FIVE
Phoebe Bird Howath closed the lid on the suitcase she had packed and then walked to the window of her borrowed room and looked out. The wagon Ben Cartwright had hired to carry Little Joe home was parked in front of the saloon. Adam Cartwright crouched in its bed. The black-haired man was laying out blankets, creating a warm nest to cocoon his injured brother in for the ride back to the Ponderosa. It would not be an easy one. It was twenty miles or more to the spread and in a wagon, traveling slowly, with its driver doing everything he could to avoid jarring his precious cargo, the trip could easily take half a day. Sheriff Coffee had come and gone, asking questions and telling – well, ordering really – the Cartwrights to leave everything to him. She'd noted the set jaws and the reluctant nods that warning was met with. Doc Martin was with Little Joe now, preparing his patient as best he could for the arduous journey. She'd given Adam every spare blanket she could find plus an old feather ticking that was no longer in use to pad the wagon bed. She hoped that feathering Little Joe's nest would keep him from being in pain for the duration of the journey.
Crossing back to her suitcase, Phoebe lifted the lid and looked at the contents inside. She'd been surprised by how few 'decent' dresses she had. Though she'd been at the Bucket for five years, she'd worked the floor for less than half that time. At twenty-one, she had two years experience of pleasing men and for those two years near every dress she'd bought or made was meant to do just that. Her looks were her trade. With her pa dead, someone had to make money to support the family. Her eldest brother had left to do so by working in the mines. He'd written once or twice and then the letters stopped. Five years later they had no idea if Castor was alive or dead. Her little brother and sister were much younger than she was and were still in school.
They were just babies, really.
She'd tried working as a maid, cooking and cleaning for the folks in the fancy houses back where she came from. Every time there had been trouble. Sometimes it was jealous wives and other times, their lustful husbands. The last time she'd worked for a single man who wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. She'd run from him after he beat her, traveling as far and as fast as she could, and ended in Virginia City. Once in town she'd answered an advertisement that said the Bucket of Blood was in need of 'hostesses'. Soon after that her life as a saloon girl had begun.
As she closed the suitcase, Phoebe heard a sound in the hall. The door was open and so she looked to see who it was. A second later Adam Cartwright appeared. He must have come in to check on his brother.
She rose and went to meet him. "How's Little Joe?"
"He's still with the Doc," Adam said. "I was actually looking for you. Do you need any help with your things?"
"That's sweet of you to ask, Adam, but I can manage. I only have one suitcase."
His eyes flicked to the case. It was a big one.
"That looks like a man-size job," the handsome man with the black hair said, a smile touching his lips.
She looked. In truth, it was. Returning the smile, she said, "All right. I surrender. You can carry it." As he headed into the room, Phoebe added, "Are you really sure it is all right for me to go to the Ponderosa with you?"
He took the case in hand. "I thought Pa told you it was."
The redhead winced. "Your father seems kind, but he is a little..."
"Intimidating?" Adam snorted. "Trust me, Pa's bark is definitely worse than his bite."
"I'm... I'm grateful he agreed to let me go with you to help with Little Joe, but to tell the truth, I don't really understand why. Your pa doesn't know me." She hesitated. "Really, none of you know me."
Adam put the suitcase down. "For one thing Doc Martin vouched for you. He said the care you have given Joe is excellent. And for another," he paused, "I don't think you want to be here. I think you'd rather be anywhere else."
She blinked back tears. "I don't mind. It's a job."
"You're not a very good liar."
One of the tears fell and slipped down her cheek. She struck it away. "Is that a badthing?"
"No. That's a good thing." Adam hesitated as if considering how appropriate his next words would be. "Phoebe, I think this may be your chance to escape. You've done so much for Joe. To thank you, we'd like to help you get away and get a fresh start."
She dipped her head. "I...can't."
"Why not?"
"You don't understand, Adam." Another tear fell. "This is the only kind of place that will have me."
"No, I don't understand. Make me."
"I can't... I – "
A shout made her stop. She turned to the door even as a man's voice carried up the stair, loud and urgent.
"Adam? Pa! Are you here? Pa?"
The man in black released her and crossed to the door. "Up here, Hoss!" he called back.
She had forgotten what a mountain of a man the middle Cartwright brother was. He made two of Little Joe. As Hoss entered the room and drew abreast his brother he shot her a puzzled look and then asked, "Where's Joe? Is he all right?"
Adam grimaced. "Joe's out of danger," he replied. "But he's not 'all right'."
"Can I see him?"
"Doc Martin's with him right now – and Pa." Adam picked up her suitcase again. "Hoss, why don't you come down with me to the wagon? You can help me finish getting it ready for Joe and I can fill you in while we work. By the time we're finished, the Doc should be done."
Hoss had to think about it. It was legendary in the town about the big man's ferocious love of his little brother. She could only imagine his worry and pain. Finally, he nodded. "If you say so, Adam."
Adam clapped his brother on the shoulder. "I say so," he answered with a pale grin. Then he turned to her. "Phoebe, we'll be twenty minutes or so, I imagine. Will you be ready to leave by then?"
"I'm ready now."
Hoss looked at her. "Are you coming with us, Miss Phoebe?"
"Phoebe is going to watch over Joe while we catch up on everything that we've had to neglect at the Ponderosa over the last few days." He smiled again. "Doc Martin thought it would be a good thing for little brother to have a woman's touch."
