Carry Me Home
Chapter 1 – Heading South"I don't know how much more of this I can take, Bret." Bart Maverick wasn't complaining; he was simply stating a fact. When you'd been as broken as he was, spiritually, mentally and worst of all physically, bouncing around in a stage coach for three straight days wasn't helping matters any.
"We didn't have a lot of choice, Brother Bart, if we wanted to get to New Mexico. Had to take the stage to Denver. We'll be there soon. Then the train should be a lot easier on you." Bret was well aware of the physical strain this trip was taking on his younger brother. To say nothing of the mental need to put distance between himself and Silver Creek, Montana. A lovely little town, but not the place you wanted to remember when they'd almost hanged you for a murder you had nothing to do with.
Leaving had brought both pleasure and pain. There was family in Silver Creek, both kinds – old familiar and newly discovered. Some of the bonds with kin had been strengthened and some had been irretrievably lost. And some of the secrets kept hidden for decades were now forever buried, literally and figuratively. Best to leave both the town and the memories behind for a while and try to restore ones soul, spirit and body in another location.
So the travel had begun, and in a most distasteful way – by dirty, dusty stage coach. That was the only way to leave unless they were willing to wait weeks or months for the physical wounds of the youngest Maverick brother to heal – and the snow to close all the 'escape' routes for at least the winter. After almost a year in Silver Creek that was no choice at all. Here they were, Bart in true discomfort and Bret in mental consternation over his brother's pain, but at least this leg of the trip back to the warm winds of the southwest was almost through. They'd only have one overnight stay in Denver and then be on their way towards New Mexico, and the Double C Ranch, technically owned by Bart but physically occupied by Samantha Crawford.
Because of a promise made to Sam in a time of great stress – help him out of the mess he was in or die trying – he had entered into a marriage of convenience with her cousin Caroline. By the time it ended in tragedy the inconveniently married pair had fallen in love with each other. Which, by law, gave Bart ownership of the ranch. He would have none of it, and turned the Double C over to Samantha before he left New Mexico. She'd been trying to get him to come back and visit ever since. After the entanglements in Montana were straightened out Dry Springs, New Mexico seemed like the perfect solution. A place to rest and recuperate, with nothing required of him but healing. To avoid being caught in the north through the winter, the stage trip began.
Three days of dirt, dust and blowing around inside the coach like a dirty tumbleweed. Normally fastidious in their dress and appearance, comfort had finally won out and they looked more like saddle tramps than the professional gamblers they were. Both had traded fancy shirts and long coats for comfortable clothes, including Bart's buckskin jacket and Bret's leather vest. And guns. These days they went nowhere without a fully loaded Remington .45 Peacemaker. And Bret had given Bart his derringer, which the younger Maverick had started wearing in a shoulder holster, where it was more comfortable and easier to get to. No more 'unarmed' for either of them. It would be a pleasure to be able to bathe and change clothes in Denver. And then there was the train to look forward to, and the relative comfort it afforded.
First Bret had to deal with their luggage when they finally arrived. Both had learned a long time ago to pack only what they needed to survive, but spending almost a year in one place had forced them into a change of habit. Not only was there Bret's suitcase and Bart's suitcase, there was a brother now forced back into leaning heavily on the cane he was hoping to dispense with. Three days of being bounced and bumped all around the coach had dealt him a setback on his road to recovery. At last they were out of the coach and into the hotel. Bret tried to hurry the process as much as possible; Bart was feeling the effects of the constant bruising and needed to rest. The bags were turned over to the bellboy so that one brother could help get the other brother upstairs, not a quick or easy task.
Normally they would have had separate rooms but both agreed a shared room was best at this time. Especially with only one night to worry about. It took a while to get settled, with a bath each and getting presentably dressed, but they were finally able to go to dinner feeling clean and human. Bart's dinner was appreciably smaller than Bret's – Bret got the Maverick appetite, Bart didn't – and in times of stress Bart tended not to eat at all and lived mostly on black coffee. That was one of the things that worried the elder Maverick the most – how could you get your body and strength back if you didn't eat enough? Bart was adamant about eating what he wanted and nothing more; that was one battle Bret lost. After dinner they both enjoyed cigars and Bret debated playing poker but decided against it. He didn't want to get into another of those three day marathons and miss the train in the morning. As they were on their way back upstairs Clarence from the front desk flagged down Bret with a telegram. It was from Samantha and read:
Let me know when arriving in Santé Fe
Will meet you at Dry Springs stage depot
Love, Sam
As Bret read it, Clarence asked him a question: "Mr. Bret, did Mr. Bart get shot?" Clarence had worked the front desk at the Denver Palace Hotel as long as the Mavericks had been staying there. He was kind, efficient and, above all, discreet.
"No, Clarence, why do you ask?"
"I hate to say this, Mr. Bret, but he looks bad. So thin and pale. And needing a cane to walk? Sure looked like he was shot."
"Nope, not shot, Clarence. He was ill for a while, that's all. But he's over it now, and we're going somewhere to relax and get better."
"You tell him I said take care of himself. Sure no fun around here without the two of you." Bret smiled his appreciation for the kind words. "Thanks, I'll tell him that." He quickly climbed the steps to where they'd stopped and he'd left Bart.
"Anything exciting?" Bart inquired.
"Wire from Sam. Just wants me to let her know when we're getting to Santé Fe. I'll answer her in the morning. Let's get you upstairs and into bed. It's been a long day."
"Yes, Pappy," was his brothers reply.
"I'll take that as a compliment, son," came the retort in a voice mimicking their fathers. The imitation came naturally to Bret, who was the spitting image of Beauregard Maverick Senior. Bart, meanwhile, looked nothing like either of them, but rather heavily favored their deceased Aunt Jessie. Except for the height - both brothers were tall like Pappy.
"Come on, I'll even tuck you in," Bret added with a sly grin.
"Oh joy. Will you sing me a lullaby, too?"
"If I have to," came the reply.
"You have to."
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