you are sure you don't need anything I need to go find a bush," eyeing his little brother he grinned, "Do you need a bush as well?"

Johnny scrunched up his face; wiggled a little then his lips broke out into a smile, "Nope not now."

Scott just stared at him and pointed a finger at his little brother, "If you even think that I know one Mexican woman that would be very um... furioso." He smiled down at his brother, "You sure you are alright?"

Johnny nodded, "Yeah Scott I'm fine. I'll be sure and let ya know ahead a time, ain't been a baby in a long while. You go on... ah can ya get me some coffee on tha way up?"

Pulling his clothing into some proper semblance Scott smiled, "I'll see what I can find; you know doc Jenkins won't like it."

Johnny scanned the room and grinned, "Don't see 'em lurkin' 'round. Think ya can find a biscuit or two?"

Hand on the doorknob Scott turned back around, "Don't push it brother."

Johnny returned his brothers' smile and very innocently said, "Me?"

Scott stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him, leaned against the far wall and slid his back down the wall. Sitting on the floor knees drawn up, hands clasp around his knees and he dipped his head.

Since coming 'home' to Lancer it seemed he never got a chance to rest. Learning to run a cattle ranch was hard work, both physically and mentally. His days in the saddle since he had been here, seemed to outweigh the time spent in the saddle while in the army.

He left the hacienda fresh and clean and his belly full. He returned dirty with unspeakable and sometimes unknown substances on his clothes, and starved.

Keeping reign on his impetuous younger brother who it turned out knew more things than anyone at his age should know, drained him mentally and physically.

Scott smiled to himself; he would not change a thing.

Hearing a soft footfall stop beside him, he heard the rustle of skirts and petticoats as his petite brown haired 'sister' sat beside him.

In a quiet voice, she asked her 'brother', "How is he this morning?"

Bringing his head up he smiled at Teresa, "Being Johnny. We could have lost him this time and it scares me."

Teresa put a small hand on Scott's shoulder, "We knew it could be this way. My Daddy used to say, 'Gotta roll with the punches T'resa then come up swingin'.'

Scott nodded his head, "Your father was a smart man."

Teresa smiled, "Yes he was. However, he was in my life, if only a short while and I will always have those memories. We will always have Johnny in our hearts."

Scott grasped Teresas' hand, "How did you get so smart for someone so young?"

Teresa stood and held a hand down to Scott, "It's called living in the real world. Now help me start breakfast, if I know Johnny he's calling for food."

Scott stood and wrapped an arm around his 'sisters' tiny, but strong shoulders, "Not sure Doc Jenkins would agree."

Teresa laughed, "What he doesn't know won't hurt him, besides we know how Johnny gets when he's hungry."

Looking up at Scott, "If we don't feed him, you get to deal with him all day," she laughed.

Scott laughed and nodded, "Think we could get Maria to fix a mild Mexican breakfast?"

Teresa patted Scott's hand that hung over her shoulder, "She knows Johnny as well, I think we can convince her."

Sam Jenkins wrinkled face broke into a smile as he closed his door, the two young people had not heard him as he cracked the door to listen.

No, Doc Jenkins would agree you did not want a hungry Johnny Lancer as a patient.

Sam Jenkins finished his morning routine, and then picked up his little black bag.

He wondered some times how everything he had in his black bag made the difference if a man lived or died.

He drew on his medical education and his reading of medical journals and sometimes just good logic to pull a man back from the grips of death.

Opening his bedroom door, for it was his bedroom, he had been included into this family for years and he smiled.

He felt privileged to be integrated and he worried just like everyone else in this household about the young ex-gunfighter. He did not have the advantages as Scott, but Johnny never complained about it. Sam had asked Johnny once how he felt about how Scott, being raised with the best of everything and he himself had to fight just to live.

Johnny had looked at Sam, 'ya can't miss what ya never had. I had a Momma and Scott didn't, he had a cantankerous, old dried up man. Scott had to fight like me ta fit in. Maybe not as hard or as dangerous but Sam we are survivors, we turned out ok, we found each other and we have a home.'

Sam crossed the hall and rapped lightly on Johnny's door at the dry, "Come in Doc," he turned the knob and entered his patient's room.

Sam stood by the door and gaped at the young man, feet on the floor, sheets wrapped around his naked body. Johnny grinned up at the doctor, "Hey Sam."

Shaking a finger at his unruly patient, "Where do you think you are going young man?"

Grimacing, Johnny held the sheets tighter, "Well like Boston said, gotta go find a bush."

Sam placed his black bag on the tabletop, knelt beside the bed, and pilled out the present chamber pot.

Johnny hated that thing, he glared at Sam and Sam just smiled. Dios he hated that thing.

Sam waited patiently as his patient took care of 'business', afterwards he examined the young man and as he pulled the sheet back up to Johnny's chest smiled down at him,

"Everything is looking good, how I don't know with your reckless ways, but I think you will survive to take a few more years off of my life."

"Sam," The doctor looked down as the soft voice spoke, "Why do you care, I mean I know that Hippo-cra-tic oath thing, but why do you care?"

