TWO
Rosey O'Rourke stood back to admire the dress she was working on. She had a half dozen pins in her mouth and a pencil behind her ear and had her newly purchased glasses perched on the tip of her nose so she could examine her handiwork. While it didn't compare to Ming-hua's, it was pretty darn good if she said so herself. Removing the pins from between her lips, she stuck them through the fabric of her plain white pinner apron and turned back into the work room. They'd only opened the business a little over three weeks before and already there were orders stacking up. That was due to the talent of the young Chinese woman she shared the establishment with. The sign that hung above the door of the dress shop was up front and honest, though few understood its meaning. It proudly proclaimed 'Tomorrow's Flower, Millinery & Fancy Goods'.
'Tomorrow's flower' was, of course, the English translation of Ming-hua's name.
Rosey pulled the pencil from behind her ear, made note of a few measurements, and then removed her apron and headed for the show room that fronted onto the main street in Eagle Station. It was late and the shop was closed and, as usual, they'd decided to stay after hours in an attempt to catch up. Ming-hua had left a few minutes earlier to see if she could rustle up some grub for them at one of the local eateries. Beth Riley worked late too, baking pies for the next day's sales, and they could usually count on her to supply them with some cold sandwiches and a slice of whatever pie had been left over that day. On reaching the showroom, the older woman crossed to the window and looked out. There seemed to be an unusual amount of activity down the street, across from the saloon, on the block that held Doctor Martin's office among other businesses. The doctor was often in late as well. Rosey laughed as she turned away and headed for her desk.
Maybe after-hours were normal hours when you had your own business.
It was still new to her – owning a business and living in a town the size of Eagle Station. She'd lived in bigger ones, chief among them San Francisco, and smaller too – if you counted her own little 'village' of one high in the Sierras. But this was different. Eagle Station was small enough that just about everybody knew everybody else's business. Sometimes that was a good thing, but at other times, well, it simply made her want to run. It wasn't that anyone had been cruel. In fact, they were too kind. As a woman Beth Riley had honed in quickly on the fact that there had been a tragedy in her life. She'd wanted her to talk about it – to help her.
Not yet.
It was too soon.
Though her involvement with saving Joseph Cartwright from the clutches of Wade Bosh – the man who had kidnapped the boy close to a year back and nearly sailed away with him – had helped to ease the pain of her own loss, after thirteen years it was still too raw to share.
Rosey smiled as she reached up to undo the bun at the nape of her neck and shook her long brown hair free.
With anyone other than Ben, that was.
Their arrival in town had been set for late April. Instead they'd arrived near the beginning of May and so she had seen little of the handsome rancher as he was busy rounding up and branding calves, as well as dealing with several sizeable mining and timber contracts. She and Ming-hua had been invited to the Ponderosa that first week and had spent a lovely evening in the company of all the Cartwrights and their Chinese cook who, in spite of his very vocal protests, had been convinced to sit down and join them. Adam played his guitar and he and his brothers entertained them with rousing renditions of some familiar songs. Over the course of the evening, she'd paid special attention to Ben's youngest. Joseph had been so ill when she'd first met him, she barely recognized the boy. And when she did see him hale and hearty, with his lightly tanned skin and that thick head of lustrous brown curls, the resemblance to Rory had been a knife to her heart. It was foolish, of course. If he'd lived, her son would be near Adam's age now. Still, in her heart, Rory was forever twelve. Once, over supper, their eyes had met – Joseph's wide emerald ones locking on hers, which were brown as silt. Something had passed between them at that moment. A fusion of sorts.
In that moment she had come to love him as dearly as her own.
Whenever he came to town the youngest Cartwright was always sure to stop by the dress shop, even if it was just to say hello. She'd seen Little Joe earlier in the day. He'd come by and flashed that winning smile of his and showed her a bag of sweets, which he quickly tucked into his white shirt. Apparently he'd been ordered by Adam to stay in the supply wagon while his older brother conducted business inside the mercantile. Seeing that Adam was busy, Joseph had taken the opportunity to sneak across the street to the confectioners. Rosey couldn't help but smile as she removed her apron and tossed it over the chair back. He was a caution, that one. And from what she had witnessed so far, the child most like his father. She'd come to know Ben Cartwright quite well over the course of the weeks they had hunted for Joseph, and under very trying circumstances. She'd seen the rancher fight despair, find courage in his faith, react in righteous anger, and ultimately choose justice over vengeance.
