THREE
Hoss Cartwright finished filling his canteen and stood up. For a moment he remained where he was, listening to the river and living world around him, enjoying its beauty. The Ponderosa pines surrounding him stretched clean up to the sky and when you stood in the middle of a bunch of them like he was now, it was just like being in one of those there cathedrals in England or Ireland, or at least so he'd been told. He'd never seen a cathedral, of course, and probably never would, but he'd seen church steeples and he knew what people meant when they said it. The farther up the trees went the more their trunks seemed to lean in toward one another, forming a sort of tower. He'd loved to sit beneath them when he was a little boy, staring up the inside of that green spire for hours. The direct line to the sky took him away from all the little things men thought were important and from the awful things they was capable of. As he capped the canteen the big man turned back toward his pa. They hadn't gone twenty miles before they'd been set on by a pair of outlaws and while they'd managed to get away, it wasn't 'clean' away. Their horses was gone and his pa had a bandage on his head from a stray bullet that has passed by and taken a slice of skin with it. It had done no other damage than to leave Pa with the kind of headache Little Joe had after staying in town too long.
Lifting the other canteen that he had already filled from the ground, Hoss crossed over to the older man. He held it out and when his father took it, asked, "How you feelin', Pa?"
"Like a fool," the older man groused.
"Now, Pa, weren't no way you coulda knowed those men was hiding in the trees."
"I let my guard down, son, and that's a thing a man is lucky if he gets to do twice."
"How's your head?"
"Pounding." A second later his pa looked up at him. "Don't worry, son. I'll be fine once we get back to the Ponderosa."
The big man sighed. "I sure wish those men hadn't taken the horses."
"We'll get them back. Once we get home, I'll send one of the hands into town to find Roy. He'll track them down."
Hoss took a seat beside his pa and reached out for the pot of coffee that was steeping over a small fire. As he poured himself a cup, he said, "Joe and Adam sure will be surprised to see us back so soon."
"I imagine they will be." The older man shook his head when he offered to pour him a cup. "I'll take some later. I don't need it now."
"I don't need it either, Pa," Hoss said, drawing the scent into his nostrils. "I justplumb want it."
His father laughed and then fell silent.
Five minutes later he was silent still.
"What you thinkin' about, Pa?"
"What? Oh..." The silver-haired man drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "Your brother."
Hoss nodded thoughtfully. "That Adam, he sure is trouble..."
The older man looked at him, puzzled, and then snorted when he got the joke. "It's not Adam that is changing this from silver to white," he said, indicating his hair.
"Well, you cain't mean Joe," he countered. "Little brother's an angel."
"Your little brother may look like an angel, but there's more of the Old Nick in him than what you'll find combined in both you and Adam."
"Oh, shucks, Pa. Joe's just young."
"And impulsive and hot-headed and disobedient and, at times, indolent and shiftless." He shook his head. "I don't know where he gets it."
Hoss hesitated, but then spoke his piece. "I seem to remember you talking about a certain young seaman who had a 'reckless misspent' youth."
The older man's eyes met his. For a moment the look out of them was hard, but then it softened. "I suppose you're right." His pa sighed. "But it's every parent's desire that their children learn by their mistakes rather than by repeating them."
"Joe ain't that bad. Leastwise, not as I know him. Oh, he may try to wiggle out of something to go meet some gal or stay too late at a poker game now and then, but he ain't afraid of work and when he works, he works hard. You know that."
"That's another thing – the girls and the gambling and the brawls!"
"Joe just loves life, Pa. Ain't nothin' wrong with that far as I know."
His father capped the canteen he held and handed it to him. "No. No, there's nothing wrong with that." He paused. "I have to admit, there is nothing quite like hearing your brother laugh."
"Or makin' him laugh," Hoss agreed. "That's the thing with Joe. He may get madder than a wet hen and be ornery and stubborn as a mule, but he's also the quickest to say he's sorry."
"He's pretty good at forgiving too."
"I guess, Pa, it's like one of them there seesaws the kids play on. Joe's hard to handle when he's high or low, but the times when he's in the middle..."
His father gestured. "I changed my mind, son. I'll take that coffee now." As Hoss poured it, the older man continued. "I see your mothers in you all. Elizabeth in Adam's intelligence and steady soul. Kindness and gentleness in you, just like Inger. Marie, well, there is so much of Marie in Joe." He took a sip and then shook his head. "Talk about a spitfire."
"Why'd you fall in love with her, Pa? Do you know? I mean, I loved Marie, but she weren't like my ma or Adam's, was she?"
"No. Not really. Marie was, well, like Joe, impulsive and quick to anger. And like your brother, she wore her emotions on her sleeve. You could see the storm brewing long before it arrived. Marie felt things deeply, too deeply perhaps and was easily wounded."
"That sounds like Joe too."
His father nodded and then added with a smile. "Yes, Joe is definitely his mother's son. I guess I need to remember that when he makes me as angry as she did."
"It's a good thing little brother's so gosh-darned cute. It's kind of like a puppy. Don't matter what it does, you couldn't live without it."
"Don't let Joe hear you call him 'cute'."
Hoss grinned. "Sure I will, Pa. I'm always up for a good scrap."
The older man leaned forward and emptied his cup on the fire. Then he looked up. "The day's dawning. We better get walking. Even at a good clip we won't make the Ponderosa before sundown tomorrow."
"Lessen God wants to prove He loves us so powerful much that He sends us a wagon," the big man suggested.
His father rose. He placed a hand on his shoulder in passing. "Always the optimist, eh, son?"
"Not always, Pa, but I sure am when it comes to lookin' for some divine help or walkin' twenty mile or more."
"If we stick to the road, we might just not need God's help this time, son. Someone is bound to come along. I'd like to get home as quickly as possible. I need to send a telegram to Henry Steel for one thing. He'll be expecting us and wonder where we are. I'd still like to get those horses, but there's no way we can make it to Winnemucca walking. It's just too far."
"I wonder what Adam and Joe is doing right now."
The older man looked south and scowled. "Running the ranch, I hope."