"I imagine he's right," the big man said as he tipped his hat. "Welcome to the family, Miss Phoebe."
A little breath caught the tears Hoss' words brought to her eyes.
If only.
Moving Joe was as agonizing as looking at what had been done to him. Ben had thought to carry his boy himself, but when he gathered Joe into his arms and tried to pick him up, his son cried out in pain. Finally, he had opted to place Joe on a blanket and use it as a kind of litter, which the four of them – him, Hoss, Adam, and Paul Martin – carried down the stairs and out to the wagon. As it was midday there were a good many onlookers who kept a solemn watch as they placed Joe in the wagon. Some of them he recognized. A few were enemies, more were friends, and still others, strangers, but all of them looked on with sympathy – or maybe, it was empathy.
Most were parents. Most knew what it was like to have a hurting child.
"Pa, Little Joe's all set," Hoss said as he came to rest beside him.
Ben looked at his middle son. Hoss hadn't said much since he'd seen Joe for the first time. He'd watched the big man pass through disbelief to rage, and then to a quiet place where determination and doing what was necessary formed a bandage over grief and pain. It was Hoss's nature to be troubled by anything that was wounded. He couldn't count how many times they'd had cages at the ranch house or in the barn, filled with injured birds and animals that Hoss nursed back to health.
This was his brother.
Ben moved to the side of the wagon and looked into the bed. It was a crisp day, not too cold but definitely a signal of winter's close arrival. He could tell it was going to be a bitter season. There would be snow in the mountains soon. Because of the wintry air they had dressed Joseph first in a shirt and pants, and then wound several robes about his thin frame. Phoebe had provided blankets both to go under and over his boy and Joe was nestled now like a babe in a cradle only waiting a blazing fire to rest beside. His youngest son was on the cusp of manhood. In some ways, Joe was already a man. But looking at him now, swaddled like an infant, it seemed only a day before that he had been a little boy.
"You want me to drive the wagon, Pa?" Hoss asked, stirring him from his reverie.
"Yes. I'll take Buck, and Adam has Sport. Phoebe will ride along with you."
Hoss removed his hat and scratched his head. "She sure is a pretty little thing. But Pa, do you think she's the right one to look out for Joe?"
He had his own doubts.
Adam had none.
"I am trusting your brother on this one." Ben paused. "I sense...somehow, that Adam needs that right now."
The big man replaced his hat. "I ain't never seen Adam like this, Pa."
"I know and that troubles me. Joe has been beaten up before, and badly. There seems to be, I don't know, something more this time for your older brother."
"Somethin' Adam ain't tellin' us?"
He let out a sigh. "I hope not. I hope your brother knows there is nothing that would alter my feelings for either him or Joe."
"Joe, Pa? You think it's about Joeand not Adam hisself?"
"I don't know, Hoss. I just know that Adam is carrying a weight of guilt that could break him." He shook his head. "It seems I have two wounded sons."
"You want me to talk to him?"
Ben touched his son's shoulder. "Not now. Maybe when we get home."
Releasing Hoss, Ben turned his attention to his youngest again. Paul Martin had given Joe another dose of laudanum in an attempt to keep him under as they traveled over the Virginia City road. He was completely out at the moment, but the doctor had warned before he left to make his rounds that any substantial jolt could bring his son back to consciousness, and then the road home would prove an agony for his child.
"It'll be good to get Joe home, Pa."
"Yes," he agreed as he reached out to touch his son's curly brown head. "Yes, it will."
At that moment Ben heard Adam's voice. His eldest had been in the saloon settling up with the proprietor and was just now stepping out of the establishment with Phoebe Howath on his arm. Adam was honoring the deal they had made with the redhead's boss by compensating him for the time she would be away. The older man pursed his lips and grew thoughtful. He didn't know why but the doctor had backed Adam up, coming very close to insisting that they have a woman take care of Joe. It was an odd request but he'd honored it, even not knowing why it was made.
As Adam approached, his son glanced in the back of the wagon. The look out of his eldest's eyes was indefinable. There were so many emotions roiling through their hazel depths at once that they were impossible to decipher.
"How's Joe doing?" he asked.
"As comfortable as can be expected," the older man replied. Removing his hat, he said, "Miss Howath."
The redhead smiled. "Mister Cartwright. Thank you again for letting me come."
"You will be most welcome at the Ponderosa," he said. "Hoss, help the lady into her seat."
"I'd rather..." Phoebe paused. "If I might, could I ride in the back with Little Joe? That way I would be there if he needed me."
Ben considered it. "It won't be very comfortable."
"That's all right. I'm not worried about my own comfort, only his."
The older man nodded to Hoss and then watched as his son lifted the young lady into the wagon and helped her settle beside his brother before taking his own seat. Ben had a sense that Phoebe Howath's interest in his youngest son went deeper than a simple concern for someone who was hurt. He hoped he was not inviting trouble by bringing her along. Then again, if the redhead was sweet on Joe, she would certainly attend him better than any other woman he could find!
Adam mounted Sport and came alongside the wagon. "We're ready to head home, Pa."
Home. How he longed for it.
In less than a minute Ben Cartwright was settled on Buck's back and the five of them began to long solemn ride to the Ponderosa.