She could only hope, should God choose to try her in such a way, that she would emerge in the end as victorious as he had.
Crossing over to a cupboard where she kept her personal things, Rosey opened the door and drew out a small oval frame. She held it to her heart for a moment and then looked at the image it held. There, on the metal sheet, was the likeness of all she had lost. Her husband Patrick had been a successful physician. Though she told him it was an extravagance, he had insisted they have it taken. She'd forgotten about the photograph and had only discovered it as she and Ming-hua dismantled her home in preparation for the move to Eagle Station. Her younger self was there, looking happy and content, and her dear Pat. And Rory. Her beautiful boy. He'd been told not to move, but not moving was not in Rory's nature. His image was slightly blurred, as if he'd already been halfway in the next world.
Reaching up, the older woman struck a tear away and then returned the frame to the cupboard. As she did, she heard the door to the shop open. Since it had been locked, she knew it had to be Ming-hua. As she turned to greet her, a chill ran down her spine and she froze in place.
"Miss Rosey come quick! Mister Ben have need of you," her young companion said.
"What's happened?" she asked as she reached for her cloak.
The child looked frightened. "I do not know. Mister Ben is very angry. He hit Mister Adam."
Rosey paused with her hand on the door. "Ben hit Adam? Are you sure?"
Ming-hua nodded.
Catching the girl's hand in her own, the older woman breathed, "Show me."
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Hoss Cartwright was more scared than he had ever been in his life.
Now, he could honestly say that in his nineteen years of walkin' the earth, there'd only been a few times he'd been really scared. Being big as he was kind of prevented it most of the time. He'd been afraid when his little brother was born – terrified if he told the truth – that both that little baby and his mama was gonna die. And then mama did die. That had sure been awful. There'd been a few times since then when Little Joe'd near died too 'cause of some harebrained thing he'd done like climbin' Eagle's Nest or mountin' up on some fool maverick of a horse. And, of course, there'd been a thousand little scares with horses and cattle and men, but each and every time – big or little – there'd been one constant. Him and his father and brothers, they was always there for each other just like Pa taught them to be. It didn't seem like nothin' could tear them apart.
Nothin' until now.
Adam was layin' in the dirt outside Doc Martin's place and it was Pa who put him there.
He and Pa had ridden into town lickety-split, only stoppin' once in the whole twenty miles to let the horses rest. Pa'd pulled the note Adam sent out of his pocket and read it again while Chubb and Buck was coolin' down. He didn't say much, just shook his head. He'd seen his pa in a lot of tight situations. It was kind of like the man turned to steel – like being steel would slice through whatever it was that was comin'. Pa'd had an awful lot of hurt in his life and sometimes it seemed like he was just waitin' for the next one to come. Maybe, since steel was just about the toughest thing there was, he thought by becomin' it, he could make it through anythin'. Trouble was, Pa had what Adam called an Achilles' heel.
And that was Little Joe.
Pa's love for mama had been fierce and Joe was all he had left of her. Oh, he loved him and Adam too – just as much as little brother – but in a different way. It was like Pa knew one day Joe would to fly too high or run too fast or ride too hard like mama did, and it was his God-given duty to prevent it. He'd laid that charge on them too, makin' it clear to him and Adam that they was to protect their baby brother even if it meant makin' Joe mad.
Even if it meant keepin' Little Joe from growin' up and becomin' a man.
They'd talked about it, him and Adam. Since Joe'd been rescued from that Bosh feller, Pa was even worse, barely lettin' Joe out of his sight. It was chaffin' on little brother and that was why Adam had taken him into town with him today. Even Hop Sing saw how Pa kind of had Joe in a chokehold. Yeah, him and Adam had talked and they'd agreed that one day one of them was gonna have to tell Pa he better let loose or the boy would turn up his toes and die.