Hoss snorted. "Yes, I guess that's kind of important. Ain't it?"
"Kind of."
Hoss stood and slung both canteens over his shoulder. He took a step toward the road and then held out a hand.
"After you, Pa. Age before beauty."
They began the long walk home to the sound of his father's laughter.
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Phoebe Bird Howath halted just without her room. She hesitated to knock, but it was kind of important. She had moved to one of the empty rooms on the floor when Adam Cartwright relieved her, but had forgotten to take any of her things with her. Today was the day she went to help her mother with chores and she couldn't do it in a scanty dress made of a body-hugging shiny blue fabric. Her mother knew what she did and didn't approve. It hung unspoken between them whenever they were together, like the proverbial elephant in the room. Her mother thought what she did was wicked and maybe it was, but it brought a smile to the face of tired and lonely men and she wasn't so sure that was such a bad thing. She'd met many who were gentlemen and wanted nothing more from her than her company. Little Joe Cartwright was like that. He was sweet and polite and had never taken advantage of her.
Even though she wished that he would.
Phoebe placed her hand on the doorknob and then stopped. She had caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror at the end of the hall. She was still wearing her blue dress from the night before and it was looking a little limp. So did she. Crossing to the mirror, she examined herself. What she saw was a woman who was pretty enough but not a beauty, with light red hair and pale pink skin. She had a slender figure, but the price paid for that was a long torso and longer legs and practically no bust. Taking both hands she lifted her breasts, careful to work the padding she had placed in her corset so they looked full and natural.
Without the padding she looked like a boy.
Phoebe turned back and looked at the door to her room. The sun was up and all too soon Adam Cartwright would take his brother home to recover. She didn't want to see Little Joe go. Last night as she lay in bed, trying to sleep, an idea had formed in her mind. It was crazy, but she was going to ask Joe's brother anyhow. She was going to offer to go with them to the Ponderosa so she could take care of Little Joe. She had no idea if Little Joe's older brother would accept, or even listen to her. After all, there was no reason he should. From what she understood Ben Cartwright and Little Joe's other brother were away. Adam would have work to do running the ranch and would need someone to stay in the house in case Little Joe had a need, and she wanted to be the one. Phoebe smiled ruefully. More than once Little Joe Cartwright had taken on someone who had insulted her and ended up with a black eye for his troubles. That alone would have made her love him, but it wasn't only that. He was all man. She'd taken a turn or two on the floor with him and there had been strength in the hands that encircled her waist. On top of that, he was handsome. She'd never seen a man so handsome and with such a winning smile. She loved his laugh and everything else about him.
Unfortunately, Little Joe didn't love her.
But maybe he could. Maybe nursing him back to health would make him fall...
Phoebe shook herself. No. That was wrong. That was taking advantage of an injured man. Maybe she shouldn't even ask Adam if she could go. She'd probably just mess up like she did the last time and end up just as desperate.
Phoebe let her confusion out in a sigh as she opened the door. Adam Cartwright was sitting on the bed with his head against the headboard. He was holding Little Joe in his arms. Both of them were asleep. Crossing over to the bed, she stared at the oldest of Ben Cartwright's sons. She didn't know Adam well. She'd passed him in the street now and then, but most of the time she saw him in the Bucket when he showed up to drag his brother home. Adam was handsome as well, but then that wasn't a surprise. Their father was handsome too and, though she had never seen a likeness of their mothers, she couldn't imagine the almost regal Ben Cartwright marrying anything other than a beauty. Adam's hair was dark and straight, where Joe's was a mass of brown curls. The eldest Cartwright son was taller and had a stockier build. Adam was like an oak, sturdy and unbending. Little Joe was more like a sapling, slender and flexible. Hoss, the middle son of Ben Cartwright, was a question mark as far as looks, but not as far as what he was made of. Hoss Cartwright was big as a mountain and, while he was not handsome, was the sweetest man she had ever met.
Well, other than Little Joe.
She hated to wake Adam, but she needed her things. Beside, the doctor would be returning soon and he would have to move then. A few minutes more sleep wouldn't make much of a difference.
"Adam," she said quietly. "Adam, wake up."
One hazel eye opened languidly and then shut again. A second later Adam let out a sigh. "I was hoping this was all a bad dream," he said as he looked down at his brother. "No such luck, I see."
"Our cook's in and there's food downstairs. Why don't you go get some? You have to be hungry."
Adam nodded. "That I am, though I couldn't say I really have much of an appetite." The man in black shifted and slipped out from under his brother who moaned quietly as he laid him back on the nest of pillows. "Joe had a rough time sleeping."
From the look of him, so had Adam. "Did he say anything?"
The black-haired man shook his head. "No. At least nothing that made sense." Adam ran a hand over his face. Then he turned and looked at her wash stand. "May I?"
"The water's old."
Adam smiled as he headed that way. "Old or cold, it's still water."
That made her laugh. "Please, go ahead." As Little Joe's brother tossed water on his face, Phoebe took a seat in the chair beside the bed. She hesitated only a moment and then reached out and took hold of Little Joe's hand. As she did she noted the rope burns on his wrists. Touching one of the red marks, she asked quietly, "Who would do such a thing?"
Adam glanced at her. "A lot of men, unfortunately."
She turned toward him. He was drying his face now. "For a suit of clothes and maybe a few dollars?"
He shrugged. "It's hard to say. Maybe it was someone who was desperate. Prisoners have been known to kill men for their clothes so they can wear them and pretend to be someone else. A few dollars would be more than enough for the likes of that kind of man."
"Is that what you think happened?"
Phoebe watched him consider it. "No," he said at last. "This seems...more personal somehow." Adam paused. "Phoebe, I hate to ask it, but can you stay with Joe while I go find someone to carry a message to Pa and another one to the Ponderosa? Pa needs to know what's happened and I need to at least make an attempt to keep the ranch going."
"I'm happy to. I'll be free all day. Today is the day when I usually go to help my mother. She's expecting me, but knows sometimes I don't show due to changes in my schedule." Phoebe hesitated. "Adam..."