Hoss Cartwright stood staring down at his little brother where he lay in the wagon bed. He reached out and touched Joe's hand and then turned and headed for the tree under which Phoebe Howath sat. They were midway through their journey and had stopped to let Joe rest. It had been a hard ride. Driving the wagon as he was, he'd heard every gasp and groan his little brother made as the cart bumped over rocks and fell into the inevitable rut. He'd done his darnedest to make sure it was the smoothest ride anyone had ever taken along the Virginia City road, but by the very nature of the road, that had proven near impossible.
Hoss tipped his hat at Phoebe and then sat down next to her. It had been just about all he could do to peel the pretty little gal from his brother's side. She sat now, with a blanket tossed around her shoulders, using a boulder as her chair back. The plate of food he had given her remained untouched on her lap as she stared off into the distance, her mind as far away as the house they headed for.
"Penny for your thoughts," Hoss said.
Phoebe started. "What? Oh." She laughed. "Was I being a poor companion?"
"I weren't thinkin' about me, Miss Phoebe, but about you. You look like somethin's troublin' you."
"I'm sorry. It's just that I am used to being with men who are only interested in what I can provide for them, not men who want to look after me." She looked chagrinned. "Sometimes it's hard to remember there are men who want to do that."
Hoss glanced at his pa and Adam. Both were standing near the wagon.
"You've had a hard time of it, haven't you, Miss Phoebe?"
"Just 'Phoebe', Hoss. Though I appreciate the courtesy of being thought of as a 'lady'." She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. "That's something else I don't get too often."
"If you don't mind my asking, Miss – Phoebe, how come you ended up in a place like the Bucket of Blood?"
She looked at him. "Simple. My family needed food. Oh, I tried a few other professions but...they didn't work out. Someone suggested I check out the Bucket of Blood and I guess I was pretty enough to land the job."
He smiled. "You sure are pretty."
That made her smile. "You really think so?"
"I've seen a pile of girls and you are definitely at the top of the heap."
She laughed. "And where have you seen this 'pile of girls'?"
The big man raised his eyebrows. "Mostly trailin' behind my little brother."
Phoebe turned and looked at the wagon. The next sentence came out in a sigh. "Little Joe certainly is good looking."
So she was another one. Whatever baby brother had, he was going to have to figure out how to bottle it and sell it. He could make a fortune!
"Well, I wouldn't know much about that."
She turned back toward him. "I want you to understand Hoss that that is not why I came along, or why I...like Little Joe, in spite of what I am sure your father thinks. Maybe Adam too."
"No?"
She shook her head. "Little Joe's a gentleman. I've made it all too clear to him what I'd like and he's politely refused to take me up on it. Your brother's treated me like a lady every time. There have been other things too." Phoebe let out a little sigh. "There are men... Men who want what I do not wantto give them. If you've wondered lately where Little Joe got that shiner he came home with, defending my 'honor' was probably the cause."
He nodded. "That's my Little Joe."
She looked directly at him. "You're very close, aren't you?"
"Me and Joe?" He held up two entwined fingers. "Like this."
"This has to be very hard on you. What happened to Little Joe, I mean."
He drew a deep breath. "Well, Phoebe, I weren't there to protect him and I shoulda been."
"Adam feels the same way."
"It's how it is with us. Me and Joe and Adam. We got us different mothers, but we all got the same pa and that's the tie that binds us. You won't find three brothers who's more close." He grinned. "Even if we do scrap now and then."
"You wouldn't be human if you didn't. Castor and I, that's my older brother, we were never close. He was always with pa, and since pa was a drunk, well... I'm closer to my little brother and sister, but even there, there is a distance – as if we are afraid to love too much and then be hurt too hard when one of us fails the other."
He was silent a minute. "That's a sorry way to be, Phoebe, if you don't mind my sayin' so."
"No. I don't mind. You're right." She handed him her plate and stood up. "I think I will go see if your father needs me to take over. I imagine he and Adam have other things to do."
"It sure was nice gettin' to know you better. But then, I guess we'll have plenty of time to get acquainted since you'll be stayin' with us for a while."
"Oh, it probably won't be that long. I'm sure Little Joe will recover quickly," she said, though she sounded like she didn't believe it.
"I hope you're right. I sure do hate seein' him like this."
Phoebe stepped over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Then she turned and headed for the wagon.
Hoss watched her go. He noted that she halted a few feet away from his pa and Adam, as if she didn't want to interrupt them.
The big man rose and tossed the remainder of his food aside.
He did wonder just what it was they was talkin' about.
"Pa, I told you. I had too much to drink too quickly last night and on an empty stomach," Adam insisted. "I'm all right. It was just...everything coming together at once when I was too tired to cope."
His father pinned him with that look – the one that made lumber barons and mine owners squirm. "You didn't look or sound all right."
"Is it utterly impossible for you to believe that I had a moment when I lost control? I am human after all!"
"It's completely possible to believe and completely acceptable, but it's not you, son." The older man drew a breath. "Adam, I know you are holding something back."
"I'm not, Pa." He said it, and then realized he had said it entirely too quickly. Adam looked down and then back up at his father who was staring at him with a mixture of disapproval and skepticism. "Look, Pa, I have told you everything I know is true. What more is there I can do?"
"Tell me what you are thinking that may or may not be true."
He thought a moment and then shook his head. "No."
That took the older man aback. "No?"
Adam considered his words carefully. "Pa, I want what is best for Little Joe and for the family. What I think or don't think is possible will do no one any good unless it's proven to be true. Aren't you the one who always tells us to stay away from idle speculation and conjecture, and to keep our mouths shut until we have the facts?"
