Chapter One

He'd ridden for hours, stopping once to rest the horses and once to fill his canteen from the stream and answer nature's call amid the brush. Grasping his saddle horn, he raised his face to the sky. The midday sun caught him by surprise. Even with the packhorse, he'd made good time. Feather Point sat about forty minutes ahead, and after an hour or so more, he'd be in Arrowhead Canyon. There, he'd have his first or many meals of beans and biscuits before finishing his first day's ride. If the unexpected didn't slow him down, he'd make it to South Bend, settling in to have a late dinner as dusk fell against the mountain.

With each stop along the grand swing, he wouldn't dawdle and he wouldn't hurry; he'd keep a steady pace. Most of all, he planned on doing his best to avoid thinking – something he hadn't had much success with back at the ranch.

The miles ticked by and before long, Joe knew he'd reached familiar ground. Feather Point. Jutting orange and crimson layers pierced a perfect September sky. He smiled. Here, and for the next twenty miles, the Ponderosa landscape lay dotted with flowering scrub brush and sand-polished rock, yet despite the surrounding beauty, a twinge of longing surged through him.

Time. "It heals all wounds, son. The best thing you can do is fill your days with man's work and spend your nights in the company of family and good friends." The adage was heartfelt, and one he'd heard far too often of late.

Still, he'd tried it his pa's way. He'd tried until his already calloused palms blistered and bled and his muscles begged for mercy. He'd tried it his brothers' way, until his cheeks tingled from bogus smiling and his eyes blurred from endless, tedious games of checkers.

Joe knew they meant well, his father and brothers, but the burden was his and his alone. Three weeks since his life had changed, and he was still sinking, feeling he'd been lassoed, hogtied, and tossed headfirst into a stagnant swamp.

And the note. He'd left them a note. But back at the house, would they understand, or had he caused them more worry than they deserve?

Earlier that morning, the sudden rush of frigid, hallway air came as no surprise. Nevada winters could be brutal in the mountains, despite the warmth in the desert below. Ben was grateful for his bedroom fireplace. Coming down the stairs, he drove the last of his buttons into place, fussed with his shirttails, and tugged his sleeves at the wrists.

Crossing to the breakfast table, the aromas of a well-stoked fire and freshly brewed coffee filled his lungs. Ben couldn't help but smile; Hop Sing was as punctual as he was efficient.

As if on cue, the slight Chinaman appeared, a tray bearing a cup and saucer and a steaming pot of coffee in his hands.

"Breakfast ready soon, Mister Cartwright. You want to wait for sons, or you want eat before sun rises?"

Ben smiled. "You know my sons well." He raised the pot from the tray and poured himself a cup. "I'll eat as soon as breakfast is ready, Hop Sing."

"Bacon crispy, ham and biscuits warm in oven, eggs ready to cook."

"Ham and bacon? Well, the smell might just lure those three boys of mine out of bed before daybreak."

Hop Sing smiled and dipped his head. "Mister Adam and Mister Hoss, but not Little Joe."

Ben held his cup with both hands. "Joe loves ham and bacon."

"Yes, but Joe already up and gone. His horse not in barn when I go out for milk bucket. And this,"—Hop Sing pointed to a note on the dining table— "his writing."

Ben placed his cup on the table and picked up the folded paper, a feeling of dread creeping across his chest as he silently read the single word on the front—"Pa."

Fifteen minutes later, Ben still sat at the table, his breakfast untouched. The note, having been read over and over, lay next to his nearly-full cup. Distracted by his thoughts, he hadn't noticed the first glimpse of sunrise or Hop Sing's concerned glances from the hallway, and when Adam leaned down, cleared his throat, and lightly touched his father's shoulder, Ben was jolted back to the here and now.

"Pa, you all right?"

Blinking away the fog, Ben lifted his eyes to the anxious faces of his two oldest sons.

"Somethin' wrong, Pa?"

Ben's lackluster nod matched his expression.

"Hop Sing hear voices," he said as he stepped into the room. "Coffee on table. Breakfast on table in one minute."

