TWO

Ben Cartwright sat bolt upright as the front door to the ranch house opened. He didn't realize he had fallen asleep in the chair before the fire. The blanket laying across his legs was mute testimony to the fact that he'd been there so long Hop Sing had crept in and covered him up against the chill. The fire had been banked but it was still alive, which was a good thing since the sound of the rain on the roof indicated the shower that had finally arrived was a hard one. Shifting, he looked toward the door, eager to see his two boys no matter how angry he was at the younger one.

He was sorely disappointed to see only his eldest.

"Adam?" he asked as he rose.

It was Adam's turn to start. "Oh. Pa. I didn't know you were there." After he hung his hat and coat, his son turned back to him, the expression on his handsome face halfway between troubled and a smile. "Though I could have guessed."

Ben looked past him. "Is Joseph in the barn?"

The half-smile vanished. "I didn't find him."

Worry wrinkled his brow. "You mean Joe's out there – in this?" Adam was soaked to the skin. His son shivered as he watched. "Forgive me," he said, heading toward him. "Come. You need to sit by the fire."

"Thanks, Pa." Adam ran a hand through his wet hair and then followed him to the area of the hearth. "It's cold out there."

"Was your brother wearing a coat?"

"I don't know, Pa," he said as he sat on the stones so his back was to the fire. "I didn't see him leave. Neither did Hoss."

His youngest was notorious for heading out of the door ill-equipped for the weather. "Well, let's just hope Little Joe found a safe harbor somewhere that's dry until he can make the ride home. It's been a long time since he had pneumonia and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Joe's smarter than he was when he was a kid," Adam said. "Or at least I think he is."

Ben took a seat. "And what is that supposed to mean?" Adam's lips were pursed. His mind was somewhere other than where he was. "Son?"

His oldest glanced up. "Sorry. I didn't find Joe, but I did find Ab and Val. They were drunk. When I asked, they said they'd spent some time with Joe but they didn't know where he'd gone after they split up."

"Ab and Val?" Ben felt the steam building. "Little Joe was with Aberdeen and Valentine Latham? If you knew – "

Adam winced. "Hoss and I didn't know, Pa. We...suspected. Little Joe's been spending a lot of time with them."

"In spite of my telling him not to."

Adam paused. "Probably because you told him not to, Pa," he answered with a lop-sided grin.

Ben crossed his arms. "I take it you find this amusing?"

"Pa, no." Adam held up a hand. "Joe's just, at that age. I mean, how old were you when you struck out on your own? Twenty? Joe's nearly there."

The rancher pursed his lips. "Adam, I know your brother is nearly the same age but, Joseph is..."

"He's not a child, Pa. Much as you or I may think it." Adam hesitated. "Or want it."

Did he? Did he want his youngest to remain just that – young? Was he unable to surrender the last tie to the 'boy' he loved so – unwilling to see him as a man?

No. It wasn't that.

The rancher drew in a breath. It was hard to admit, but it had to be said. "I'm afraid, I've spoiled your brother."

Adam blinked. "What?"

"I've...spoiled him. I've regretted so how hard you and Hoss had to work. How neither of you had a childhood. I wanted to make sure Joseph did, and it seems I may have done him a disservice in doing so."

Adam was quiet for so long he was afraid he agreed.

Finally, his eldest blew out a little breath. "Pa, I admit Joe has been...indulged in some ways. You've let him get by with things that would have left Hoss or I unable to sit for weeks. But," he held a hand up to stifle his response, 'he's not spoiled. He's a good kid." Adam snorted. "A good man."

Ben thought a moment. "Even if he defied me to spend time with the Latham brothers?"

"Joe's not thirteen anymore, Pa. None of us can tell him who to spend his time with. We can only...encourage him to choose the right company."

He considered for a moment whether or not to say what was on his mind. In the end, he didn't have to. Adam said it for him.

"You're worried because they're from the South."

Ben nodded. "Your brother came home when Frederick Kyle left. I'm not sure... If Kyle hadn't left, well, I'm not certain your brother might not still have been under his spell. Little Joe's last words to me on the subject of where he belonged were 'I think I know that now,' when I told him his place was here."

"That trump card of handing Joe Marie's portrait did a lot of damage." Adam paused. "Did you ever figure out how he came by it?"

"I asked Joseph. He said Kyle told him he'd had it many years. He said he knew Marie." Ben thumbed his chin. "I'm not so sure he did."

"Oh? Why?"

"For one thing, he was from Kansas, not New Orleans. And from what I was able to find out about him, his life was there and it was there he did most of his rabblerousing."

"Maybe they knew each other when Marie was young. She looked young in the portrait. Like a girl. And her hair was darker."