It looked like that day had come.
Adam had staggered to his feet. He was wipin' the blood from his lip. Pa was bearing down on him like the fury of Heaven unleashed. Older brother had said somethin' he shouldn't ought of and Pa had just plain lost his temper.
"You will mind your tongue with me, young man!" Pa shouted as he flung his arm out toward Doc Martin's door. "I trusted you! I trusted you, Adam! How could you have let this happen?"
"I said I'm sorry, Pa," Adam answered, his own temper barely under control.
"Sorry will mean little if your brother dies!"
Hoss knew better, but he said it anyway. "Now, Pa, that ain't fair –"
He rounded on him, his black eyes blazin'. "This does not concern you!"
That hurt. 'Course it did. Joe and Adam was his brothers.
"Pa, if you'll just let me explain why I did what I did," Adam tried again.
That there steel he'd been thinkin' on earlier that Pa was made of, well, it was fiery red now and waitin' for the bath that would make or break it. It all hung on one word.
"Well?"
Adam did his best. He set to explainin' how he'd left Little Joe in the wagon out front of the mercantile where he could keep an eye on him, and how Tory'd come up to flirt, and then how Butch – probably 'cause he was jealous of Joe and Tory – had picked a fight. Older brother was doin' right well up until the moment Pa realized the same thing he did.
Adam ain't done one thing to stop that fight from happenin'.
Their father was shakin' his head. He pushed a hand out in front of him, wavin it like he was tryin' to offset a stampede.
"Wait a minute. Wait! So, I did understand you earlier," Pa growled. "You had time to stop the fight and chose not to?"
Older brother squared his feet. "Yes."
There was a hissin' as that fiery steel hit the water. "Balls of fire, boy! What were you thinking?"
Adam didn't back down. "I'm not a boy, Pa, and that's because you let me grow up. You treated me like a man when I was twelve." Older brother glanced at the doctor's office. Pain set his jaw as much as anger. "For God's sake, Pa, Joe's thirteen!"
"And he may never live to see fourteen, thanks to you!"
"You're not listening to me," Adam shot back. "A punch in the belly. A shot in the back. Those are mercifully quick ways to die. Pa, you're killing Joe slowly. Since he's been home you've barely let him out of your sight – "
"You know full well what happened when I did let him out of my sight!"
"So what are you going to do? Keep him tied to a post in the front yard for the rest of his life? Take away every bit of self-respect he has by mollycoddling him and making him a laughing stock?" Adam drew a sharp breath. "You've made Joe a prisoner just as surely as Wade Bosh did!"
Hoss winced. He'd heard it.
The steel snapped.
He was just about to put himself between his father and brother to keep them from lighting into one another again when a woman's voice called out. "Benjamin Cartwright!"
Pa stiffened. Those near-black eyes of his flashed a warning. "Keep out of this, Rosey," he said. "This is between Adam and me."
That ol' Rosey, she walked right up to his pa and said, "You and Adam – and about half the citizens of Eagle Station!"
Looking at her, standin' 'there with her hands on her hips, Hoss remembered what Pa had told him about Rosey bein' a scout for the army. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Pa could bark all he wanted. She weren't scared of nothin'.
The older woman glanced at Adam and then turned back to his pa. "What is it that's come between you two?"
Adam opened his mouth to reply, but Pa beat him to it. "Adam's negligence may have cost his brother his life!"
Rosey glanced at the doctor's office. "Little Joe is hurt?"
His father's jaw was set. His lips, a knife's edge. "Yes."
"And you two are out brawling like common thugs in the middle of the street instead of being inside supporting him? Shame on you!"
"A-Adam..." Pa stuttered.
"I don't care 'what' Adam did! Do you think Little Joe cares right now?" She pressed a finger into pa's chest. "Don't you think, at this moment, that beautiful boy of yours might just be wondering where his father is?" The color was up in her cheeks. Her eyes were bright. "Would you like me to go in there and tell Joseph that instead of sitting with him, you are out here in the middle of the street brawling with his older brother?" Her hand shot out toward Adam. "Look at this young man! Your words might as well have been bullets! Do you honestly think Adam would have done anything to bring deliberate harm to his brother?"