He had him there. "In other circumstances, Adam. But this is your brother – "
"I completely disagree. Speculation could hurt Joe worse than the blows he took."
His father frowned. "Adam, that's an odd thing to say."
He knew he was waltzing close to disaster. "Pa, I asked you to trust my judgment and you said you would. Are you going back on that?"
He watched his father weigh the needs of one son against the other. "All right – for now. But understand this, if I think whatever you are holding close is important to your brother's recovery, I won't stand by and let it remain a secret."
That was a hard word. Secret. He thought of what he was doing more as a kindness – a service even, to and for Joe. Adam chewed his lip for a moment. "Pa, I'll make you promise. If I find the facts, you will be the first to know. And even if I don't, if I think Joe would be better off because I told you, I'll do that too. No matter the consequences."
The older man's jaw was tight. "Son, I know that. And in spite of everything, I hope you know that I do trust you."
He half-smiled. "I know, Pa." At that moment Adam noticed Phoebe lingering nearby, trying not to listen. He tilted his head in her direction. "We have company."
Ben looked. "The girl's a puzzlement."
"No, she's not. She's in love with Joe."
His father's dark brows peaked. "You knew that and you still insisted on bringing her along?"
"Pa, Phoebe's different. She doesn't belong at the Bucket of Blood. I just thought... Well, I thought that maybe we could help her while she was helping Joe. She's had a hard life and very few chances to make it better."
The older man smiled. "Now, that's you!" he said, poking his chest with the index finger of his other hand.
"Do you still want me to ride ahead?"
"Yes, someone needs to let Hop Sing know what is going on so Joe's room will be prepared. Oh, and put Miss Howath in the room downstairs off of the dining room." His father smiled. "You're brother is in bad shape, but there's no reason to invite trouble."
"Let's hope having a pretty girl around has Joe feeling up to mischief soon," Adam snorted.
The silver-haired man nodded.
"Come on, son. Let's go home."
Ben Cartwright closed the door to Joseph's room quietly behind him. The day was almost done and, much as he hated to leave him, he had business to attend to before turning in. Life moved on no matter what. He'd learned that long ago. His education had started with Elizabeth's death and then Inger's – his beautiful second wife who had taught him to live again and then died so soon. Then Marie had been taken. Still, in the course of life, mothers gave their lives bringing new ones into the world, men died fighting for what they believed. These were the things a man expected. The death of a child before their parent – especially one who had made it to maturity – was not. And though Joe was not in danger of dying, his son could have easily been killed. He had examined Joe's injuries again. The savagery of the assault still bothered him. If it was a robbery, though the man who committed it might have felt a need to bind him, there was no need for holding Joe down and nearly throttling him.
Of course, Joe could have fought fiercely against his attacker.
But then again, if he was tied...
No. There was something here that didn't add up. It was almost as if the attack on Joseph was personal, as if it was fueled by a rage nearly past understanding and a need he understood only to well – that of power over another man. It had been troubling him since he had seen Joe's injuries the first time. There was something familiar about them and, in a way, about Adam's reticence to speak about what he thought had happened. Ben wished he could pin it down, but there were so many other things crowding out concentration – the search for the man who had done this, his two sons' pain, the need to not overlook Hoss's, the untested and unknown young woman living in his house, and the daily needs of the Ponderosa, work on which had nearly ground to a halt with none of them there to supervise or issue orders.
The older man finished descending the stairs. He went to the kitchen first and gave Hop Sing instructions regarding the next day, and then headed for the entryway. After pulling on his coat, Ben opened the heavy door and stepped outside. It was late in the day and the night was going to be an unusually cold one. Nevada weather, of course, was as unpredictable as the land itself. Some Novembers proved to be unnaturally warm and others, like this one was shaping up to be unseasonably cold. The setting sun, however, was spectacular. The entire sky was ablaze.
Ben went to the wooden table on the porch and took a seat on its edge, permitting himself a moment to enjoy the view. As he did, he was drawn back to his days of sailing on the seas. He'd told his boys some of the lore and knew now, due to scientific advances, that those old phrases often proved true. 'Red sky at morning, sailors take warning' came from the fact that there was a great deal of water vapor present in the atmosphere and since clouds come in from the west, when they were red, it meant rainy weather was expected. And then there was the opposite phrase. The one every seaman liked best. 'Red sky at night, sailor's delight'. This meant the weather had improved and that sunlight was being reflected on the clouds, making the sky crimson. Sometimes he missed it, that life on the sea. There had been a camaraderie between men there the likes of which he had never known on land, since each one's life depended on all the others. Oh, there had been fistfights and brawls and everything you would expect from a group of men cooped up together for years without the softening touch of a woman, but for the most part, they coexisted in harmony.
For the most part.
Ben's heart began to race. He closed his eyes and fought for a memory he had almost buried. On one of the ships he had sailed when young – before he became First Mate – there had been a man found half-dead below deck. An officer. He had been a lieutenant. Ben continued to reach into the past. His name? What was his name? Bates? No, Slade. Thomas Slade. Thomas had been a handsome young buck with a head of curly golden-blond hair and bright blue eyes, who had advanced almost too quickly through the ranks and looked out of place next to the older, harder, and more seasoned officers. An investigation had been launched into what happened and then mysteriously abandoned. The lieutenant had been some time in recovery and he had been one of the first Able Seamen assigned to take him his food and see to his needs, which included helping him to dress. He remembered the shock he felt the first time he saw Slade's injuries, which included angry bruises turning from red to black on his backside and legs –
And at the base of his neck.
