Brothers
Chapter One
Johnny clung desperately to Barranca.
His left arm was a mass of throbbing, searing pain. Why had he let Murdoch goad him into doing something he knew he had no right trying alone? Why hadn't he just turned around and walked away? But his temper had got the best of him…his mother's explosive temper…fired all too often by the man he both loved and hated.
He groaned in misery as Barranca missed a step sending pain shooting through his left arm, so exquisite that he nearly passed out.
What a sight he must have made, sagged over the saddle, his face resting in Barranca's golden mane. He had lost the reins an hour ago, or was it two…? Johnny couldn't remember. He had simply let them slip out of his righthand to dangle along the ground as Barranca slowly, but unerringly, took his compadre home.
It should have worked. It would have, and that stump would have been history, Murdoch would have been happy, and he would have been sitting at the table eating Teresa's famous roast beef dinner, if the tackle hadn't broken. He could still hear the snap of the rope, could see the heavy wooden block catapulting toward him. He tried to jump out of the way, but it still caught him. The velocity knocked him off his feet, tearing a gash in his left arm clear down to the bone, and most likely breaking his collarbone as well.
Why hadn't he stayed home? He knew a storm was heading their way. He'd sensed it in the air. Now he could feel the cold snap of wind blowing from the east, down off the Sierra's. The kind of storm that tore at the land and feasted on both man and animal.
The cattle would have sense enough to put their backs to the wind and wait out the storm. But what was he doing? Trying to reach home…hurt and defenseless. It would be a miracle if he made it all the way to Lancer.
The feel of warm blood slowly flowed down his throbbing arm, dripping off his fingers and saturating his pant leg. How much he had lost, he didn't know.
There were a lot of things he didn't know. How long he lay in the hot sun before the clouds started rolling over the valley. How long Barranca nuzzled him with his soft nose, prodding him to awaken. How he got into the saddle. How he was going to make it home.
Johnny sighed and slipped closer to unconsciousness.
Murdoch let the letter slip from his fingers and watched it flutter to a silent landing on top of his desk.
"I'm sorry, Murdoch. I thought you would want to know as soon as possible," Arthur Bell said, his regret at having to bring the unwanted news to Murdoch Lancer etched in his face. As Murdoch's attorney for fifteen years, he both respected the man as a client and as a friend.
"Are you sure?" Murdoch asked, his voice a shadow of the strong, confident owner of the largest ranch in the San Joaquin valley.
Arthur nodded. "I checked it out myself before coming here. To tell you the truth, I received the information two days ago. I wanted to make sure it was true before bringing it to you. There's no doubt, Murdoch. I'm sorry."
Murdoch grabbed for his over-stuffed desk chair and dropped into it, his legs no longer able to support him.
In the distance, another clap of thunder rumbled, but Murdoch didn't hear it. "How?" he asked, the disbelief and misery in his voice reflected on his face. "The Pinkerton Reports…"
Arthur shrugged. "I contacted them. They stand by this newest report. The letter stands true. I'm sorry."
"You said that already," Murdoch snapped. "Twice."
Arthur knew what this news would do to Murdoch. He had cautioned his friend about sending for his sons. He knew Murdoch had been waging a losing battle against Day Pardee and his gang of land pirates. But his sons were complete strangers to him. And his decision to offer them both a third of the ranch was, in his estimation, a very dangerous move. He had tried to persuade him to send for Scott only. College educated, a lieutenant in the cavalry, a background in business and a protégée in his grandfather's firm. He was an acceptable risk, even if he didn't know a thing about ranching.
But Johnny Madrid was a wild card Murdoch was a fool to play. What would he do if they defeated Day Pardee? Turn on his father and his brother and take the ranch for himself? Arthur had argued long and hard that there was no room in the valley for a gunslinger like Johnny Madrid.
But he had been wrong. Johnny Madrid had fallen into the role of Johnny Lancer like a man starving for stability in his life. Within six months the brothers had formed a friendship that seemed to be strengthened by their years apart. And Murdoch, with a few remarkably stupid blunders at first, had a family at last.
Arthur glanced down at the picture frame sitting on Murdoch's desk. He remembered the day Murdoch had herded a reluctant Johnny Lancer into town to take a family portrait from a traveling photographer. He would never forget the high jinks that boy went through to avoid sitting still for the hour required to get the perfect shot. The time and effort on Murdoch's part had been worth it. Somehow the photographer had captured each Lancer perfectly as they sat on a riser, Murdoch on the top step and Scott to his left and Johnny to his right on the step below. Murdoch's pride could be seen by a blind man. Scott's military background was evident in his straight posture, but there was a look of contentment in his eyes…this was where he wanted to be, this is where he belonged. Johnny was the surprise; somehow the photographer had caught that mischievous twinkle in Johnny's eyes. He may have been a hardened gunfighter, and could still turn into Johnny Madrid at a drop of a hat, when needed, but that day he was Johnny Lancer, sitting with the family he never knew he had and always wanted.