Adam had moved to the door. He turned back with his hand on the knob. "Yes?"
"If you need someone to look after Joe once you get him home, I'd... I'd be glad to go to the Ponderosa with you. If it would help."
"That's very kind of you, Phoebe," Joe's brother replied. "But I don't know that it's necessary. Hop Sing is there – "
"Another man?" The redhead released her grip on Little Joe's arm. She stood and walked to Adam's side. "Really, I want to. Little Joe's been so kind to me. I wouldn't be any bother. I'll just sit with him and keep out of your way."
The man in black seemed to consider it. "After I send the message, I should ride out and meet with our foreman and take a look at what's going on. Hop Sing is a wonderful man, but he has his duties to attend to as well." His eyes went to his brother. "At this point I would hate to leave Joe alone for very long."
"He wouldn't be. He'd be with me." When he said nothing, she tried again. "Won't you take me with you?"
Adam came over to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "I'll consider it, and let you know before I leave. How's that?"
It was more than she could have hoped for, and probably more than she deserved. "Thank you, Adam."
The black-haired man returned to the open doorway. "I'll be back after I send Pa word. Hopefully Doc Martin will have returned by then. I think he needs to take a closer look at Joe. He has injuries I don't..." Adam frowned. "I need to get him home. Joe's been through enough and he should be in his own bed. I hope the Doc will say it's all right."
"He said his rounds would take about four hours and he was heading out at first light. It shouldn't be long."
"Good. Thank you again, Phoebe."
After Adam disappeared through the door, the redhead rose and followed. She stood in the hall, half-in and half-out of her room, listening as he greeted the barkeep below, wondering what it would be like to belong to a family like the Cartwrights – not for the money, but for the caring. She'd never had one day when she looked forward to her father's return, or one moment when she thought he cared. Elijah Howath had been hard-nosed hard-drinking man who had driven his wife and children away before he killed himself by falling off the side of a bridge and drowning as he headed home one night drunk as a skunk.
What would it be like to be the child of Ben Cartwright?
With a sigh Phoebe stepped back into the room and closed the door and then went to the window and dreamed.
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Adam stepped out of the mercantile still thinking about the note he had sent to his pa by way of Billy Whitman, a neighbor's boy. He hadn't wanted it to be too vague. He didn't want to frighten Pa by leaving out details but then again, he hesitated to make it too specific as well. In the end he had simply said that Joe had been robbed and he was hurt and they needed to hurry home. It wasn't quite the whole truth, but then again he didn't know what the whole truth was.
So deep was he in thought as he made his way down the boardwalk that he almost collided with an older woman who was hurrying past. As it was she dropped half her packages. He offered to help carry them to her wagon as an apology and she accepted. As they rounded the corner he noticed two men deep in conversation out front of the livery.
One was Jude Lowery and the other, Bexley Lanahan.
For a moment he was surprised to find them in town, but then he remembered that it was Saturday and Jude had a poker game planned for that night. They were probably free for the day and had decided to spend it in town. As he loaded the lady's packages on her wagon, Jude noticed him. The tall blond man waved and then he and Bexley began to make their way over.
Jude waited until the woman's wagon pulled away before asking, "How's Joe?"
"About the same," Adam replied. "What are you two doing in town so early?"
"I'm here on ranch business," Bexley replied. "Then I'm staying on for the poker game."
"I'm here on my own business," Jude said with a shrug. "There a law against a man coming into town on a Saturday I don't know about?"
"Sorry." Adam frowned. "After what happened to Joe, I guess everything seems suspicious."
"You're not thinking one of us had anything to do with it?" Bexley asked.
"No. No. Like I said, sorry." Adam felt bad. "I didn't mean to suggest anything like that. Why don't you fellows join me at the saloon later and I'll buy you a beer as an apology."
Jude looked at Bexley. He turned back with a smile. "Sounds good to me."
Later, as he returned the Bucket of Blood, Adam found the doctor was not back yet from making his rounds. The barkeep told him Phoebe was upstairs with Joe, so he went to the back room and located Bexley and Jude and then ordered three beers. After that he joined them at a table in the corner. For the moment, the establishment had only a few patrons. That was soon to change. The saloon would awaken as the sun went down and not sleep again until two or three in the morning.
Adam thanked the girl who delivered the beers as he sat down. After taking a sip of his, he kicked his chair back, closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.
God, he was weary!
Jude took a swig and then asked, "You get any sleep, Adam?"
"Some," he replied without opening his eyes.
"Was Joe awake at all? Was he able to tell you anything more?"
Adam opened his eyes and righted his chair. Rest was apparently not something he was going to find in the other men's company. "He woke up once or twice, but he was out of his head. I hope things will be clearer for him today." The man in black took another sip. "Bexley, did you remember anything else?"
Bexley's brown head shook. "I told you everything I know. I woke up and found Joe in the shape he arrived here in. I couldn't look for tracks last night, but I did on the way in today. There's plenty there. Nothing looked significant." He took a sip. "You know Pointer's Arch is a favorite spot for couples who are spooning."
"Been there myself a few times," Adam admitted. "When I was younger, of course."
"Did you send a message to your Pa?" Jude asked.
"Early this morning. Hopefully the rider will overtake Hoss and him before they get too far. They've only been on the road for a day, so they shouldn't have made it much farther than Reno." Adam paused to take a drink. While he did the saloon doors swung open and Doc Martin entered.
When he saw him, the older man headed his way.
"Adam. Boys," the doctor said, acknowledging their presence with a tip of his hat. Then he asked, his voiced laced with concern. "Who's with Joe?"
"Phoebe," Adam replied with a wan smile. "I'm not sure when it comes time to take Joe home that she's going to let him go."
The doctor nodded. "She's a fine girl and a good nurse. I think you should consider taking her up on her offer to go home with you. The Ponderosa could use a feminine touch and it would definitely be good for Joe."
Why did it surprise him that the Doc knew about Phoebe's offer? The older man seemed to know just about everything.
"I'm thinking about it," he replied. "You look tired, Doc. Would you like a drink or something to eat before you see Joe?"
