Thanks go out to my betas Ros, Lacy, Vicki, and Em. Y'all are great. I hope you all enjoy this part. Char

The Gunman's Woman: Part 2

The tinkling sound of fast moving spurs clattering across the stone floor drew all eyes toward the door. "You're late," Scott said with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Yeah, well, I had more cows ta count than you did," Johnny said pulling his chair from the table and taking a seat. "Teresa, what's for lunch?"

"Beef stew," she replied filling his plate.

The hearty aroma filtered up to him. Johnny closed his eyes and savored the smell of the meat, garlic, and vegetables. "Smells good, chica," he grinned.

"How was the gully?" Murdoch asked his youngest son.

Johnny shrugged as he ladled a spoonful of stew into his mouth. He made a face then downed a large gulp of water. "That's hot!"

"It's supposed to be hot," Teresa replied.

"John. The gully?" Murdoch waited.

"It was okay. Had some of the hands clear it out so we shouldn't have any cattle getting stuck on anything in there."

"Good. Tomorrow, I want you and Scott to -- " Murdoch stopped. His attention went to the knocking on the kitchen door.

Teresa opened the door with a smile. "Hello, Frank."

"Miss Teresa," the ranch hand answered taking off his hat. "Didn't mean to interrupt your lunch. Jelly and I just got back from getting the supplies. The stage driver had a letter for Johnny. Asked if we'd bring it out."

Johnny looked up and quickly swallowed his stew. "A letter? For me?"

"Yes sir," Frank answered walking in and handing the envelope to Johnny.

Scott grinned. "Has my little brother gotten a love letter?"

Johnny looked across the table with a mock glare. "It ain't impossible, ya' know."

"Really? You mean the girls you see can actually write?"

Murdoch chuckled at their antics. He looked up as Jelly meandered into the kitchen and fixed a plate of stew, joining them at the table. "How was town?"

Murdoch listened to Jelly's complaints about Green River while he watched Johnny pull the note from the envelope. The look on his youngest son's face ... eagerly anticipating the contents of the letter along with his alertness to keeping his elder brother from seeing the contents ... pleased the older man.

Johnny smiled as he pulled a small photograph from the envelope, carefully guarding it from his family's prying eyes. He glanced up at his brother who was proudly declaring he was right, it was a love letter. Johnny shook his head and extracted the folded sheet of paper. Unfolding it, he read.

The smile dropped from his face as he felt his chest constrict. His breathing was coming faster than normal. The letter dropped from his hands. No. Johnny took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He had to calm himself. He had to find his place where emotions did not control him. "Frank, saddle Barranca. Jelly, get me some ammunition." He pushed away from the table.

Scott's head jerked to face his brother. He recognized the cold, deadly tone emanating from his little brother. "What? Johnny?"

Murdoch rose, his hand reaching out for Johnny. "Son, is something -- "

Johnny sidestepped his father's reach. He was paying them no heed at all. He didn't have the time. Exiting the kitchen, the jingle of his spurs sounded through the house as he took the stairs two at a time, heading for his room.

Scott reached across the table picking up the discarded note and photograph. He noticed the writing on the back of the picture. It was feminine. In the flowing script, Scott read the words "Johnny, Jessie and Grady, April 10, 1873." Flipping the photograph, Scott felt his breath catch in his throat as he looked down at his brother sitting with a little boy in his lap, a beautiful young woman standing beside them. Scott handed the picture to Murdoch as Teresa and Jelly both crowded around him trying to see.

Scott read the letter aloud. "You killed my son. Now I'm going to kill yours. Stryker."

Teresa gasped. "Stryker? That man who -- "

"Yes," Scott ground out.

"Your son," Murdoch parroted then looked back at the photograph he held in his hand. "Johnny's son?"

"I don't understand," Teresa began.

"None of us do," the tall blond countered. "No one but Johnny." He looked at his father and said with conviction, "I'm not letting him do this alone. Teresa, tell Frank to saddle my horse as well."

Murdoch nodded, his mind was reeling. Pocketing the picture and the note, he looked at his ward. "I'm going too. Have Frank saddle all of our horses. Jelly, get the ammunition Johnny asked for."

"You got it boss. I'm goin' too," Jelly replied as he headed out of the kitchen.