And now the letter he had delivered to Murdoch had destroyed all that.
"What are you going to do?" Arthur asked softly.
The life seemed to drain out of Murdoch. He looked up, his eyes pleading for an answer that would not destroy his world. Arthur didn't have one.
Murdoch leaned back in his chair and swiveled it so he could look out the picture window.
The incoming storm was already whipping up the wind and the bank of dark ominous clouds marched closer with each clap of thunder. It seemed fitting, this turbulent weather, the forbearer of his world once again shattering in front of his eyes.
"There was a time when this was all I cared about," he said, his voice heavy with the memory. "This land, this house. I convinced myself that it was enough. There was nothing more important. Scott was healthy and getting the education he deserved. And Johnny…God…Johnny. I prayed he was safe, that someone had taken him in after Maria died. I convinced myself, right or wrong, that there was nothing more I could do for him. Still, there was never a night that I didn't think about them both as I closed my eyes. In the morning…in the morning I pushed them back in my mind and took care of the only thing I could nurture, this land. Damn it, Arthur, if I had tried harder. If I had spent more money on the Pinkertons to find Johnny, or demanded to have Scott live here, by my side where he belonged. This never would have happened."
"You can't blame yourself, Murdoch. You were deceived. You believed he was your son because he wanted you to."
"He looks so much like his mother…"
Arthur sighed deeply. "We believe anything if we want it badlyenough."
Murdoch slammed his hand down on his desk. "I won't believe it. There has to be a mistake."
"There's no mistake. The Pinkerton's have proof."
Murdoch reached out for the portrait and pulled it toward him. "It was all I ever wanted. My sons home where they belonged." He looked up at Arthur. "It doesn't really matter. They were strangers when they got here. They are both my sons now."
"It does matter, Murdoch. You are denying your true son his share of this ranch. Doesn't he deserve what is his birthright?"
Murdoch closed his eyes. How was he going to rip this family apart?
"How am I going to tell him his brother is an imposter?"
Scott turned the collar of his jacket up against the stiff cold wind coming down from the Sierras. Thunder that had been rumbling in the distance was getting closer at an alarming speed. He would never make it home before the storm hit. Now he wished he had stayed in San Francisco one more week, but something was niggling in the back of his mind that he needed to get home. The stagecoach ride had been uneventful, but discovering that Jelly had not been back to Green River to leave his horse at the livery had furthered his feeling of unease. It could be that they hadn't received his telegram in time, or thought he would not try to travel with an approaching storm. But it could also mean that something was terribly wrong.
His rented horse was already getting nervous and he had to keep a tight rein on him. Remembering Johnny's alternate route to the house, avoiding the steep road that dropped down into the meadow where the hacienda sat, he turned south, heading directly into the wind.
Scott hadn't traveled another half mile when he suddenly pulled his horse to a stop. Something had caught his attention. He remembered his brother's warning that a smart man gave into those uneasy feelings. If it turned out to be nothing, then nothing was lost. But if you ignored it…you could regret it for a lifetime.
He squinted against the wind and saw something moving across the crest of a hill a quarter mile away. It was a horse walking slowly southward toward the hacienda. It took him a moment to realize the pale horse, silhouetted against the approaching storm clouds, was Barranca.
His heart skipped a beat. What was Barranca doing out here alone? That niggling feeling quickly grew into outright worry
Tapping his reluctant horse with his heels, he coaxed the animal into a fast trot and, as he got closer, he realized there was someone splayed precariously over the saddle and the neck of the palomino. With a sickening feeling, Scott knew Barranca would not allow anyone but Johnny to ride him like that.
As he approached, he saw Barranca slow down and stop, his head held high, his nostrils flaring. Barranca had no idea who he was. If he had been riding Charlemagne, Barranca would have recognized his stable mate immediately.
"It's all right, Barranca," he called gently as he dismounted. He took a few steps closer to the nervous palomino. "It's me. I just want to help Johnny."
Johnny was draped over Barranca's neck, his black hair hanging over his face, a startling contrast to the blonde mane of his beloved horse. His left hand dangled over Barranca's shoulder, his sleeve drenched with blood, dripping off his fingertips to stain the Palomino's coat. His pant leg glistened with more blood.