"No thank you, Adam. I'm going to head up." The older man's gaze flicked to Bexley and Jude and then back to him. "Will you still be here when I get done with the examination?"
"I'm be in town as long as Joe is," he replied.
"Very good. I'll see you shortly then."
Adam watched the older man ascend the stairs and disappear around a corner. Then he stood up.
"You going somewhere, Adam?" Jude asked.
"I thought, while I am in town, that I may as well do some business. The Doc will be with Joe for a while." He paused, looking at the stair again. "Are you two going to stay here or head out?"
"You want us to wait until the Doc's done and let you know?" Bexley asked intuitively.
Adam nodded. "If it's no trouble."
Jude finished his beer and then signaled one of the girls to bring him another. "No trouble at all," he said with a smile. "We'll just start the game a little early."
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Ben Cartwright sat on a boulder by the side of the road. He looked up, noting the time by the sun, and then went back to removing his boots. It was nearly sundown and his feet were sore. He meant to work the pain out of them before they began walking again. He and Hoss had walked nearly ten miles and they were about worn out. A man could cover roughly twenty on foot in a day if pressed, but that didn't take into account the weather – which was brisk and breezy – or the fifty-plus years he had spent walking on them. Turning over his boots, Ben knocked the debris out of them and then sat them beside him. It felt good just to let his feet rest for a spell.
Since he was half his age, Hoss was still on his feet and had suggested he scout ahead. There really was no need, but he knew his son was having trouble sitting still. Each hour brought them closer to home and he had to admit that he was growing impatient as well. He would have preferred to be in the big blue chair by the fire sipping a brandy instead of out here in the wild using a rock as a seat. He and Hoss had talked about it and, if they could, intended to travel through the night. There was really little reason to stop and the sooner he was home, the sooner he could send one of the men to Winnemucca and get word to the horse trader that they were going to be late.
As he sat there, rubbing his feet, Ben's thoughts turned to the past. Where had they gone, those thirty years from the time he had married and lost Elizabeth and started out to pursue his dream? Though he rarely had a moment when he was astonished to find Adam a grown man, the fact that Joe was nearly one made him feel old – not in a bad way, but in the way a man did when his life was drawing near to its end. If his followed the pattern that was known to man, he might have no more than ten or fifteen years of living to go.
What kind of legacy would he leave behind?
Adam, he imagined, would return to the East one day. His oldest son was here for him and for his brothers, he knew that. And though Adam's heart might be in Nevada, linked to the land he had helped to clear and the home he had designed and created, there was a call he would have to answer one day.
Maybe soon.
Hoss, well Hoss would never leave this land. In the end it might be his alone. There was nothing he knew for certain, but Joseph had a little bit of what Adam had and he worried that his youngest would be drawn away one day, discontent with a rancher's life, and take off for parts unknown.
It was what a parent did, prepare your child for the world and for taking it on. Still, in every parent's heart was the love and need of the little children that had loved and needed them – the ones who sought the safety of hearth and home.
"Pa."
Ben turned at the sound of his middle son's voice. The big man had returned without him hearing. "What is it, Hoss?"
"Someone's comin'."
Ben looked down. "I better get my boots on then."
His son nodded as he drew his gun and turned back toward the south. "It's a rider. He's comin' fast."
There was no reason the rider that approached should have had anything to do with them. Still, as he began to pull his boots back on, a chill snaked down Ben's back. It was almost a presentiment.
Somehow he knew, whoever it was, they were looking for him.
"He's almost here, Pa. What do you want to do?"
"Flag him down, son."
The big man looked at him. "What is it, Pa?"
"I'm not sure." He nodded toward the road. "But we're about to find out."
The rider came into view. It was young boy. As he approached Ben recognized him as Bill Whitman, one of their neighbor's middle boys who was around thirteen. When he arrived the boy slid from the saddle as only boys could do, without waiting for the horse to stop, and ran to his side.
"Mister Cartwright! I'm mighty glad to see you! But what are you doing here? I thought I'd have to ride all the way to Winnemucca."
Hoss came up beside them. "It's good to see you too, Billy. Our feet are sure sore."
"Our horses were stolen the first night out, Bill, along with everything on them," Ben explained. "We've been walking ever since." The older man frowned. "Were you looking for us?"
The boy nodded. "I sure was." He reached into his shirt and pulled out a crumpled note. "This here's from Adam."
Ben took it. "Do you know what this is about?"
"I think so, sir. But I ain't gonna say. You better read it. That way you'll get Adam's version instead of the one off the street."
Hoss came to stand beside him. "That don't sound good, Pa."
Ben's brown eyes flicked to his son and then back to the note. He opened it with foreboding and quickly scanned the few lines it contained. As a pit opened in his stomach, he handed it to Hoss who read it and turned a grim face on him.
"What're we gonna do, Pa? We ain't got no horses. It's gonna take us another day to get home."
"Mr. Cartwright?" Billy broke in.
"Yes, son?" he answered, distracted.
"Is it about Joe?"
Bill Whitman knew his youngest, of course. They were not that far apart in years. "Yes, Bill. It says Joe was injured during a robbery on the road coming home. Do you know anything more about it?"
"Only that I seen Doc Martin comin' and goin' day and night out of the Bucket. Me and Pa were stayin' in town, waitin on a shipment of supplies and – "
"The Bucket? What's Joe doing at the saloon?" he demanded.
The boy shrugged. "I don't rightly know, sir. I think it was closer than takin' him to the Ponderosa."
"I see." That meant Joe had been hurt badly. As he pondered what action to take, Ben's eyes lighted on the boy's horse. "Bill..."
"You can have her, sir."
The older man blinked. "What?"
"Mollie. My horse. You can have her, Mister Cartwright. I'll walk back with Hoss." The boy turned and looked at his middle son. "If'n that's all right with you, Hoss."
"It'll be just fine, Billy," the big man said, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Son, I hate to leave you."
"You go take care of Joe, Pa. Don't you worry about me none." He looked at the boy. "We'll have a mighty fine time walkin' back to town, won't we, Billy?"