Sam smiled, it made his face wrinkle up more than it was and he placed a gentle hand on Johnny's shoulder, "I was in your life from the first day you drew breath. The countless times I came out here or your father rushed you to town I felt you belonged to mother as well as your father and me. I wept with your father when you were gone."

Smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle on the sheet he continued, a joy filling the old intelligent eyes, "When you came back I found the child in the man, a man I grew to like and respect. You did turn out to be a good man Johnny, oh, your Madrid days may have turned me to drink if I had known you then, but you came home and are building a new life. I see the hope, humor, stubbornness and love in your eyes. I would be proud to call you son if I wouldn't have to fight your father for the privilege."

Standing Sam turned and picked up his bag, "Now young man stay in that bed until I say otherwise, you have a lot of lost blood to replace."

Johnny watched as the older man move to the door place his hand on the knob and turn.

As he stepped into the hall the doctor leaned back in, "Eat what you can, but take it easy on your stomach, you don't want your meal to revisit you."

Johnny smiled, "I understand Doc. You go on down tell my Ol' Man I'll be up in no time ta give 'em more grey hairs."

Sam closed the door and grinned, 'the boy was a gem'. He turned to go down the front staircase as he heard the rattle of china coming up the back, well let them think they are putting one over on old Doc, Lord how he loved this family.

Teresa carried the breakfast tray back to the kitchen, leaving the brothers' to talk.

Scott stood by the window looking out, putting a hand to his shoulder as he felt a twinge from the graze on his arm.

Johnny noticed and frowned bowing his head, "Does it hurt much?"

Scott turned to his brother and walked back to the bed, pulling the chair up closer Scott sat and locked his brother's eyes to his, "I'd be lying if I said no, but it's tolerable. I'm still alive to feel anything, thanks to you brother."

Johnny's eyes turned hard, cold, "Its 'cause of me you got hurt. Madrid always Madrid, they won't ever leave me alone Scott. Sooner or later one of you will get hurt or worse, I can't ... I would just..."

Scott placed a hand on his brother, "That why you were running?"

Johnny pushed the hand away, "Wasn't' runnin' Scott, I had ta leave before anyone else got hurt. You saw they followed me, what if I was here and T'resa got hurt, Maria, or anyone on this ranch. I couldn't have faced Murdoch, you, or myself, no the safety of Lancer and all of you comes above my 'happiness'".

Scott sat silent for a minute. "So little brother you weighed all the pros and cons of having a safe place to sleep, three meals a day, people who care about you verses sleeping on the ground, jerky and coffee, when you have them, strangers around you and if and I say 'IF' someone comes gunning for you, you came to the conclusion to leave. Does that about sum it up?"

Johnny nodded his head, and looked down at nothing, "Yeah put it that way that's it."

Scott jumped up and would have swung both hands in the air if one had not been in a sling, "Of all the stupid, asinine, stubborn, ill advised bull I have ever heard..." Stopping Scott put one hand on his hip and looked down on his brother, "You will listen and you will listen well 'little' brother. You will not leave here under any circumstances, you will ask for advice from any or all people on the entire ranch, you will take help from anyone on said ranch or I will personally kick your sorry ass from here to Timbuktu."

Staring at his brother, fire in his grey blue eyes and spittle drying on his lips, "Do you understand now 'little' brother?"

Johnny was shocked and relieved at the same time, a small grin started in his eyes and moved to his lips, he looked up at his 'big' brother, " You sure do sound like on o them pros e-cutin' attorney's.

Johnny turned serious eyes to his brother, "Scott I done 'weighed' all them facts and returnin' ta gunfightn' wasn't real appealing. So I figured I'd stick it out here and pray to God no one gets hurt on my account."

With a laugh, Johnny folded his hands in his lap, "So does the prosecution rest?"

Scott's mouth fell open, he shook his head, "You already decided and you let me go on about it?"

Johnny nodded, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief,

"Yeah ya sounded so convincin'."

Scott moved beside his brother bent over him and pointed a finger in his face, "Well you just remember it, brother. And get some rest or I'll bring Doc in as a hostile witness."

Johnny shifted further down in his bed, his eyes beginning to droop, "Scott?"

Scott pulled the sheet up over his brother's chest, "Yes Johnny?"

His words soft Johnny smiled, "I'm sure glad yer on my side."

As his brother's eyes closed in an exhausted sleep, "I am too little brother, I am too."

Scott entered the hallway and closed the door he smiled at his father, sister and Sam, "He's asleep, and he is staying."

Murdoch sighed, "Thank God."

Teresa smiled, "I'll talk with Maria and we'll make him something special for lunch."

Sam stood for just a second before following the family down the stairs and thought to himself, how he loved this family. How that boy upstairs with all his ghosts from the past and all his hope for the future was making this a family, in every sense of the word.

Johnny smiled as he heard the laughter float up to him from downstairs. Cuddling a pillow against his chest he sighed, he was and will forever be home.

LANCER

June 2013

solista