He took two steps closer, slowly reaching out for the dangling reins. He dropped the reins to his own horse, hoping the nervous animal would stay ground tied.
"That's it, Barranca." Scott kept his voice calm and steady, despite the fear that rode up his spine when he got a closer look at Johnny. There was so much blood on Johnny's shirt and pants he could not tell if his brother had injured his left leg as well as his arm.
Another clap of thunder shook the ground but Barranca just sidestepped.
Scott quickly checked Johnny's arm, pulling apart the torn shirt and seeing the deep gash in his bicep. Blood still trickled from the ugly slash, but most of the bleeding had seemed to stop. From the amount that coated Johnny's sleeve and pant leg he knew his brother had lost too much blood already.
"We have to get him home," he said. Knowing that Barranca would do all he could to keep the ride gentle, Scott decided to leave Johnny as he was. To move him might start the bleeding again.
Giving thanks that his rented horse had not spooked at the thunder, he mounted and slowly walked both horses toward the house, keeping close enough to Johnny to catch him if he started to slide off the saddle.
Murdoch poured himself a stiff drink and downed it in one gulp. Offering a drink to his friend, Arthur shook his head. "I better get going before this storm gets any stronger. As it is I'll be drenched by the time I get home."
As if on cue, the rain began. "You're welcome to stay the night, Arthur," Murdoch offered.
"No. I have a feeling you and your boys have things to settle tonight." Arthur looked at him severely. "You are going to confront him on this."
Murdoch nodded reluctantly. "I will. When the time is right."
"Murdoch, putting it off is not going to make it any easier. In fact it will just fester in your craw. Don't make it worse on yourself by waiting. It won't go away with time."
"I know. I'll take care of it. I…"
On the heels of another clap of thunder, both men heard a frantic plea for help from the courtyard. "Murdoch! I need help out here!" Murdoch froze as he recognized the voice.
He looked toward Arthur. "That's Scott," he said in disbelief. "He's not due back from San Francisco for another week."
Both men moved to the picture window behind Murdoch's desk.
"My God! Johnny!" Murdoch's knees nearly buckled at the sight of Johnny draped over Barranca's neck, blood saturating his clothes and the horse's side. The stupid argument they had over breakfast reared up and punched him in the gut. He had sent Johnny out to remove that tree stump on his own. Scott was in San Francisco and the men were in town for the weekend after payday. Why did he insist that stump had to be removed today?
Before he knew it, he was standing next to Barranca holding the palomino's reins, trying to keep him calm as Scott rounded both horses. He could feel Barranca trembling, sensing the fear in the air and the coppery smell of blood. It was a miracle neither horse bolted.
"What happened?" he demanded, his voice harsher then he intended. But he was just so
damn scared.
"I don't know," Scott shouted, reaching up to pull Johnny out of the saddle. "I found him slumped over Barranca, on his way here. I decided not to move him and let Barranca carry him home."
Scott worked to pry Johnny's fingers open, but the boy had a death grip on the Palomino's mane. "Come on, Johnny!" Scott shouted, "Let go. You're home. You're safe."
Arthur was by Scott's side waiting to help him pull Johnny off the saddle. A guttural sigh came from Johnny's lips as if he lost all the fight left in him and heslid off the saddle into Scott's waiting arms.
Arthur quickly helped Scott shift Johnny's weight in his arms and ran toward the house to open the door.
Murdoch stood for a long moment frozen in place. Lightening streaked through the sky, followed by a shattering clap of thunder,and the horses reared back in fear, bringing him to his senses. The rain started to fall in earnest, and he turned back to the house, Scott's back just disappearing through the door. He didn't have time to look after the horses and prayed they would stay close.
Inside he rushed past Scott, clearing the massive dining table with one swipe of his huge hand.
"What happened?" he barked as he helped Scott gently lay Johnny on the table. Johnny's normally deeply tanned face was as white as a sheet, his black hair heavy with sweat and plastered across his face. His left sleeve and pant leg were soaked with blood.
"I don't know," Scott answered, ripping Johnny's shirt open. "I didn't have time to check him over, but he's got a deep gash in his arm. And it felt like his shoulder was dislocated when I carried him in."
Murdoch nodded. "We'll need plenty of hot water. Arthur, would you get the water started, and you'll find a basket of medical supplies in the kitchen pantry."
"Of course," Arthur said, quickly running into the kitchen.
Murdoch searched through the utility drawer in the hutch behind the dining table and found the sharp knife he was looking for.
"Where's Teresa?" Scott asked.
"At the Hamilton's for the week."
"We could use her now."
"I know. But I've done my share of sewing up wounds over the years."