Ben extended his hand. When Billy took it, he shook the boy's again. "Thank you, son."
Seconds later the silver-haired man was mounted on Mollie and flying down the road toward his youngest son.
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FOUR
Toward suppertime, as the poker game started in earnest, Doc Martin came down the stairs. The older man hesitated for a moment at the bottom and then, when he spotted him, motioned for him to follow. Adam rose from his seat and did so, more than content to leave the smoke and noise of a busy evening at the saloon behind. The air was brisk and he drew his collar up close as he stepped onto the boardwalk and the wind struck his face. From the feel of it, winter might come early this year.
Doc Martin was standing in the street, waiting for him.
"Doc?" he asked as he stepped off the deck to join him.
"I thought we'd talk in my office, Adam. Joe needs his rest, and it would be impossible in the saloon."
"And here I thought you had something to say that you didn't want anyone else to hear," Adam replied with a tight smile.
The older man's reaction was not what he expected. The doctor's jaw clenched and he pursed his lips. "You were always the perceptive one. Now, come on. I'm an old man and this cold is doing me no good."
They walked in silence through the dark to the doctor's office, passing several strangers including a bothersome drunk and a tall man in a fine San Francisco suit who grudgingly got out of their way at the last second. Once inside the office, the older man lit the lamp on his desk and then sat wearily in the chair behind it. He ran a hand over his eyes and looked up at him. "Adam, if you will, go the cabinet beside the door and bring the smallest bottle you find there to me."
"All right," he said. When he got there Adam found the key in the keyhole. He turned it and opened the door. The cupboard held several bottles of brandy, which he knew were used to treat patients, as well as a bottle of cheaper whiskey like you'd find in the saloon. The little one was bourbon and it dated to the first part of the century.
"Get two glasses."
Adam glanced back at him. "No, thanks, Doc. I haven't had anything to eat."
"Adam, get two glasses."
Something turned in his stomach at the doctor's words. He waited for the moment to pass and then removed the bottle from the cupboard and picked up a pair of glasses from the table next to it. Returning to the desk, Adam placed the bottle and glasses on top of the smooth surface and sat in the chair opposite – the one usually reserved for family members who were waiting to hear if the news about their loved one was good or bad.
Like he was now.
The older man reached for the bottle. He removed the stopper and filled both glasses half-full. He shoved one toward him and then sat back and sighed.
"Is something wrong with Joe?" Adam blurted out, unable to bear the suspense any longer. When Doc Martin hesitated, he said, "Tell me straight, Doc."
"Paul, Adam. You're old enough to call me by my Christian name." The older man took a sip of his whiskey. "Drink that and then I will." With a sad smile he added, "All of it. Doctor's orders."
Adam's eyebrows shot up but he obeyed, downing about half of the drink in one swallow. As the warmth coursed through him, he felt that shift – the one that came when the liquor hit an empty stomach and was about to kick hard. If he finished the whole thing that quickly, he'd be numb.
Then again, maybe that was the point.
"Well?" he asked.
Doc Martin was staring at his glass, not looking at him. "Adam, I've been doctoring for nearly four decades and I have dealt with just about everything and anything that can be done to a man by another man. I try not to despair, but at times it's difficult." He drew a long breath and let it out slowly. When he spoke again, his voice trembled. "At times it is hard to believe that we are all God's creatures."
"Doc... Paul, what are you trying to tell me?" He swallowed over his fear. "Is Joe going to die?"
"No. No. I'm sorry if I gave you that impression." Paul knit his fingers around the glass and leaned forward. "Adam, I'm not prevaricating. What I am about to tell you is based on longtime experience, not fact. It's something you will never know for sure until Joe tells you himself – and he may never tell you what happened. He may not remember what happened." He lifted the glass and downed the remainder of the golden-brown liquid in it. "I'm sorry you're the one who has to bear this burden."
He was a grown man. Over thirty. He'd faced down mountain lions and wolves, battled Indians, and stood off an army of outlaws, and he was scared.
"What do you mean 'burden'?"
The older man looked at him. "There are things, Adam, that once a man has seen – or heard – he can never forget. Even if what he saw or heard ultimately turns out to be untrue, there's still a stain left on his soul."
"Paul, I'm going to be honest here. You're scaring me."
"I'm sorry, son. It's just that I think, in time, your brother will need someone to talk to and, Adam, I'm afraid – due to the circumstances – that's you."
Afraid? "Okay. So tell me."
"First of all, let me remind you that this is based on my diagnosis of Joe's injuries and nothing else. I could be wrong." The older man sat back in his chair. "What did you think when you examined your brother more closely?"
The image of Joe's bruises flashed through his conscious mind – the imprints of fingers on his brother's neck, the marks on his thighs, and the fact that there were more on his backside. "I found it odd that Joe was attacked from the back instead of the front. Usually a man who beats someone wants them to see him and he wants to watch them squirm."
"Yes. That struck me as odd too. The bruising on the inner thigh bothered me. It's part of what made me look further." The older man hesitated. "I won't go into the details, Adam, but what I found leads me to conclude that your brother has been assaulted."
For a moment he was confused. "Of course, Joe 's been assaulted," he countered, hearing the frustration in his tone. "That's what brought us here."
The doctor shook his head. "Adam, you're not listening. I didn't say Joe was beaten, though he definitely was. I said he was assaulted."
Time stopped.
"No."
The older man's eyes remained locked on his. "I'm sorry, Adam. All the signs point to Joe being taken advantage of by whoever attacked him. The only consolation is that he was unconscious for most of it."
Adam remained completely still for several heartbeats and then exploded out of the chair. Unable to contain the raw emotion that rushed into and over and through him, he began to pace the room like a caged lion. "God! No!" He turned on the older man. The word came out of his mouth again, soft as a prayer. "God..."
"I can't be certain, and that's the hard part. Only Joe knows what happened and his memory of what occurred may be buried so deeply it will never surface." The older man paused. "The problem is, even though he doesn't consciously remember it, the assault still happened and it may...change him."