The lieutenant pulled through, but he was never the same. He became sullen and remote and developed an explosive temper. Shortly after their year long voyage ended Slade left the navy. Sometime later he heard the lieutenant had died, the victim of the bottle and his own misery which it seemed he could not overcome.
On shipboard no one spoke of the incident again – at least not openly. But there were rumors. The word for what happened to Thomas changed from 'attack' to 'assault', and late one night, after one of the Ordinary Seamen was reported to have gone overboard and drowned, he heard a man declare that 'the bastard' deserved it for the unspeakable thing he had done to the young officer, robbing him of his manhood and ultimately, his life.
"Joseph," the older man breathed, devastated. "Joe...
"No."
SIX
It was early morning and the sun was above the horizon. It's warm light streamed through the dining room window, creating a pale pink glow that extended to the great room where Adam Cartwright sat reading. No one else was up. Adam found the light soothing and the silence therapeutic, even if it did make it easier for his mind to stray to places it did not want to go. He'd slept in fits the night before, waking at every footfall. His father had come in very late, near three in the morning. That was unusual for a man who prided himself on keeping a tight schedule and who had to be up early to see the day's work begin. He'd opened his door a crack and watched the older man go to Joe's room. His father stood before the door for several heartbeats and then opened it and passed inside. It was twenty minutes or more before he came out. When he did, the older man's shoulders were stooped, as though they bore a great weight. They all felt it, it was just that he was the only one who knew the source and meaning of that weight.
Or was he? Did even he really know?
Adam slammed the book down on the table beside him. God! If he only knew for sure one way or the other!
Leaning on the arm of the chair, Adam pressed his lips to the back of his hand and looked up the stair, thinking of his baby brother lying up there only half-conscious. It had been over two days since the assault on Joe had happened. Roy Coffee had come out the day before to ask if he and Hoss would join the posse that was being formed. They'd both been ready to accept – raring to, really – until they saw their father's face. It chafed at him to let other men seek justice for his brother but, for now, he was needed here.
Doc Martin had come around suppertime the night before to examine Joe and had pronounced him on the mend. The older man left a bottle of laudanum in Joe's room, instructing them to administer it only if he was in extreme need. The Doc admitted he was concerned that Joe might become addicted and said that little brother needed to begin to heal and sleep naturally. That meant Joe might be conscious today, and coherent. Adam sucked in air and rose to his feet.
Talking to Joe about what happened was going to be the hardest thing he had ever done in his life.
Then again, maybe he would talk to his brother and Joe would say something that would put his mind at ease. It could all be coincidence – the fact that Joe was bruised on his backside and legs. Adam halted. He scowled. Right. It was unrealistic to think that. If Joe had simply been beaten and robbed, he might have been able to convince himself that nothing more had happened.
Unfortunately, there was the matter of his brother's missing clothes.
No, he had to face it. The object of the robbery had not been what Joe carried, but Joe himself.
With a sigh, Adam headed for the kitchen. A few minutes before he had nosed the scent of coffee and that meant Hop Sing was up and in the midst of the preparations for breakfast. He could use a good strong cup of coffee. He had a lot to do today and all he needed was to fall asleep in the saddle. As Adam headed that way, a knock on the front door stopped him. For a heartbeat or two he stood there, torn between the coffee and being a good neighbor. His pa had trained him too well. The latter won out and he headed for the door.
When he opened it he found Bexley Lanahan standing outside. "Kind of early for a visit isn't it, Bexley?" he asked.
"Sorry, Adam." At his gesture, the other man stepped into the room and removed his hat. "I was on my way into town for the boss and saw the light, so I thought I'd stop. This is the first opportunity I've had to check on Joe since the robbery." The brown-haired man's eyes flicked to the stair. "How's he doing?"
"It's hard to say. The Doc's kept him drugged since it happened."
"So Joe hasn't told you anything?"
Adam shook his head. "Maybe today. Doc Martin said to back off the medicine."
The other man looked hopeful. "That's gotta be a good sign, right?"
"Yeah." He hadn't seen Bexley since that first night or quite this close before. Though he had fared better than Joe, the brown-haired man had been beaten as well. One side of Bexley's face was purple, with a few of the bruises heading for green. He might have imagined it, but it looked like the imprint of the side of a pistol had been left on his cheek. "How are you?"
Bexley snorted. "Head hard as stone. I'm fine."
"Have you remembered anything else?"
The other man shook his head. "I haven't. I heard a noise and Joe and I dismounted. We split up and went searching, and then someone pistol-whipped me. That's it until I woke up and found Joe."
He had talked to Bexley several times. Every time the story was the same.
Adam ran a hand along the back of his neck and rubbed it to ease the stress. "I guess we won't know any more until we talk to Joe – if we do then."
"What do you mean?"
"The Doc said Joe was struck hard enough that he may never remember what happened."
Bexley frowned. "That'd be a shame, wouldn't it? Letting someone get by with what they did?"
Adam's jaw clenched. "A shame? You might call it that."
His brother's friend looked hard at him. "You aren't going to do anything stupid, are you, Adam? Like go off half-cocked, looking for whoever did it on your own?"