"No," Murdoch's voiced boomed behind him. "Someone needs to stay with Teresa."

"I never get ta go nowhere," Jelly grumbled as he headed for the study.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Johnny sat heavily on the edge of his bed and ran a hand through his thick black hair. Grady. Grady was in danger because of him. And Jessie. What about Jessie? The note didn't say, but Johnny knew no one would take Grady from Jessie without a fight. Was she okay? Had they hurt her? How bad had they hurt her?

Stryker was going to pay this time. Murdoch had stopped him from killing them the day they shot Scott and had held his family hostage in their own home. No one would stop him from getting the job done this time.

Standing, he moved to his armoire. He opened it and pulled the saddlebags he kept near the bottom. The ones that were always ready to go should he need to move quickly. They held everything he might need. They were Madrid's bags. Johnny's eyes narrowed as he tossed them over his shoulders. Stryker and his men had faced Johnny Lancer. This time they were dealing with Johnny Madrid. There would not be a next time.

He left his room with a cold determination sweeping over him. His steps were quick but deliberate. "Jelly, you got that ammunition?" Johnny asked as he tore into the great room.

"Right here, Johnny," Jelly said handing the extra saddle bag to the younger man. "Didn't know how much you'd need so I filled up one side."

"And I put some food in the other side," Teresa added as she watched him. Watched and worried over her brother.

"Thanks." Johnny threw the bag over his shoulder along with his own saddle bags and headed toward the door. He stopped, drawing a quick breath, as he saw Scott and Murdoch, sitting on their horses, waiting. Barranca's reins in his brother's hands.

"What do you two think you're doing?"

"Going with you," Scott answered.

"I don't need a babysitter," Johnny said tying off the two sets of bags behind his saddle. "And I don't need you two slowing me down."

"We won't," Murdoch replied, "but we are going with you."

"Why?" He asked, his voice rising in exasperation. "This is my problem -- "

"No, son, it's our problem. Stryker is our problem. This ... boy ... they've taken ... what's his name?"

Johnny glared. They read the note. Damn. He had dropped it on the table. Now they were wondering. Well, he didn't have time to explain if he was inclined to, which at the moment he was not. "Grady," he answered swinging up in the saddle.

"Grady what?" Scott queried.

"Grady ... Lancer." Johnny turned Barranca and galloped toward the stone archway. They asked. He answered. He didn't have time for this. It didn't matter who Grady was ... all that mattered was that Grady was in danger because of him.

Scott and Murdoch shared a concerned glance before kicking their horses into a run following Johnny.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You've got to do something! They've taken my son! You're the sheriff, you have to help me," Jessamie pleaded with the stone-faced man outside the sheriff's office.

She had pleaded with this man off and on for days since Grady had been kidnapped. Time had become interminable. Jessamie had tried to find Grady on her own when the men of this town -- her town -- would not help her, only to have gotten lost. Reluctantly, she had returned to Cavitt Springs and the seemingly never-ending battle with the Sheriff for help.

She wasn't crying anymore. She felt as if she had used up her tears. Never in her life had she felt so alone, not even the night that Grady's father had raped her. It weighed heavy upon her, this feeling of being so alone. She had lived in Cavitt Springs eight years, thought she had friends, yet no one offered to help her find her son. Jessamie could not fathom the reality she found herself in.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the sheriff said coldly, ignoring the bruises to her face. "There's no decent man in this town who wants to get involved in this."

"Decent!" Jessamie yelled, her anger swelling. "Those men kidnapped an eight year old child. Decent men would be out looking for him!"

"If it was any other child, they would. We all would, but I've been telling you we're not getting involved in this."

"Any other child? But not my child? Why? I don't understand, why?"

Emmet Palmer stood in the crowd listening. He shook his head. "Not Johnny Madrid's child! We've all been nice to you and that boy. Thought you were a widow. We didn't know you were that gunhawk's woman. This is his problem. Cavitt Springs don't want Johnny Madrid's problems."

Jessamie shook her head, she could not believe what she was hearing. "Johnny?"

