Writing this one, from Go West, Young Dukes, was just plain fun.
Yuo could ask how Great (several times over) Aunt Jenny's Diary could reveal all of this when obviously she wasn't there for it. Well, that's a good question for the episode, too. I just played along with the premise (and enjoyed every second).
When they're putting everything back to where it's stayed for five generations, Bo swipes the diary. He's not completely clear on why he does it, other than some gut feeling that there's more to the story, something to follow the buried deed.
No one will miss it if Bo keeps it for a couple of days; no one's missed it for a good century already. What he doesn't count on is finding Luke sitting on his bed, reading it.
"It left a mighty lump in your mattress," he learns. Then there's the advice: "If you're gonna hide something, make sure it ain't in plain sight." Luke leaves out the part about nosy cousins digging around where their fingers just don't belong. "What did you want this for anyways, Bo?" Because Bo Duke is not known for his deep and abiding interest in the diaries of old ladies.
"I figured there's more in there than Jesse read. You saw how he skipped around and slammed the book closed at the end." Oh, sure, the picking and choosing had been all about finding only the pertinent parts, and Jesse swore he was just skipping extraneous stuff. Still, Bo has to wonder at the old man's definition of 'extraneous.'
That point must be valid; Luke is flipping through the book, finding a place, then reading.
"Out loud," he demands. "Luke!"
Yeah, those bright blue eyes roll at the foolishness of the request, or the impatience behind it; either way, Luke clears his throat and begins to read.
"Joe has been telling us wonderful stories about his cousin, Hank." Listening to Luke's fluent style is vastly superior to the starts and stumbles of Jesse's rendition. "We're looking forward to meeting him after this whole mess with Thaddeus Hogg gets cleared up."
-- -- -- --
Jesse James. Hank had shot a gun out of the hands of a man that he assumed to be no worse than a petty thief or a hired thug, but the truth was much uglier than that. Damn it, he had to get back to Sleepy City before Hank found himself on the wrong end of the James brothers' wrath.
The saloon was right on the corner of the only two real streets in town, and there were just too many horses in front of the place for Joe's liking. He barely dismounted and settled his own beast before sliding through those front doors to the inside where Hank was doing an admirable job of handling both James boys at once. Joe found himself a leaning corner and appreciated the smooth way his cousin's body worked as it did this kind of hard labor. His mind drifted to wondering how little he'd seen of Hank over the years since they'd been raised together. Then again, it was Joe's own father, insisting that they were getting "too friendly" with each other, who had send Hank off to become an apprentice and learn a trade. They hadn't been a whole lot more than kids back then, half-grown and getting restless on the farm.
No question that Hank was fully adult now, the way he was throwing those James brothers around like they were so many bales of hay. Of course, Joe never had gotten around to having half the strength that Hank came to them with, after his own folks passed with the scarlet fever. The rangy kid had only been about twelve years old then, a full half year younger than Joe, but he could already hold his own against adult men when it came to farm work. Really, given the choice, Joe might have figured his Pa would have kept Hank and got rid of Joe, but at the age of sixteen he'd handed Hank over to old Ezekiel to learn the fine skill of herding and driving cattle.
Meanwhile, Joe had stayed on with his family in the much gentler task of corn farming. Hung on until his Pa passed on to the great beyond, and then the land was his. Over all that time, he'd barely gotten more than a line or two from Hank each year, and that in the painstaking hand of a man who'd barely had any schooling at all.
Today marked the first time he'd seen his cousin in a good dozen years. The man looked rough, like the prairie sun had burned half the life out of him and now hard work was staking its claim on the other half. Then again, put to the test like he was right now, Hank looked fine, just fine.
Until the James boys managed to work out ganging up on him; that was when Joe stepped in. Fought in tandem with (and defense of) the man who once been like a brother (and not), as if the two of them hadn't spent so many years apart.
It wasn't until Thaddeus Hogg showed up, accusing Hank of horse-thievery, that Joe realized his unwillingness to lose his cousin again. Oh, he had to figure out staying alive first, escaping from the notorious James boys, but as soon as that little magic trick was performed he was back in the saloon, plotting to get Hank free.
That part turned out to be ridiculously easy. Give the man a gun and there was nothing he couldn't do. And when he came sauntering back out to freedom, Joe was of half a mind to grab Hank and simply disappear off into the wilderness. But first they had to win a gun battle (and oh, the face Hank made when Hogg stumbled into what should have been an easy collar – his lips just about went missing in the expression of his annoyance) and rescue hapless fools that let themselves be used as hostages by the likes of Frank and Jesse James.
When all was said and done, the whole mess of Dukes (and a Davenport) wound up with Uncle Jeremiah, the man who lacked the vigor to stand up to Hogg, but still gave off the powerful impression that he wouldn't approve of the thoughts in Joe's head. Would probably not hesitate to use a horsewhip on the both of them for any sort of immoral behavior.