"Stupid? Me? Nah. Let's call it brash, shall we?" he replied. "You know, Bexley, I would if I had the slightest lead, but I don't."
"Nothing then?"
"No."
Bexley returned his hat to his head. "Well, I'll be moving on. Mister Hansford sent me into town for supplies for that cattle drive we're heading out on in a few days. I'd best be on my way. He was kindly about my being late the other day and I don't want to abuse his trust."
"You're a good man, Bexley. Thank you for all you did for Joe."
The other man shrugged it off. "That's what friends are for." He started to leave and then turned back. "Oh, Jude said he might stop by later." He winced. "That is, if you think your Pa would let him in. I know he ain't too fond of him."
"Pa's not unreasonable, just cautious. Jude will be welcome if he's come to check on Joe."
"I'll tell him that. It would be around suppertime."
Adam watched the other man go and then closed the door. As he did, he heard a sound that drew his attention to the stair.
His father was descending.
"You're up early," the older man said when he noticed him.
"I couldn't sleep and came down to read. What about you?"
"The same."
"I heard you come in last night," Adam said. "It was pretty late."
"For an old man, you mean?"
For a second he didn't know if his pa was serious or not. A slight smile told him he wasn't. "Yes, for an old man."
His father stared at him, hard. "I was thinking."
"Oh. About what happened?"
"What happened, yes. And about you."
Adam's black brows winged toward his hairline. "Me?"
"Yes, you, and your brother, and the love between you."
"Joe and me, you mean?" When his father nodded, he shrugged. "If 'love' means being constantly torn between wanting to knock someone's head into the wall, and worrying whether or not you might have done some damage when you did, that would be me."
"Adam, I'm serious."
He looked down. "I know you are, Pa."
The older man hesitated. "Do you remember that black dog you had when you were a little boy? The one I got you after we lost Inger."
It had been a long time. "Yeah, Pa, I remember."
"What was his name?"
"Dog, I think," Adam laughed. "Maybe Pal."
"Do you remember how he'd shy away from you when you tried to pet him, and sometimes seem like he meant to bite?"
"That I remember. I was terrified of him at times."
"But let anyone come near you, anything threaten you and that dog was there barking, with his teeth snapping. He'd have torn anyone apart who tried to harm you." The older man's laugh was gentle. "Including me when I came at you with a switch."
"I did love him for that." Adam laughed and then sobered. "I know what you're saying Pa. About me and Joe."
"Son, you've got to stop blaming yourself for what happened."
Adam pursed his lips. He drew in a breath and let it out. "I don't know that I can do that, Pa."
"Adam, no matter what happened to Joe, there was nothing you could have done to prevent it. Your brother is headstrong. If you hadn't given Joe permission to stay in town, he would have sneaked out and gone back to that poker game anyhow if he really wanted to go."
It made sense to his head, but not to his heart.
"Put yourself in my boots, Pa. You left me in charge of not only the ranch, but of Joe. If I can handle a bronco, I should certainly be able to handle one 'headstrong' boy."
"But you don't love the bronco."
Adam fought the tears that were just under the surface. It was new to him, emotion he couldn't control.
He didn't like it.
"Pa..."
"Adam," his father began, growing deadly earnest, "there's something we need to talk about before – "
"Morning, Pa. Adam!" Hoss's jovial voice came down the stair before he did. "Seems like all of us are gonna get an early start to the mornin'. Does Hop Sing know?"
"He's in the kitchen already," Adam replied, still eying his father.
"Danged if he don't have the intuition of one of them there Swamis you see at the county fair!" As his brother drew alongside them, the big man seemed to sense something was up. "Did I come down at a bad time?"
Whatever his father had been about to say, apparently he did not want to do so in front of Hoss. "No, son. Why don't you go tell Hop Sing he can serve breakfast any time?"
"Will do, Pa." Hoss frowned as he turned toward him. "Say, Adam, didn't you sleep at all? You look like something the cat dragged in."
"Or maybe like something that black dog I had dragged in," he snorted, looking at his Pa.
"You mean Jake?"
Adam's brows flew up along with his father's. "Jake?"
"That mean-as-a-cuss black pup that nearly took my fingers off for throwin' a stick at you? How could I forget him?"
"Jake. Well."
Their pa made a small noise. "Hoss... Hop Sing?"
"Dag blame it, I plumb forgot!" his brother said with a snap of his fingers. "I'll tell him to fix breakfast and do it in a hurry, or I might just eat me a China man!"
Adam watched his brother go and then turned back to find his father still studying him.
"Pa?"
"When the day's work is done, Adam. We need to talk."
"What more is there to talk about?"
"Plenty." The older man's eyes darted to the kitchen entryway. "But not here. Not now. I'm hoping before we do that your brother wakes up. If Joe remembers something that can answer the questions we have, then we will know which direction to go. Phoebe knows to have Hop Sing send one of the hands out to find you or me if he does."
"What about Hoss?"
"No. Not Hoss. Just you or me."
"Why not?"
His father pinned him with his near-black eyes.
"Son, I think you know."