Pa hesitated. Only a second.
It was enough.
Adam staggered back as if from another blow. "You don't... You don't think I wanted Little Joe to get hurt?"
Pa looked like he'd been hoof-struck by a thoroughbred. "Adam, no..."
"You do! You honestly think I enjoyed seeing my little brother pounded!"
Pa looked sick. "Adam, no. It's just that you and Joseph –"
"We what? Argue? Knock heads?" Older brother was slow to burn, but once the fire was lit it would take all of two counties to put it out. "If you can think that, Pa, then you don't know me at all. And maybe I don't know you."
"Adam..." Rosey reached out toward him.
"I'll get my things and be gone by the end of the week," Adam said, his voice strained to near breaking. "I'll be sure to forward you my address. That way you can let me know whether Joe lives or dies."
Into the stunned silence that followed Adam's declaration, a sound bled. It was Doc Martin's voice. Hoss turned to find the older man standing, framed in the open door of the office, an irate look on his face.
"While you two have been out here butting heads like mountain goats in heat, Little Joe has been calling for you – both of you." Paul's voice was edged with disgust. "You might try thinking about that injured boy in there instead of yourselves!"
All the color bled from Pa's face. "Is Joseph...?"
Paul looked utterly weary. "I don't know anything for certain, Ben. It's too soon. Joe's ribs are involved. His abdomen's a bit tight. The good thing is the bruising hasn't spread anymore." The physician shook his head. "Adam I might excuse. He's young. But you, Ben? You should know better! Instead of wasting your time trying to find someone to blame, it would be well if you attended your son!"
Rosey reached out in both directions – toward Pa and Adam. "Truce?" she asked.
Pa nodded quickly. He extended his hand as well. "Adam, son, I'm sorry. I know you love your brother."
It weren't exactly an apology and Adam knew it.
His older brother rarely cried. Sometimes it seemed like he'd done cried himself out what with losin' two mamas. So the fact that Adam's eyes were glistenin' now was just another sign of how deep the hurt Pa had given him went.
"I do," his brother replied. "And that's why I'm going into the doctor's office. But I'm telling you, Pa, I'm done. Once Joe is out of danger I'm leaving, and nothing you can say will stop me."
With that Adam pushed past Paul Martin and went into the building. Pa's eyes followed him. He done looked as sick as Little Joe must feel. Rosey was hangin' onto his arm. She lifted a hand to his cheek, but Pa batted it away.
"Fools make poor fathers," he muttered and then followed Adam inside.
Hoss turned and looked at Ming-hua.
"Tiger father begets tiger son," she said softly.
"Yeah, I guess so," the big teener replied. Then he remembered another one of those Chinese sayings about tigers. One Hop Sing was fond of.
He who rides a tiger can never get off.
He just hoped that one was wrong.
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Paul Martin had no idea if Little Joe Cartwright was going to live or die, though he was optimistic about the boy's condition, but he did know the signs of death when he saw them. Ben and his son Adam sat on opposite sides of Little Joe's bed, only a few feet apart, but the distance between them might as well have been miles. How Ben could have three sons by three different wives and have each and every one of them come out mule-headed as he was, he just didn't know. It was a miracle plain and simple that the four of them managed to live in harmony.
Still, none of that mattered now. What mattered was his patient, and he was damn sure he wasn't going to let whatever had passed between Ben and his eldest boy cause Little Joe any distress. The boy had already been upset when he woke and found he was alone. It hadn't been all that long ago Joe had thought himself abandoned. He'd kept a close watch on the boy over the last six months. To the causal stranger, Joe seemed a bright and happy, if sometimes hasty and determined child. To those who knew him better – the men and women of Eagle Station, those he went to school and church with – he seemed a bit subdued.
To those who knew him well, he was changed.
Joe Cartwright was one of those miracles of God – handsome, with a natural magnetism and a personality that would not quit. As his mother used to say, he could have charmed the socks off of Lucifer. The boy was strong-minded, sometimes in the wrong way, but most often for the good. More often than not, Joe's strength of mind was bent on righting what he saw as injustice – whether it be to himself or someone he loved. And once Joe Cartwright set his mind on something, it took nothing short of an act of God to stop him. He had the potential of being a most remarkable man.