"Change him how?" he asked as he fought for control.
"Joe's physical injuries will heal quickly. He's young and strong. But there will be other wounds, ones that are not seen. It may take some time, but they will surface. Your brother may become quiet and grow sullen, or wild and reckless. There will be nightmares. Joe may feel like he's going through it all again. He may withdraw from you and from the rest of the family. He could become frightened and refuse to venture out. Or all of the above."
Adam stopped in his pacing. "You sound like you've dealt with this before."
"I am sorry to say that I have. This kind of assault, particularly on a young man that is attractive in a certain way that many would view as vulnerable, is more common than most think, especially here in the West where men highly outnumber women." The older man waited until he met his eyes. "There's another thing you need to understand, Adam. What happened to Joe has little to do with desire or attraction, though that can be a part of it. Like any other type of bullying, this sort of thing has to do with a need to own and to have power over someone else." The older man paused. "Now do you understand why I said it was a 'burden'?"
Adam dropped back into the chair. "Yeah. I understand."
"Do you want to tell you father, or would you rather I do it?"
Paul's words hung in the air.
Pa. Dear God. Of course, Pa would have to know.
"I'll tell him," he said, his voice breaking with the weight of it.
"I'm sure that's for the best." The older man rose and came to stand by him. He placed a hand on his shoulder. "Adam, is there anything I can do for you?"
As he sat there contemplating what the action of one unconscionable, unscrupulous and unprincipled man had done to his brother and what it was likely to do to his family, Adam's jaw grew tight. "No. I'm fine."
Paul's voice was quiet. "I seriously doubt that you are."
He looked up at him. "I'll kill him. I swear when I find out who did this, I will kill him with my bare hands!"
"If you find out – "
"Oh, I will. Have no doubt about that. With God as my witness, no one is going to do something like this to a member of my family and go unpunished."
"And when the man is punished, if by 'punished' you mean 'dead', who will that help – Joe? Or are you thinking of yourself?" the older man asked softly.
"There has to be justice."
"Yes, tempered with mercy. Let's concentrate on the mercy first, son. Take your brother home. Help him heal. Let Roy Coffee look for the man who did this."
"Roy can't know," he snapped. "No one can know."
"I agree, but only because man is a flawed creature incapable of forgetting, even when he is capable of forgiving. If this got out, it could destroy your brother. We'll just give Roy the facts. Joe was robbed and beaten. That's more than enough for the law to hunt down the man who did it." The doctor ran a hand across his eyes again and then pinched the bone between them. "This old man has about had it. I'm for my bed. How about you?"
Adam shook his head. "I can't sleep."
"Then go to Joe. Be there when he awakens, and remember, at the moment the burden is yours alone. Joe may have no memory of the assault."
"Oh God... I hope not."
"I have watched you and your brothers – Ben Cartwright's sons. If love can pull a man through this, Joe will be fine. Between you and your father and Hoss, I am sure he will heal even if he remembers. It will just take time." The older man looked at him hard, as if sensing his need to be alone. "Adam, would you like to stay here for a while before returning to the saloon?"
"If it's not too much trouble," he said quietly, his voice robbed of all strength by the weight of the last day's events.
"Stay as long as you want. I'll be at my house if you need me. I'll check in on Joe again in a few hours. I imagine you'll be able to take him home tomorrow." The older man reflected a moment. "It would be best if he was home during his convalescence, surrounded by the things that give him security."
Adam nodded, well beyond words.
"I'll see you later today then. If you feel you are able, once you see Joe, try to get some sleep. You will do your brother little good if you are so tired you make mistakes. And Adam..."
"Yes."
"Again, I urge you. Let the law take care of this. Your brother needs you now, at his side, not running off half-cocked looking for a shadow in the night."
A second later the door to the doctor's office closed and he was alone.
Adam remained where he was in the chair by the desk. As he contemplated what might have been done to his brother, his fingers began to drum on the chair's wooden arms. His breathing became rapid, his heart raced, and his skin prickled as if someone had staked him to the ground beside an ant hill and ordered all of the ants to run over him.
Assaulted? Joe?
Was such a thing possible?
And what – and how – was he going to tell his father?
Adam closed his eyes, fighting the effects of the alcohol on a stomach that had had no food. He breathed deep, fighting for balance, seeking some kind of center. Slow down, he thought. Slow down. Nothing was certain yet. Nothing would be until he talked to Joe. The doctor had been careful to make it clear that his 'diagnosis' was a speculative one. Maybe it didn't happen. Maybe Joe had simply been beaten and robbed.
No. That didn't wash. Why would a robber take his clothes?
Ill at ease, Adam rose from the chair and walked to the window to look out on the town. How different it looked in the light of everything he had just heard. Wandering around out there was someone who could do this to a man. Maybe it was even someone they knew...
No. If it happened. Remember that. If.
Remembering that might be the only thing that kept him sane.
Feeling confined, Adam began to pace as he had before, thinking furiously. He needed to get Joe back to the Ponderosa. Maybe there, with familiar things around him, his brother would feel like talking. From the little he'd said it seemed Joe remembered being attacked, but it was unclear if he remembered anything about what happened after he was struck and knocked to the ground.
And straddled.
Adam closed his eyes. Sickened.
No. If. Remember, if.
If...
His eyes flew open. What if it did happen and Joe never remembered? Would that be a good thing? The Doc seemed to think otherwise. How? How could what a man forgot hurt him? Adam drew several harsh breaths. And how could he tell his father when he wasn't sure it had happened at all? Like Paul Martin said, once a man heard those words they would never leave him. They would be a blight to his soul.
Could he do that to his father when he wasn't sure?
What if he was the only one who ever knew? Could he take that?
Was he strong enough?
Adam pressed his hands to the sides of his head. It felt like it was going to explode. He turned back to the desk and stared at the bottle and the empty glass. Doc Martin had left them there – for him, he was sure. He could down the whole bottle and go blessedly numb and forget. Dear God, how he wanted to forget!
But he couldn't.