Phoebe Howath stood by the window in Joe Cartwright's room, listening to the blustery wind 'wuther' – as her Yorkshire-born father would have put it – through the tall pines outside. It was mid-afternoon and Joe's brothers and father had headed out to their various jobs. She was alone in the house with Little Joe and Hop Sing. She had gone downstairs a short time before to fix a bit of food for herself, but the Chinese man would have none of it. Hop Sing had very kindly made tea for her and fixed her a lovely plate of finger sandwiches and, when she told him that she needed to get back to Little Joe, had handed her a piece of cherry pie and told her to take it upstairs with her. Phoebe smiled.
She got the distinct impression Hop Sing thought she needed more meat on her bones.
Little Joe was sleeping and she found she was restless, so she had left her chair at his bedside to wander around the room. Shamelessly, she'd opened a few drawers and peeked into his linen press, noting the care with which he treated his every day clothes. Her only excuse was that she wanted to learn everything about him that she could so she would know how to make him love her. It was foolishness, of course. Even if Little Joe had cared for her, since she had come to the Ponderosa and seen the sprawling ranch house with its fine furniture, china plates, silver, and more, she knew she would never fit in.
She was the dirt men like the Cartwrights walked on.
Phoebe stopped to look at her reflection in the mirror of Joe's dresser. Her mother would have approved of her today in her pale blue printed cotton dress, with her hair gathered into a simple bun at the nape of her neck. The last time she's seen her Ma was on the street in Virginia City when she had been bidding goodbye to one of her customers . Her mother had told her she was a 'strumpet' and that she was ashamed of her. There were other words: hooker, trollop, trull. It didn't matter. It was all the same. They all meant a woman who sold herself.
A woman who was used by men, sometimes for pleasure, but more often for the power it gave them.
Her father had another term for what she was. A 'rose with a thorn', he called the bawdy women he sometimes brought home with him, rubbing their painted beauty in her mother's face. It was a good name. Each day she continued to provide the services she did that thorn pierced her heart a little more, draining her of youth and vitality. She saw it happening every time she looked in the mirror. She had started to harden herself against the pain, and she knew that was the most dangerous thing of all.
Phoebe was just about to move over to the dresser when a small sound drew her attention to the bed. Little Joe hadn't moved, but it must have been him. Crossing back to the bed, she sat down beside him and picked up his hand. While holding it, Phoebe leaned in and brushed the curls back from his forehead and called his name.
"Little Joe? Can you hear me? It's Phoebe."
At first there was no response, then – wonder of wonders! – Little Joe moaned and his slender form shifted on the bed.
Excitement filled her. "Little Joe? If you can hear me, answer me."
Joe moaned again. He shifted as if uncomfortable and then opened his eyes. "Ma?" he asked feebly.
Suddenly Phoebe was at a loss. Was there a current Mrs. Cartwright? If there was, where was she? She had no idea. "No, Little Joe. It's Phoebe."'
"Can I have...water?" he asked.
It was on the bedside table. She poured a glass full and then, slipping her arm behind him and lifting him up, held the glass to his lips and helped him drink.
"Just take a little," she warned. "You've been without it for quite a while."
When he nodded, Phoebe pulled the glass away and placed it on the table. Then she stood and went to the washstand where she wet a cloth. Returning, she wiped his face with it first and then used a clean end of it to wet his lips.
"Better?" she asked.
Joe nodded slowly. "Where...am I?"
"Home."
His eyes roamed the shadowy interior. "My room? Why are...you...in my room?"
Phoebe cradled his hand in both of hers. "I came to take care of you."
"Why?" He grew agitated. "Where's...Pa? What have you...done to Pa?"
"Your father's fine, Joe. He's just out working."
Joe's breathing grew rapid. He struggled to get up. "Hoss! Adam?"
Phoebe hesitated and then, careful to avoid the bruising, took his face in her hands and made him look at her. "Joe! Everything is fine. Listen to me. Look at me. It's Phoebe."
The handsome man blinked several times as if working off the lingering effects of the drug he had been given. He quieted as he recognized her. "Phoebe?"
She grinned. "Yes, Little Joe, it's Phoebe!" Fighting back tears, she added, "Don't frighten me like that."
His dark expressive eyebrows formed a 'V' as he frowned. "Sorry."
"No. I'm sorry. It's all right." Looking down at the hand she held, Phoebe suddenly felt like a school girl with a crush. Releasing it, she asked him, "Now, tell me one more time. Who am I?"
A slow smile spread across Little Joe's face. It was a pale imitation of the winning smile she knew, but it was the most wonderful thing she had seen in days.
"The prettiest girl west of the Mississippi?"
Phoebe smiled too. "Welcome back," she said softly.
Little Joe's smile faded as he shifted his body in an attempt to sit up. Wincing, he asked, "Where's the wagon train that ran me over?"
"What do you remember?"
The handsome man closed his eyes as he settled back against the pillows. "I...remember riding out of town with Beck. He heard something." Little Joe's voice grew in strength as he continued. "I got off my horse to see if I could find who it was, and – " He reached for the back of his head and winced when he found the lump he was looking for. "Someone hit me!" Turning his gaze on her, Little Joe asked, "How long have I been out?"
"Almost two days."
"Two days?"
"You were beaten and robbed." Phoebe paused. "You really don't remember anything else?"
Little Joe closed his eyes and concentrated for perhaps ten heartbeats. "Nope. Nothing," he said when he opened them at last.
She knew that would disappoint his brothers and father. They were so hoping Little Joe could tell them something that would lead to the capture of the man who had done this to him.