That was, if he lived to reach maturity.
The bruising still worried him. Though, as he had told Ben, in the last half hour it's spread had slowed, which was a good sign. There was no real way to know until morning whether or not there was internal bleeding. If so, there was little he could do. If there wasn't, then Little Joe would be one very sore young man, but – due to his age and constitution – would heal quickly.
Paul glanced from Ben to his eldest son.
He could only pray the rift between those two would mend as swiftly.
"Is he gonna be all right, Doc? Is Little Joe gonna be okay?" Ben's middle son asked as he entered the examining room. He'd sent Hoss out to get a bottle of brandy from the hotel. He had a feeling the two men sitting on opposite sides of the bed were going to need it before the night was out.
Paul caught Hoss by the arm and drew him into the front room. As he closed the door behind him, the older man indicated the street outside with a nod.
"What exactly happened out there?"
Hoss squirmed a bit. "Shucks, Doc, you know them too."
"Which 'two' would that be – Adam and Joe, Adam and your father, or your father and Little Joe?"
"Adam thought he was doin' what was best for Joe," the young man said.
"Letting him get beat up?" he asked, his tone dubious.
"No! Letting' him fight his own fight!" Hoss frowned. "Sorry, Doc. You ain't seen how Pa's been since... Well, since that man took Joe and we almost lost him. Other than working with me and Adam, Pa won't let him out of his sight."
"What has your brother to say about that – Little Joe, I mean?"
He shrugged. "That's the worst thing. He ain't said nothin'. He just minds Pa and stays close to home."
"Maybe that's because he wants too."
"But it ain't Joe! You know what I mean? It just ain't him." The young man drew in a deep breath. His next words sounded like a confession. "I'd of done the same thing, Doc. Today, with Butch. I'd of stood back and let Joe have a go at him."
"And why is that?" he asked, genuinely curious.
" 'Cause Joe needs to know he's all right. That he ain't less of a man for what that Wade Bosh done to him. I know Pa thinks it's love, but what he's doin is makin' little brother doubt himself. Adam knew that. That's why he let him take Butch on, so's he could have somethin' to be proud of. So's he might start to believe in himself again."
He had to admit it made sense – in a twisted sort of way.
The physician placed a hand on Hoss' shoulder. "I want you to do something for me, son."
He looked wary. "What's that, Doc?"
"I want you to go in there and sit with your brother and send your father and Adam out here to me." Paul looked toward the closed door. "Rosey and Ming-hua should return shortly with some food. I doubt either of them have had anything for hours. Hell hath no fury like a man apprehensive and hungry." He laughed at the younger man's hopeful look. "Yes, I know you're hungry too, Hoss. I'll send Ming-hua in with a tray. I ordered some broth for your brother. If he wakes, try to encourage him to take a little. Joe needs to keep up his strength as well."
"Sure thing, Doc." Hoss glanced at the door as well. "I sure hope you can knock some sense into those two. I don't like to think about Adam leavin' at all, but especially when he's this mad at Pa."
Paul palmed the brandy bottle and considered its contents. "Maybe a glass or two of this can help smooth things over."
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Rosey shook her head as she stepped out of Paul Martin's office. She'd delivered the food as the doctor asked and, after sending Ming-hua home to get some sleep, had gone in to check on Little Joe. Joseph's color was better and he was breathing more easily, though the child was still pale as morning mist. When she took his hand and ran a hand through his matted curls, he stirred. Joseph frowned and then turned to look at his brother Hoss, who was seated in a chair by the bed softly snoring. A smile lifted the corner of the boy's lips and he winked at her before falling asleep again.
She had no proof, but she thought he was going to be all right.
Leaving the tray she had brought in for Hoss on the night stand, she'd exited the examining room and made her way quickly through the front room and out the door. Ben and his eldest son sat in that one, on opposite ends of the doctor's desk, facing one another. Paul was there too, planted firmly between them, dispensing brandy and chastisement hand-in-hand. Both men looked contrite. It seemed Paul had managed to bandage the wound their angry words had opened.