"Maybe. But if you ask my opinion, Frederick Kyle is a zealot who would use any and every means he has at his disposal to get what he wanted. I asked your brother if Kyle ever said anything personal relating to his mother. Your brother's answer was only that Marie had been a 'gracious and beautiful woman.' Anyone could have said that."

"So you think he got the portrait from someone else?" Adam paused. "Someone who knew Little Joe was her son and sent Kyle looking for him?"

It was his fear. Most likely it was an unfounded one, but then again, when it came to Joseph most times his intuitions proved correct.

Adam stood. "I better go back out. If someone's targeted him – "

"Now, Adam, don't go off half-cocked. I could be..." Ben's voice died away as the front door opened again and Hoss blew in with a chill wind. He expected his middle son to remove his coat and hat as well, but he just stood there. "Hoss? What is it?"

"I just brought Cochise in," the big man replied, his crisp blue eyes narrowed with worry. "Joe weren't with him."

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It was one of the most miserable nights Little Joe Cartwright had ever spent in his life. Oh, he'd been soaked before – plenty of times – but those were times he remembered with joy. Him and his family camping out when a sudden cloudburst took them unawares. He and his brothers going fishin' and ending up walkin' home in the rain. That time him and mama went berry picking and ended up taking shelter in a cave until Pa came and rescued them with lots of hugs and kisses.

This time he was alone. He wasn't good at bein' alone. He yelled about it enough, tellin' everyone that he wanted to be, but he didn't.

Not really.

When he was alone he had too much time to think, and that wasn't a good thing since his thinkin' was as much of a battlefield as sleepin' was. Just like in his bed, everything pulled away from the edges and got twisted and turned around him so that he couldn't find a way free. That was what had happened just a few minutes before. It was just before dawn and he'd started out walking again, headed for the Ponderosa. He'd covered about a half-mile when he stopped in his tracks. He knew what waited for him if he went back to his father's house. He'd be scolded like a little boy and sent to bed without any supper. His pa would lay the law down, saddlin' him with chores and what-not, while his older brothers snickered behind his back and agreed with his father that he couldn't be trusted to clean the snot out of his own nose. Pa would forbid him to go into town and tell him he couldn't see his friends, and life would go on as it always did with Joseph Francis Cartwright as everyone's whipping boy.

Joe drew a deep breath and turned his feet in the opposite direction.

Or, he could walk away. Just plain walk away and never go back. He could go somewhere else – somewhere where he wasn't anyone's baby boy or brother; where they took him for what they saw and saw that he was a man.

It was mighty tempting.

With a shake of his head to dislodge the still wet curls than dangled there, Joe reached into his pocket and drew out the portrait of his mother Fred had given him. She looked awful young in it. Not quite his age. He wondered what she had been like then. From everything his pa had told him it was a sure bet she had been headstrong and completely sure she knew what she wanted – which at that time was marrying Jean de Marigny. Joe let his fingers trace the fine lines of the face he wished he remembered.

She'd come to regret that decision soon enough, after Jean's family poisoned him so he turned his back on her.

Just like he'd regret turning his back on his family.

Joe bit his lip and sucked in a breath. No. If he was going to leave, he'd do it honest. He'd tell his pa to his face and let him have a goodbye. He wouldn't be much of a man if he slunk off in the night like a coward, as if he was ashamed of what he was doing.

Now, would he?

With one last glance at the portrait, Joe tucked it back inside his shirt where it would be safe and then turned his feet north again. It was at that moment that he heard the rig coming.

It was a moment too late.

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Adam had just left the kitchen. As he rounded the corner, he found his father buckling on his gun belt and reaching for his hat. The older man was already wearing his coat. The black-haired man's hazel eyes flicked to the scene just outside the opened front door and then back to the determined older man.

It was still dark.

"Pa, what are you doing?" he asked after he swallowed the half-piece of bacon he 'd bitten off.

"Going to look for your brother."

"It's still dark."

His father looked at him the same way his English professor had the first time he'd used 'ain't' in a sentence.

"I'm not unaware of the hour of the day. Your brother didn't vanish just outside the door. By the time I get to the last place we knew Joseph was, it will be light."

"The rain probably washed away most of the tracks."

Pa's hand was on the latch. He pivoted back. "And what do you suggest? I abandon your brother to those fates you are so fond of?"

That stung.

"No, Pa. I just meant...why don't you wait on Hoss? He can track a snake's trail on a sand dune. If anyone can find Joe, it's him."

"And just who do you think taught your brother to track?" his father snapped. A second later the older man passed a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, Adam. I'm worried about your brother. He could be injured."

He tried a smile. "More likely he's footsore and more than a little bit mortified."

"Cochise might have thrown him."

"I didn't see no evidence of that , Pa." Hoss said as he descended the stair to join them. "The saddle and cinch looked fine. Didn't see no signs of anythin' out of the ordinary."