A quick glance at Adam, and then, Hoss, was telling.

"Thanks, Hop Sing," Hoss said, his eyes shining with concern.

"Pa?"

Finally, Ben looked at his son.

"Pa, something's obviously on your mind," Adam took a seat, his gaze fixed on the folded note. "You gonna tell us what it is, or do we have to guess?"

"Your brother's volunteered to do the grand swing." Ben filled his lungs and spoke softly as he exhaled. "He left during the night."

Hoss shoved his hands into his pockets, and Adam leaned forward, pressing his palms against the table.

"Look, Pa. We've all been worried about Joe," Adam said. 'He tried it your way, Pa, working long, hard days, keeping busy till he was exhausted enough to sleep. And he tried going along with Hoss and me, like nothing was different, like nothing had happened."

"He did at that," Hoss said softly, "but we knew he was still hurtin'."

Adam glanced up at Hoss. "But the grand swing . . . Maybe it's time Joe tried his own way to accept that Clay's gone. Maybe he needs time alone."

Ben folded his hands on the table. "You may be right, son."

"You think the swing's a ruse, don't you?" Adam asked. "You're worried Joe took off after Clay."

Hoss grabbed the note and read in silence. "Pa, you read this, 'n' so did I. Joe says he's doin' a grand swing 'n' I believe him. Joe ain't no liar."

"Hoss is right, Pa. Just last night, you said one of us needed to volunteer or you would make the decision. Joe went up to bed early, and I'd bet a year's wages he thought about it and decided he'd rather make a swing than stay around here with the three of us watching his every move."

"That's right," Hoss added. "Remember that time you sent me 'n' Joe on a swing? Joe argued 'n' tried to wangle his way out of it. Why, he made such a ruckus, Pa, you put your foot down 'n' then rode off to Virginia City. Said we'd best be half way to the first line shack afore you made it to town."

Adam cocked his head. "Hoss, you're debating for the wrong side."

"Now hold on, Adam," Hoss demanded, his hand raised in protest. "Lemme finish. Pa rode off, Joe stormed upstairs, 'n' I took off to the barn to saddle the horses. Joe showed up a couple minutes later with a sack of food 'n' a biscuit hangin' outta his mouth. Oh, he moaned 'n' sputtered the first mile or so, but the kid sure 'nough took to hours of ridin' 'n' checkin' on the shacks 'n' playin' detective, lookin' for the markers."

Ben thanked Hoss with a pat to his hand. "Your brother's not a kid any longer. And he found a connection to the past—to his mother. And now-"

"And now," Adam interrupted, "isn't it possible that he's trying to reconnect with a more recent past? With the Ponderosa?"

Hoss handed the note to his father. "Read it again, Pa."

Ben drew the paper closer. "Pa," he said aloud, "I'm making the grand swing. I've taken the ledger and our best packhorse. I'll pick up supplies in Virginia City. I'll get the job done, Pa, and I'll be home as soon as I do. See you soon. Joe."

Carrying a tray of eggs, bacon, ham, and biscuits, Hop Sing entered the room. Adam reached for the bowl of eggs, and Hoss nabbed the plate of bacon and ham. Ben sat in silence, staring at the note.

"Pa," Adam said as he spooned eggs onto his plate, "Hoss and I will go after Joe, if you want."

"But you don't think you should."

"No, I don't. Hoss?"

Hoss set his fork and knife against a thick slice of ham. "I know what it's like to set your heart on a future 'n' then have that future, that dream yanked out from under ya. Pa, sometimes a man needs to work things out for himself. I know I did, 'n' I reckon that's what Joe's doin'."

Ben nodded, but anxiety lingered on his face.

Adam poured himself another cup of coffee. "I couldn't have said it better, Hoss."

Ben relaxed back in his chair. "You boys present a good argument."

"Pa, we ain't gonna stop worryin' 'bout Joe. But we have to see fit to let him do what he needs to do."

"He still has a whole lot of life ahead of him," Ben said quietly, "with or without his brother, Clay."

Adam smiled at his father. "And riding the Ponderosa might be just what Joe needs."