"You should be ashamed of yourself," Rachel Martin said pointing her finger at Jessamie. "Passing yourself off as a widow. I bet you were never even married. We all know what that makes the boy. We don't want our men folk getting hurt or killed over a gunfighter's --"

"A gunfighter's what?" a low drawl asked. Jessamie turned toward the street, her hand flying to her mouth. She ran off the sidewalk and flung herself into the embrace of Johnny's open arms. The tears she felt she could no longer cry started to fall again. He soothed her softly before looking back at the crowd. "A gunfighter's what?"

"Bastard," Sheriff Corbin said moving to the front of the crowd. "I think that's what they mean, Madrid."

Johnny's eyes narrowed as he focused on the brown haired man. He knew Corbin. Had run into him when he was sheriff in Laredo six or seven years ago. "My name's Lancer, Sheriff, Johnny Lancer."

Murdoch and Scott dismounted. Despite the ache in his back, Murdoch moved stiff legged to stand behind his son and the distraught young woman Johnny held in his arms. "I'm Murdoch Lancer, Sheriff. We've come to find," Murdoch hesitated. What did he call the child? What did he know about him? His name, Johnny's obvious feelings for the boy and his mother, the infectious smile the boy had in the photograph. Johnny hadn't shared anything in the three days they had been on the trail. "Grady. We've come to find Grady."

"Then you go find him. It's not our concern."

"Now wait a minute," Scott said angrily. "What do you mean it's not your concern? It's your job, Sheriff!"

"We're not getting involved. From what I hear, Madrid killed the man's son and stole his horse. If the law had dealt with Madrid then perhaps the man wouldn't be trying to get his measure of justice."

Scott felt the heat flush his face. He felt as if steam was coming out of his ears. "You do not know what you are talking about. Stryker and his sons were the horse thieves. Stryker's son tried to shoot Johnny in the back and he was only defending himself. So I would thank you if you stopped acting so self-righteous and started doing your job."

"Don't you ride in here and tell me what my job is!" Corbin started angrily walking down into the street.

"Scott," Johnny's soft spoken word caught his brother's attention. "It ain't worth it. Let's go."

Scott's eyes narrowed as he glared at the sheriff. He wanted nothing more than to pummel the self righteous, self important man. Maybe another time. "Don't worry, Sheriff. Lancer takes care of its own."

Jessamie held onto Johnny as if the world would end if she let go. "They won't help. I've begged them for days and they won't help."

"I know." He led her to her wagon. Placing his hands around her small waist, he lifted her into the seat. "Where did Stryker go?" he asked softly.

"I ... I don't know. I can show you from the house which way he went. Johnny, he said he was going to kill Grady. Why? Why is this happening?"

Johnny dipped his head and sighed. Softly, he answered, "Because of me. Because I killed his son. C'mon Jessie, let's go find Grady." He looked back at his family who had moved closer to the wagon. Johnny knew his father's back was killing him. Murdoch should not have come but there was no deterring the man. "Murdoch, can you drive the wagon? I don't think Jessie should."

Handing his reins to Scott, Murdoch strode over to the wagon climbing in. He smiled at Jessie as he picked up the reins. "I'm Johnny's father, Murdoch Lancer. And this," he said pointing to Scott who was mounting his chestnut gelding, "is my other son, Scott. We're going to get your son back."

Jessamie nodded before she wrapped her arms around herself and bent over sobbing. Murdoch glared at the crowd outside the sheriff's office as they rode past. His eyes then looked up to watch his sons riding in front of them. The Sheriff and the town's people had been so cold, heartless, toward this woman just because of her association with Johnny. How much worse had his son been treated by people like this? How hard it must have been for Johnny growing up alone and unwanted? No wonder his son had turned to a gun. But even the gun had not saved Johnny from pain; physical or emotional. Murdoch wondered if anything ever would.

Scott spurred his horse beside of his brother. He needed answers. He need to know who this woman and this child were and, most importantly, what their relationship to his brother was. Three nights. Three nights on the trail and not one word from Johnny about this woman and child. When asked, Johnny would simply stalk off checking on the horses or keeping a lookout. Scott knew Johnny was upset, but Scott felt talking about it would help. It wasn't good to keep things bottled up. "Johnny?"

"Not now, Scott," Johnny replied to his brother's unspoken query.

"Fine. But soon, brother, soon."

To be continued ...