"Except your brother's horse without your brother."

"There was that," Hoss admitted.

"Look, Pa," Adam tried. "I just came from the kitchen. Hop Sing has a hot breakfast ready to put on the table. If you don't want to start a civil war all of our own here on the Ponderosa, I would suggest you put off leaving long enough to eat it."

"That bacon smells mighty good, Pa," the big man beside him said.

"I promise, once we eat, all three of us will go look for Joe. Okay?" Adam grinned. "After all, what difference can an hour or two make?"

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"An hour or two will make no difference," the gray-haired woman proclaimed as she took her seat in the carriage, her voice stiff and indifferent as the starched white petticoats she smoothed as she spoke. "Someone will come along to help. We can't get involved."

Margaret had not let her get out of the rig. Sarah was sitting on the padded seat at the back, her knuckles white where they gripped its open side. The light was just dawning and it was hard to see, but she could just make out the crumpled form of the man they had hit that lay beside the road. Maggie's husband, Thomas, was with him. The older man had been pushing the team hard, seeking to make up for time they had lost in the storm. They'd come around a blind curve and he'd just been standing there, in the middle of the road. She'd never forget the sound it made when the carriage wheel caught him and he screamed. Her body still shook with the thought of the pain-filled cry. She'd been afraid he was dead until she saw the older man rise and nod, indicating whoever it was, was still alive.

Turning, Sarah caught the arm of the stern woman sitting next to her. "We can't get involved? We are involved! We're responsible, for goodness sake!"

Margaret Spencer was a pretty lady. Or she had been before she'd forgotten what it was to laugh. A persistent fear pinched the skin about her big brown eyes and creased the ends of her once full lips, turning them down in a perpetual frown.

It had only gotten worse since they had taken her in.

The older woman sighed. Her head dipped and then she turned to look at her. "You know you can't be seen. I told Thomas it was wrong to bring you out in the buggy, but he insisted. A 'nice jaunt in the country', he said. What could be the harm in that?"

Sarah was peering through the dark, trying to see the man they'd hit. She'd caught a glimpse of him earlier and he looked young – maybe younger than she was.

"You can't leave him out here! He's someone's son! Maybe even someone's husband and father!" She paused, knowing she tread on thin ice. "What if that was Evan lying there?"

"You will not mention my son's name!" the older woman snapped. She drew a deep breath and held it. A little air came out with each word as she spoke. "I am only thinking of your own good, Sarah. We have no idea who this young man is. What if he's...one of them?"

Sarah bit her lip. She thought fast and furiously. "What if I promise not to see him? I'll stay hidden for as long as he's with us."

"Sarah, you can't – "

"Yes! Yes, I can!" She gripped the older woman's arm with both gloved hands. "Please, we can't leave him to die. It wouldn't be..." Sarah paused, thinking of something to tip the scales in her favor. "It wouldn't be Christian."

Margaret Spencer blinked and coughed. The ice didn't break, but it definitely began to thaw. "Child," she said, "I feel for the young man as much as you, but our welfare must come first."

"Maggie."

They both turned to find Maggie's husband had come alongside the rig. Without preamble, he said, "I know the boy."

The stern woman stiffened as Sarah asked, "Who is he?"

He answered her, but continued to look at her companion. "It's Ben Cartwright's youngest son. We can't leave him here to die. We'll have to take him home with us."

"No! Leave Sarah here with me. You can take him to the Ponderosa and – "

"His leg's injured, Maggie. It's bleeding badly. He needs attention now and our place is much closer than –"

"No!"

The older man reached in and placed his hand on his wife's arm. "Maggie, no one knows Sarah is here. All she has to do it remain hidden until the boy's family can come to get him. It will be one day. Maybe two."

"I can do it. Please! You have to help him!" Sarah pleaded.

Thomas Spencer's gaze was steady. "It's the right thing to do, Mags. It would be even if I didn't owe Ben Cartwright."

The scowl remained firmly planted on the older woman's face. "Where will you put him?"

"In back with Sarah."

"No! You can't!"

"He's out of his head with pain, Maggie. Even if he sees her, the boy will think it's part of a dream when he wakes. Now, come on, I need help to get him to the carriage."

When Margaret failed to move, Sarah did. As she left the rig, her companion's hand caught her wrist. "Not a word," she warned.

With a nod, Sarah finished her descent and went to help.

The sight of the young man's body, twisted, and lying in the mud as if no one cared, nearly broke her heart. In spite of Margaret's warnings, Sarah leaned down and placed a hand alongside his muddy and bloodied face.

"What's his name?" she asked, her voice a breath on the wind.

"I think it's Joseph," the older man said as he set about securing the injured man's leg so they could move him.

