A Switch in His Shoe

December 1855

PROLOGUE

"Joe. Whoa. Whoa! Whoa!" With the north wind blowing and a steel-gray sky spitting sleet, Adam Cartwright caught hold of the reins of his twelve-year-old brother's Welsh and Arab pony and tugged, bringing the animal to a halt. "And just where do you think you're going?" he asked a defiant Little Joe. "You know we're having guests over tonight. Pa's gonna want you spit-and-shine clean for parading in front of the Hoffmeisters."

Little Joe scowled. "Could I just break my neck and die instead?"

Adam hid his smile. The Hoffmeisters were originally from Hanover. They were a lovely older couple with no children of their own. Charles Hoffmeister and their pa were long-time friends and the pair was always invited out around December 5th for a celebration of the traditional Germanic Weinachsten. It sort of kicked off the Christmas season for them all. Each of them had endured Mrs. Hoffmeister's loving...ministrations in turn. He and Hoss had been the focus of them for years.

Of course now that Joe was the only 'little' one in the house...

"So that's it, then? You're running away from home because Mrs. Hoffmeister wants to pinch your cheek?"

The boy pulled a face. "That ain't it! Hoss is missing. I'm gonna find him."

Adam was immediately concerned. "Hoss is missing? Does Pa know about this?"

Joe nodded his head so hard his brown curls bounced off his furrowed forehead. "Sure does. But, Adam, Pa don't seem to care! He says middle brother will find his own way back soon enough."

So...their father wasn't worried. Okay. That eased the sudden sinking in his stomach somewhat – at least enough to look forward again to filling it up with Hop Sing's wondrous works of culinary delight. There was nothing quite like the Chinese man's take on a German menu filled with strudel, schnitzel, and spaetzle.

Still holding onto the reins, he asked, "So if Pa's not worried, why are you?"

Joe looked at his shirt. He muttered something.

"What?"

"Because Hoss said he'd play checkers with me before dinner."

Adam's black brows peaked toward his well-oiled hair. "And?"

Baby brother's head snapped up. His lips were drawn into a line and those mobile brows dipped in a deep 'V'. "And? Well, that's it. Ain't it enough?!"

He blinked. "That's it. Really? You're riding out of the yard, in the sleet, with barely more than a summer jacket on, hell-bent for leather, and all because Hoss missed a game of checkers?"

Little Joe's ire was up. His nostrils flared and he breathed baby dragon fire. "You don't understand! It ain't like you said you'd play me and then didn't show up. This is Hoss! He never breaks his promises. Something's got to be wrong!"

Adam didn't miss the implied insult. "And I do? Break my promises, that is?"

"Heck, Adam," Joe said with the honesty of a child, "most of the time you hardly know I'm around – unless I get under your feet."

He winced. There was some truth in that.

Hoss on the other hand had a special bond with Little Joe. It was amusing to watch the two of them together. You'd have to multiply Joe by three at least to even come close to the dimensions of Hoss's weight and giant frame. At seventeen his teenage brother was big as most any man in the territory. Adam allowed a smile to lift the corners of his scowl. Hoss would turn eighteen in just a few days, on the 10th of this month. He was looking forward to taking him on his first 'official' visit to a saloon.

Official, that was.

Adam laughed.

"What's so funny?" Joe snarled.

His hazel eyes went to his baby brother where he sat uneasy in the saddle. Joe was still, but he was still moving. His fingers twitched on the reins and his boots were keeping a staccato beat against poor Cadfan's sides. Everything that was in the boy was bent on finding their wayward – by that, read about an hour late – brother.

Giving up, Adam released the reins. "It's about three o'clock now. You be sure you're back by five-thirty." As Joe nodded, he added, "And then, by supper, it had better be the quickest and best polish job you've ever done – dress boots included!"

At first Joe continued to scowl. Then he looked puzzled, as if stunned that he'd given in. Finally, he grinned that grin that killed them all.

"Yes siree, Bob, older brother. I'll be back faster than a bee-stung stallion!" With that, Joe slapped the reins, kneed his horse, and he and Cadfan were off with a whoop!

Adam ran a hand across his eyes. Unfortunately, that was exactly how Joe liked to ride. Just like a bee-stung stallion.

Sleet or no sleet.

He could only hope that one day Hoss' steady, sure, predictable temperament would rub off on their little brother enough to give them some hope that Joe might actually make it to eighteen. God had put Eric 'Hoss' Cartwright in the right place, at the right time – right between him and Little Joe. The big guy was the glue that held the three of them together.

Turning and looking at the house, Adam sighed when he saw the door open and his father step out. Pa wouldn't be happy that he'd let Joe go. He couldn't put it into words himself why it felt right, but it just did. Joe and Hoss were connected in a way neither one of them truly understood, and if Joe thought there was somethin wrong, well then, there very well might be.

Of course, sending a twelve year old out to deal with whatever it was begged the question of his sanity.

"Where are your brothers, Adam?" his father asked as he came to a halt beside him.

Might as well admit it. "Joe went to find Hoss. I told him to be back by five-thirty."

His father gave him that look. The 'you're-old-enough-to-make-your-own-choices-but-why-can't-they-be-better-ones?' look.

"I see." The older man said.

Pa always said that. 'I see'.

It meant he didn't.

"Those boys had best be back by the time Lena and Charles arrive or they will rue it," the older man said, obviously not pleased. "The Hoffmeisters are among my dearest friends. I expect you boys to respect that, as well as my wish to entertain them."

"There's no disrespect meant, Pa." Somehow, he didn't think at this point that mentioning Little Joe's aversion to pinched cheeks was wise – or worth it. "Hoss is late for a checker game and Joe's worried. They should be back shortly."

He got that other look. The 'I'll-believe-it-when-I-see-it' one.

"Very well. Supper is at seven. See that you are all there."

As his father reentered the house, Adam turned and looked the way Joe had gone. He was going to give him and Hoss an hour-and-a-half and then, if they weren't back, he was going after them.

Trust was one thing.

Stupidity was another.