It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the warm house or the soft bed. It all came down to Hank's talk of heading back out west the next day; that was what made him call across the space that was serving as sleeping quarters for the two Duke cousins, asking whether Hank wanted to go for a midnight ride.
Slow as molasses, his rough-faced cousin sat up and turned toward him, moonlight and shadows hiding his eyes from view every bit as effectively as the brim of any hat. A shame, that. Seemed to Joe's memory like Hank had eyes bluer than a clear prairie sky.
"Joe." A man of few words, that was who Hank Duke had always been. Didn't need to say much; the rumble of his voice conveyed all the many ways in which this cowboy wasn't to be messed with.
"It ain't likely that we'll even cross paths again." Probably true. They both had lives and livelihoods to return to. "Pa done passed. Ain't nobody to know, nor care."
"If that's so," Hank asked him, "Just tell me why you're sliding that window pane up." For all that his cousin hadn't gotten more than a couple of years of schooling, the man wasn't dumb.
"It's closer to the barn." Than the front door was, anyway, and of course that's where Hank's horse was, if they ever got that far. Joe came away from the window to find Hank's boots and toss them at him. "Come on."
Yeah, in the end, the cowboy wasn't too far behind him. And they never got nearer to Hank's horse than the saddlebag. Up to the loft of the barn, where Hank looped his horsewhip around Joe's shoulders and tugged him closer, slow as you please. Rusty old lips, gritty feeling, and not so good at this anymore, or maybe Hank had no idea how to handle a mustache, and that could be the best reason that Joe could hope for. There went the whip, sliding its way down the thin cotton of Joe's shirt until it caught his waist, and Hank gave it a sharp tug to bring their hips together. Not quite right, the angle, but it was a good enough start. Got better when Joe spread his knees a bit, his arms around Hank's shoulders for balance.
"You sure?" Hank broke the kiss to ask. "This ain't exactly worked out for us." Oh, but it had, or it would have, if they'd had more time and privacy, or maybe just if Joe had been a braver young man and followed out after Hank. He'd wanted to.
He did have a couple of how-to questions that he considered asking, but they were the kind of thing that could stop this carriage cold. So he settled for a nod, dipping his chin down to press his lips back against Hank's, just to make sure that they didn't start conversations that his cousin wouldn't want to finish.
The whip was still back there, now firmly around his backside, Hank setting a rhythm to his liking while Joe reminded him how to kiss. It was just the kind of thing a man could get lost in. Almost.
"You, uh," Joe interrupted, then right back into the kiss.
"Mmm?" Hank managed, and the buzz of his lips was a definite improvement over the fumbling mess they'd started out with.
"You know what you're doing?" And he wasn't real sure he wanted an answer to that. They hadn't gotten it fully figured out before his Pa stumbled onto them, hands and tongues where they didn't belong, but nothing more damning than that. They'd been separated, Hank banished and Joe taken off to a saloon girl to learn the right way to do things. It had been nothing more than a woman here and there for him, ever since. He had no idea what cowboys did for that kind of entertainment, and he wasn't sure he wanted to learn that Hank had a lot of practice in being with other men.
"We'll figure it out," Hank assured him with a dirty grin and a nip to his neck.
-- -- -- --
Luke's doing an amazing imitation of a mute man. The reading stopped back there somewhere, and he hasn't uttered a sound since.
"You think great-great-great-grandma Jenny was right about them two?" Someone's got to say something, might as well be Bo.
"You missed a couple of greats," Luke helpfully supplies. Heavy puff of air from between his lips; he's going to give in and actually respond to the question. "I don't reckon she'd have any reason to make that up, Bo." The book gets slammed shut, but Luke doesn't put it down, just turns it over in his hands a few times.
"I suppose not." Bo sighs. "Do you figure they really went off their own ways, after? Or did they—"
"It ain't anything we're ever gonna know, Bo." And that settles that. Luke hasn't got a romantic bone in his body and couldn't care less whether two old gunslingers ever found love.
"What're we gonna do?" That look on Luke's face is all about what a stupid question that is, so he clarifies, "With the diary, I mean?" Which he swiped out of the living room and now doesn't want to take back out there where anybody, including Daisy, might read it.
Luke's smile is naughty, the kind of thing that promises sore behinds. "We could show it to Jesse, tell him it's genetic."
Tell him it's— say what? "Tell him it's genetic?" And that's how Luke wants to break things to the old-timer?
The smirk gets that much dirtier, the hand clapping his shoulder is rough. "Don't worry about it, Bo." And there's the tug on his arm, pulling him forward for a conciliatory kiss, the kind that reminds him not to take everything so seriously. So gullible. "I'll see that it gets stored away." One more kiss; that's all they dare. After all, there's only a flimsy door standing between them and discovery.