"Joseph, " she whispered as she shifted a lock of tangled brown curls off of his brow, which was wrinkled with pain. Then she said it again, louder. "Joseph?"

A little moan was her answer.

"Joseph? Can you hear me? You're going to be all right."

He moaned again, and then his long eyelashes fluttered. Finally, his eyes opened on a world filled with pain.

They were startlingly green.

As he lifted a hand toward her, he breathed, "Mama...?"

Catching his hand, Sarah pressed it between her own as she said, "No. My name is...Sarah. The Spencers and I...found you beside the road. You're going to be all right. We're going to take care of you."

"Sarah..."

She glanced at the man who had taken her in. He shrugged and then continued in what he was doing, drawing a startled cry from the younger man as he shifted his leg so he could bind it between two branches.

"I'm sorry, Joseph. We have to make sure your leg is secure before we can move you."

"No..."

She shifted so she was seated on the ground beside him. "We do. I'm sorry. We – "

"No. Just...Joe. Pa only...calls me...'Joseph' when he's...mad..."

Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She turned to Thomas Spencer. "Will he be all right?" she asked.

The older man shrugged. "I can take care of his leg, but there's no knowing if he's torn up inside. Only time will tell." With a grunt, he stood. "There. It's ready."

"Will it hurt him?" she asked, still clinging to Joe.

A gentle hand fell on her head. "I won't lie to you, Sally. Yes, it will," he replied, using the nickname she'd been given by Master Burl. Looking down at Joe Cartwright, he added softly, "If the Lord is merciful, he'll pass out before he knows it."

And that was just what Joe did.

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Adam led the way back to where he had come across the Latham brothers the night before. Both of them had been so drunk you'd have thought walking was a lost art. While his father disapproved of his ranch hands drinking, there was really nothing he could do about it when they were off the job. Of course, Ab and Val had been sent out to work by their foreman, but there was no placing a time on when they'd started drinking. Still, between their misconduct and the unfavorable influence their father feared they had with his little brother, the black-haired man figured the twins would soon be looking for another place to work.

Preferably one far away.

From the point where he had encountered the Lathams, they continued on until they came to the lake and were forced to turn back. Pa had some notion Joe might have gone to his mother's grave to talk to her. It made sense. Joe usually went there when he was troubled or had an important decision to make.

Like whether or not to run off and join up with Johnny Reb.

He didn't really think Joe would do it. Not without saying goodbye, at least. Still, there was no accounting for his little brother when Joe was in one of his 'moods'. In any case, they hadn't found him there and were now headed back to the ranch. Hoss continued to search the ground for signs as they went. At one point the big man had found a shallow depression under a rocky shelf where someone had lain. They'd followed the man's tracks until he encountered a rig and then they disappeared, so they figured he must have climbed aboard. There was no reason to suspect it was Joe, other than that the man had been a lightweight and on foot. His father had contemplated following the buggy to its destination, but decided against it since it hadn't headed for either the Ponderosa or town.

It only made sense Joe would have been heading one way or the other.

They rode now, three abreast, down the Virginia City rode, aimed toward the Ponderosa. No one really had anything to say. Even though Little Joe was absent, he was present in all their thoughts. Hoss rode between him and his father, acting as the buffer he always was, tolerating their silence but offering an encouraging word of his own now and then. After a while Adam stopped hearing anything his brother had to say. With each clop of Sport's hooves on the packed earth, he was driven back to that day – the day he and Joe had nearly come to blows over an idea that, until that day, neither one of them had entertained – an idea that loomed larger than their love for each other and threatened to drive a wedge between them where no wedge should be driven. An idea that, should it become reality, would separate brother from brother forever.

It was funny, though. It wasn't the last argument with Joe that thudded through his brain as he rode, resounding through him with each strike of a hoof on earth. It was one he had had with Marie shortly after their pa had brought her home as his new wife. He'd been thirteen then – a bad age to spring anything unexpected on. If he was honest, he'd have to admit he'd felt betrayed by his father's easy dismissal of his feelings on the matter. A tight smile quirked the corner of his lips. In a way, he'd been like Little Joe then – a bit of a mouthy hothead.

Marie had cut him right down to size.

He could see her standing in the doorway to his room. He had his back to her and was packing a satchel. He'd remained that way, waiting for the inevitable pleading, for her protestations that she hadn't meant to call him a child and anger him so; that his father couldn't live without him and please, please, please would he stay.

Instead she walked over to his dresser, opened the drawer, and began to hand him his clothes. When he'd asked her 'why', she'd said he was a man and a man had a right to make his own decisions.

Just like his father.

It didn't solve everything between them, but it did make him think. And in time he grew to see how wise she was and to love her deeply. Pa was always saying how much like his mother Joe was.

He could only hope he was right.