Arthur came running back from the kitchen. "The water's on and here are all the medical supplies I could find."
Murdoch took the basket and set it on the table next to Johnny. "I'll need more light than this. Bring all the candles and lanterns you can find."
Arthur looked from the stunning amount of blood covering Johnny to the knife in Murdoch's hand. "Shouldn't I go for Dr. Jenkins?"
Murdoch shook his head as another clap of thunder pealed overhead and the steady cadence of the rain hitting the roof grew louder. The brunt of the storm drew nearer."No, you'll never make it. If this storm is as big as it looks, it could be days before the roads are passable again. You would never get Sam back here in time."
"What are you going to do?"
"What we always do. Take care of our own." Murdoch looked up at Scott, a grim look on his face. Scott nodded determinedly.
Scott began unbuttoning Johnny's pants,noticing for the first time that he was not wearing his gunbelt. What would make Johnny relinquish his gun?
"Do you know what Johnny was doing?" he asked Murdoch, not able to keep the accusing tone out of his voice. He hadn't read the look on his father's face until just now. Guilt.
"We'll talk about it later," Murdoch snapped. "Right now we have to get this bleeding stopped. Arthur, is that water ready yet?"
Scott would not be dismissed so easily. "Yes, we will talk about it later." He moved down to Johnny's boots and pulled them off then continued to strip Johnny of his damp clothes. Suddenly, he realized his brother's clothes were damper than just sweat alone would account for, but the rain had not started until after he had gotten him into the house. He let the questions wait. Murdoch was right about getting the bleeding stopped. Johnny could die while he questioned his father. But later he would get his answers.
Arthur set the large candelabra at the head of the table and lit the tapers, then set the lanterns and candles he hadfound in the downstairs rooms around the table.
Murdoch dipped a towel into the hot water and began wiping the blood from Johnny's arm. "This looks bad," he said grimly. "It's clear down to the bone."
Even unconscious, Johnny shifted on the table against the pain of the carbolic acid as Murdoch cleaned the wound. Blood flowed freely again from the jagged tear and Scott quickly threaded the needle and handed it to Murdoch. Murdoch nodded, taking the needle and hesitating for only a moment, then began sewing the wound closed. "Sam will probably have to reopen this to check the bone, but we have to stop the bleeding."
Scott nodded, handing Murdoch a roll of bandaging from the basket. "We'll need to pop that shoulder back into place and look at his chest." Dark bruising was beginning to appear on his left side. "He may have broken a rib too. What in the hell was he doing?"
"Taking out that stump in South Creek," Murdoch answered through clenched teeth.
"Alone?"
"You know how stubborn your brother can be."
"I also know that he is too smart to attempt something like that unless he was goaded into it."
Murdoch ignored the taunt and tuned to Arthur instead. "We'll move Johnny into one of the bedrooms down here. Would you see that the fireplace is lit and the bed turned down?"
Arthur nodded, taking one of the lamps with him. The storm had sent the interior of the house into dark shadows even though it was still hours before night would arrive.
Turning back to Johnny, Murdoch gently probed his ribs and felt the tell tale give of a broken rib. "Set him up so we can bind this rib, then we'll set his shoulder. We'll wrap his arm against his chest to protect his shoulder and support his arm."
The two men worked in silence, moving Johnny about, his arms and legs as boneless as a rag doll's. It seemed surreal to Scott as the large candelabra cast dancing shadows over his lifeless brother. They had removed all the other lamps around the table so they could bind Johnny's ribs and shoulder. Now he laid motionless…his face as white as the towel his head rested upon.
"He's going to be in a lot of pain when he wakes up," Scott said. The anger he had felt for his father was gone now in the quiet moments, as shock and fatigue set in. He had seen dreadful things when he was in the army, but none struck him so soundly as seeing his own brother so badly injured.
Scott could hear the fatigue in Murdoch's voice as he gently wiped Johnny's face with a cool towel. "I have a nearly full bottle of laudanum left upstairs. Johnny refused to take it after Pardee's bullet."
"He'll be taking it this time, at least until Sam can get here. We can't afford to let Johnny move around with that arm."
"Johnny's room is ready," Arthur said as he returned to the great room. "I collected extra pillows and blankets from the other rooms in case he needs them."
"Thank you, Arthur. Now, if you could help us move him."
Laying a sheet and blanket over Johnny to keep him warm, the three men carefully lifted Johnny between them, carrying him with infinite care across the great room and down the hall to the bedroom. The storm raged overhead, lightening flashing beyond the windows and thunder shaking the walls like the devil himself was on a rampage.
It would be a long night before any of them knew if they had done enough to stave off the hungry Angel of Death.