She could only hope it was enough of a fix to keep the pair from bleeding out.
As the older woman stepped into the street, a cool breeze struck her and tossed her hair into her face. She'd forgotten it was down. So much for appearing to be the proper Eagle Station shop lady! As she twirled the thick brown locks in her fingers and formed them into a loose sort of bun, Rosey shivered. It had been a changeable May so far, blazing hot one day and cool the next. Tonight it was just plain cold.
As she stood there contemplating the irony of a man who had his son and would chance driving him away for the sake of making a point, Rosey heard the sound of hoof beats. It was late and most of the town was abed, so she wondered who it was. As the man approached, she saw he had the look of a cowhand and realized he must be one of the men Ben employed. It was hard to see much more since it was night.
The man reined in his horse. His eyes went to the sign. "This the local doc's?" he asked, his voice husky, as if dry from dust.
She took a step toward him. "Yes. Why? Are you in need of a doctor?"
As he dismounted, he replied, "No ma'am. I was lookin' for Mister Cartwright. Ben Cartwright."
"Are you from the ranch?"
"Tonight, I am, ma'am. My little brother was ailin' and Mister Cartwright gave us two bunks and some grub. Greg's much better and he's sleepin'." He indicated the doctor's office with a worried nod. "I was there when Ben got the note from Adam. Is the boy goin' to be all right?"
"The doctor said it would be morning before we know for sure, but I think so. Joseph Cartwright is made of stern stuff."
"That's the youngest one?"
"Yes, it is. Would you like me to let Ben know you are here?"
He hesitated and then nodded." His smile was chagrinned. "I imagine he may think I'm over-steppin' my bounds. It's just...well...since he helped my little brother, I wondered if there was anything my brother and I could do to help his boy – or maybe to help out around the ranch since they'll be a couple of men down."
Rosey began to move as she gathered her shawl about her shoulders. At the entry to the doctor's office, she paused. "Whom shall I say has come to call?"
The man removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry, Ma'am. I should have introduced myself. Name's Fremont Webb, but you can call me Monty."
"Monty," she repeated with a smile. Taking a step back toward him, she reached out with her hand. "Rosey. Rosey O'Rourke."
She might have imagined it, but it seemed – for just an instant – as if the cowboy had heard her name before.
She hoped it hadn't been in San Francisco.
"Pleased to meet you, Rosey," he said at last. "You from around here?"
"Just arrived actually. My home was in the Sierras."
"Guess we're both strangers then, in a way."
She gazed into his pale gray eyes but saw nothing. No sign of recognition. Nothing to make her uneasy.
So why was she?
"I'll go get Ben. You wait here."
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Monty Webb watched the handsome woman until she stepped into the doctor's office and then he turned and, taking up the reins, walked his horse to a rail and tethered it. With an eye to the window of Doc Martin's place, he crossed over to a bench close by and anchored his tired body on it. For a moment he'd thought he might have known her, but it was just the name. 'Rosey' wasn't all that common. For the life of him, though, he couldn't remember where he had heard it last or why it seemed familiar.
"Probably buried under too much trail dust," he muttered to himself.
A sound caught his attention and Monty looked up to see the door to the doctor's office swing open and Ben Cartwright step out onto the stoop. The cowboy removed his hat as he rose to his feet and ran a hand through his sandy blond hair, slicking it down, trying to look like something other than what he was – a long-time rollin' stone. Things were lookin' up. Mister Cartwright was goin' to be needin' extra hands to cover at the Ponderosa while he attended the boy. He'd wanted to sign on at the Cartwright spread to begin with, since he'd been told the pay there was the best, but at the time he and Greg had come to town, the talk had been that all the jobs there were sewed up. Monty nodded to the rancher as he descended the steps and started toward him.
From what he'd heard, the Ponderosa was about the biggest spread around. One thousand square acres, someone had said.
Big enough, he hoped, that maybe an old cowpoke like him and a brown-haired boy couldn't be found.