There was still justice to be done. No matter whether or not any kind of assault had happened besides the beating Joe had taken, his baby brother had still been robbed and nearly killed and justice had to be done.
He needed to see Roy.
Coming to a decision, Adam walked to the mirror that hung on the office wall and looked at his image. He was unkempt. His hair was in disarray and he had a full day's growth of stubble on his chin. The bags under his eyes had bags of their own. Looking around, he found some water and splashed it on his face, and then located a comb and ran it through his hair. After that, he looked again. Satisfied that he wouldn't frighten any children in the street, the black-haired man passed through the room to the door. Opening it, he stepped out and waited as several horses passed by. Then he headed for the jail.
He was halfway there when he heard someone call his name.
"Adam!"
Adam looked. Unfortunately, he didn't know whether to run toward the man who shouted or away from him.
It was Pa.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
His son looked like he had been to Hell and back.
Ben Cartwright dismounted, tethered his horse, and crossed over to Adam as quickly as he could. "Son. How's your brother? How's Joe?"
"He's okay, Pa," his eldest replied wearily.
Relief flooded through him. "Joe's okay? From your message I thought..."
Adam frowned. "Sorry, Pa," he said as he ran a hand across his stubbled chin. "Joe's not okay. I just meant that the Doc said there's no danger of him dying and he'll heal." His eldest paused. "Joe's been badly beaten. Worse than what happened with Reagan."
That gave him pause. Ben could still remember that moment when Hoss carried his badly beaten brother into the hotel where he had been staying, keeping watch over Adah Menken. At first, he had feared the boy was dead.
"By whom?" he demanded.
"I don't know, Pa."
The words were out before he thought better of them. "Don't you think you should know?"
They struck Adam like a hand. Seldom had he seen his oldest boy come close to tears. He was now.
"I'm sorry, Pa," Adam replied, his voice breaking. "I've talked to the man who was with Joe. He was knocked out at the same time and doesn't remember a thing. I was just heading over to the jail to see if Roy could gather up some men and we could – "
"Who's with your brother?"
"One of the girls from the saloon." At his look, his son added, "It's Phoebe Howath. She's stayed with him since this happened. Joe's been kind to her and she feels she owes him." Adam met his skeptical stare. "I trust her, Pa."
"A saloon girl."
"What was I supposed to do?" his eldest demanded, his voice growing sharp. "Put Joe on a horse and ride him out to the ranch unconscious, with his backside's covered in bruises? The saloon was there and it was safe!"
"Wait." Ben frowned. "Wait. What? His backside?"
Adam fell silent. He nodded.
"Has Doc Martin seen him?"
"Several times."
"What does Paul think?"
His son drew a long breath. "The Doc says Joe was struck from behind. He was trussed up and then beaten when he was laying on the ground." Adam hesitated.
"And?"
Something flashed momentarily in Adam's eyes before he answered. "Whoever it was tried to strangle him, Pa. Joe has the marks of fingers on his throat."
The horror of it struck him – his baby boy brutalized by some man who cared no more for human life than for a chicken's whose neck he would wring to feed his belly. Ben closed his eyes briefly in a attempt to process what he had just heard, and then opened them and fixed them again on Adam. "Your note said the motive was robbery?"
Again, there was a slight hesitation. "The contents of his saddlebags were taken and..."
"Yes?"
"Whoever it was, they took Joe's clothes."
"His clothes?" Ben paused, seeking to stem the tide of anger that rose in him at the indignity of it all. "Adam, what aren't you telling me?"
His son looked him square in the eye. "I swear, Pa, that's all I know for certain."
He sensed there was more. Adam was hiding something or at least keeping it close. Dropping it for the moment, Ben moved on to another question that was nagging him. "You said Joe had someone with him at the time of the attack. Who?"
Adam had that look. The one he wore as a boy when he knew the switch was coming. "Bexley Lanahan."
"Lanahan? Good God! Doesn't that boy ever listen?"
"I know you don't like Jude or Bexley, but they've both been a great help since this happened, especially Bexley. He's hurting too, Pa, and yet he's stayed with Joe when Phoebe's had to leave so Joe wouldn't be alone."
"Are you saying I've misjudged him?"
Adam shrugged. "I'm saying, give him a chance."
Ben chewed on it a moment and then he nodded. "All right. Now, take me to your brother."
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
The older man watched as his eldest son opened the door of one of the rooms on the saloon's second floor and stepped in. A second later a pretty young woman with golden-red hair exited. She nodded to him in passing but before he could say anything, headed quickly down the stairs.
It looked like she had been crying.
"Pa," Adam said.
As he entered the room Ben drew a deep breath, steeling himself for what he would see. He couldn't imagine Joe injuries this time could actually be worse than the damage John C. Reagan's fists had inflicted.
He was wrong.
"Good God," he breathed as he looked down at Joe. "Dear Lord..."
How had this happened?
Joe's covers were thrown back so his upper body was exposed. He was curled to one side. On his upper arm, on the back of his shoulder, and on his neck there was redness and swelling. The worst of it was on his neck. The impressions left by fingers pressing into his flesh were deep and already passing from red to purple.
It looked as if someone had tried to snap his neck.
Ben threw his hat on the chair and sat on the bed beside his son. Reaching out, he gently touched Joe's sweat-soaked hair. "Joseph? Joseph, it's Pa."
"The Doc gave him a strong dose of laudanum," Adam said from the end of the bed. "He's been sleeping pretty heavily ever since."
Ben glanced at his son and nodded, and then tried again. Touching Joe's face, he said, "Joseph. It's your father."
At first there was no response, then his son seemed to swim up from somewhere. Joe's eyes rolled behind the lids and his cracked lips parted. A second later his son's eyelids fluttered and opened, revealing the green eyes beneath. In spite of the influence of the drug, they were filled with pain.
"Who...?" Joe murmured.
Ben caught hold of his hand and squeezed it. "It's me, son. Your pa. Your pa is here."
"Pa..."
Listening to Joe's voice, so weak and pitiful and robbed of its normal vigor, was painful. He found himself trembling with his son.
"That's right. It's your pa."
When Joe spoke his words were slurred. "I...tried, Pa. I...tried to stop him..."
Ben glanced at Adam as his eldest shifted to Joe's other side. "Who, Joe? Who did this to you?"
Joe grew agitated. He curled up more tightly and moaned. "No...".
Adam pressed it anyhow. "Joe? You've got to tell us who – "
"Adam, leave your brother be!" Ben commanded, stopping him short. "What's wrong with you? Can't you see your questions are upsetting him?"
"Pa, we need to know – "
"Not now!"
Adam's jaw clenched. He nodded once and then left the room.
Ben considered going after him, but even as he did, Joe called him.
"Pa..."
He took Joe's other hand. "Yes, son?"
His youngest fought to focus on him. This time when Joe spoke his words were clearer, but they cost him dearly. "You...gotta know... I tried...to...fight. I couldn't win..." Tears began to flow down his son's cheeks. "I...couldn't, Pa..."
"I know you did, son," he said, reaching out with his fingers and brushing back Joe's thick brown hair. "Now's not the time to talk about it. We can do that when you're stronger."
Joe murmured something else. He nodded as if content and then he was gone, lost in a drugged sleep.
Ben sat there, holding his son's hand for several minutes, contemplating everything that had happened so far. As he did, the young woman who had left earlier appeared in the open doorway. She stood there with her hand on the jamb as if waiting for permission to enter.
He pivoted to look at her. "Miss Howath, isn't it?"
She smiled. "Call me Phoebe. Everyone does."
"Phoebe," Ben repeated as he turned back to Joe and touched his face. "Thank you for looking after my son. Adam told me what a good job you've done."
She hesitated. "That's what I'm here about, Mister Cartwright. Your other son. He needs you."
"Other son?" he asked, puzzled. "You mean Adam?"
She nodded.
It was only then he remembered Adam rushing out of the room – because of his words. "Where is he?"
"In the alley behind the saloon." Again, she paused. "I think you should go to him."
"Is he hurt?"
Phoebe stepped into the room. "Not hurt, no, but hurting."
Ben frowned. He looked at Joe and then back to the young woman. "Will you stay with Joe?"
The redhead smiled. "Gladly."
The older man touched his son's face one more time and then rose and surrendered his seat. As Phoebe took it, he said, "Thank you. Thank you for everything."
Ben left the room and hurried down the stairs. He knew the way out through the back door that emptied into the alley and took it without asking the proprietor if it was all right. As he passed through the saloon the sounds of normal life offended him. Nothing was normal nor would it be until Joe was healed and whoever had done this hateful thing to his son and to their family was caught and punished.
Stepping out of the door Ben halted. He looked both ways and saw no one. Walking to the end of the alley that backed the saloon he headed for the street, passing by the livery. A sense of movement in the stable's interior caught his attention. The silver-haired man stopped where he was. He waited a moment and then went in. It wasn't the movement that drew him there. It was the sound he heard.
Someone was sobbing.
Quietly, Ben moved through the building's interior, passing the stalls both full and empty until he arrived at the back. He stopped then and listened again. He could hear someone breathing hard, fighting to control their emotions. Following the sound the older man turned and entered the last of the stalls.
His eldest was standing in the back, his arms splayed against the wall. When he heard him, Adam straightened up and ran a hand across his face, striking away the tears. "Go away, Pa," he growled.
"Adam, I regret my words to you. I was angry. Joe..."
His son shook his head. "It's not you, Pa. It's me. I... I let Joe down." Adam turned his hazel eyes on him. In them was a world of pain. "I let Joe down. I should have been there. Should have protected him. I'm the oldest!"
He took a step toward his son. "Being the oldest doesn't make you responsible for your brother's choices. Joe's a man now. He – "
"Joe's a kid!" Adam snapped. "I should never have given in to him and let him stay in town. He didn't want to look like a baby in his friends' eyes. I humored him and now, look what happened." He struck his chest with his fist. "Look what I did!"
Adam's grief was palpable.
"Son," the silver-haired man said as he took a step forward. "You're exhausted. You need to rest. Things will look different after you do."
"No, Pa." Adam spoke between teeth clenched in agony. "I need to find whoever did this to Joe and break them in two."
"How will that help your brother now?" he asked quietly.
Adam began to pace. "That's what Doc Martin said too. I don't know. I don't know, Pa. But I have to do something!"
"Go sit with your brother."
His son stopped. Adam's chin fell to his chest. When he spoke, his voice was so quiet, it was near impossible to hear.
"I can't, Pa. I...can't."
He was almost close enough to touch him. Just a step or two more. "Adam, what's happened to Joe is upsetting, but this – what is this? What's eating at you, boy?"
Adam's troubled gaze fastened on him. There were more tears, unspent in his eyes. "It happened on my watch. I'm responsible." His voice broke. The next time his son spoke it came out in a whisper. "Dear God, Pa, I'm responsible."
There was something here beside Joe being beaten and beyond the fact that his brother might have died. Ben had no idea what it was, but knew it would be important he find out.
"Adam, when you feel guilty, it's not your sin you hate but yourself, and when you hate yourself, you can't love anyone else. Your brother needs you. I need you."
"No, you don't. You don't..." His son's head shook. "No." Adam drew a shuddering breath. "You don't understand, Pa. Joe may never be the same."
"Did the doctor tell you that, or is that what you think?"
"Oh, the Doc told me," he scoffed. "He made it quite clear."
This was something new, though in the state Adam was in it might have more to do with his interpretation of what the doctor said than anything else.
The older man held his son's gaze. "Adam, tell me what this is about."
Adam sniffed. His throat was so tight when he spoke that the words barely came out. "I...can't. At least, not...now. You've got to trust me, Pa." A tear spilled down his cheek. "Do you trust me, Pa?"
It was a plea.
Ben drew a breath. He let it out in a word, "Always."
His son began to shake. The older man did not hesitate but went to him and took him in his arms. "Let it out, son. Let it all out."
Like a storm Adam broke.
Ben held him until it passed.