Joe shifted his body again. A moment later he reached behind and pressed a hand to his lower back. "What'd they do?" he asked, his eyes going wide. "Whack me like a dirty rug?" As he returned his hand to the blanket in front of him, he noticed the rope burns on his wrists. Little Joe's green eyes flicked from the red marks to her. "Whoever it was tied me up too?"
She nodded.
"Must have been one mean cuss."
"I think that goes without saying," a gruff male voice spoke from just without the room.
Phoebe started guiltily and jumped to her feet. "Mister Cartwright. I was just going to send someone to find you. I didn't think you'd be home so soon."
Ben Cartwright held her gaze for a moment and then turned to his son. "We did an honest day's work, which is more than I can say for you, young man," he said with a smile. "What is this? Laying up here on your backside all day long when there's chores to be done."
"I'm all for not laying on my backside any longer than I have to, Pa," Joe answered, his voice finding its full strength. "My rump hurts like Hell." Little Joe stopped. His cheeks went beet red. "Pardon me, Phoebe."
She laughed. "Don't worry about me. I've heard worse." Phoebe stood and walked over to Little Joe's father. "I'll leave you two alone now." At the door she turned back with a thought. "Are you hungry, Little Joe? I could bring you something."
"Yes, Ma'am, I am," he said with a grin.
"Now I know you're better," his father said, the relief he felt plain in the older man's voice.
"How about some soup?" she asked. "I think Hop Sing has a pot ready."
Little Joe nodded. "Sounds great, Phoebe. Thank you."
Before she left the room, the redhead was bold enough to touch Ben Cartwright's arm. "The worst is over," she breathed.
The older man tore his eyes away from his son to look at her. There was an odd look in his dark eyes.
"I hope so, Phoebe. I certainly hope so."
Ben Cartwright watched the girl go and then sat on the bed beside his son. Reaching out, he brushed a tumble of sodden brown curls off Joe's forehead and then cupped his son's bruised cheek with his hand.
"How are you, Joseph? Really?"
"I'm all right, Pa," Joe answered, frowning as he shifted under the covers. "I got a headache pounding harder than a man working a sledgehammer and I hurt all over, but that's nothing I haven't had before."
"Joseph..."
His son grimaced. "Okay, maybe it hurts more than anything I had before, but I can stand it."
"What about inside? Does anything feel 'wrong'? As bad as the attack was there might be internal injuries. Doc Martin said to ask you as soon as we could."
Joe looked puzzled. Finally, he said, "No."
"What is it, Joe? Is something wrong?"
"Well, it's not inside, Pa. But I sure do feel saddle sore."
'And you have no idea why?"
Joe shook his head.
Ben did not hesitate. "Apparently whoever robbed you tied you up first and pinned you to the ground. They probably leaned a knee on your backside when they did. There are bruises on your shoulders and back, as well as lower down."
The silver-haired man watched his son process the information, looking for any sign that might indicate Joe was hedging and that his lack of memory was a false front.
He found none.
His youngest's face screwed up in confusion. "How come I don't remember what happened, Pa?"
"Doc Martin said you took quite a blow to the head. It's not that unusual. Most men don't remember the moment of injury." He paused. "What do you remember about what happened before you were struck?"
Joe leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Ben could tell his son was tiring. "Not much. One minute I was walking, looking for Beck, and the next I was... Well, here."
Could they be so fortunate?
His son opened one eye and then closed it again, slowly. "It sure is good to be home, Pa."
Ben reached out to touch his shoulder. "It's good to have you home, Joseph, as well as on the road to recovery."
Joe yawned mightily. "I'm okay, Pa. Really. Don't worry...about...me..."
The older man remained still as his son fell asleep. For some time he sat there looking at him, debating what to do. He had told Adam he wanted to talk to him later because he meant to bring everything out in the open. But now, if Joe remembered nothing, he wondered if that was wise. Still, at the moment Adam was bearing the burden of what 'might' have happened to his brother alone and that was more than enough to break a man. Ben Cartwright sighed. For the sake of one son, he wanted to remain quiet, but for the sake of the other, he felt compelled to speak.
At least if he told Adam his suspicions, his eldest would no longer be alone.
As he rose, the silver-haired man pulled the covers up to his youngest's chin and tucked him in. Then he headed downstairs. Supper would be ready soon.
Once it was over, he and Adam needed to talk.
Adam dropped his spoon on the table and sat back. He noted Hoss's bowl was empty, but it was the only one. His and his pa's were still half-full. They'd invited Phoebe to eat with them and she had been at the table for a bit, but then she'd excused herself to take a bowl up to Joe. Knowing his brother would need something simple, Hop Sing had made a wonderful pot of chicken noodle soup. The redhead hoped she could persuade his brother to eat again. Joe'd had a little broth so far but that was all, and he couldn't really afford to lose much weight.
He barely had enough to start with.
As the Chinese man came in to clear the table, Hoss put his napkin down and sighed. "That there was the most wonderful soup a man ever ate, Hop Sing!"
Hop Sing grinned from ear to ear. "Plenty more for Mister Hoss when he's ready for second supper."
"Second supper?" The big man frowned. Then his eyes lit up. "Oh, you mean for a midnight snack?"
"Night time, morning, only one minute apart," Hop Sing replied. As he came to him, the Chinese man scowled. "You no like your soup, Mister Adam?"
Adam patted his stomach. "I like it very much. I just don't have much of an appetite."
His father put his spoon down and pushed his own half-empty bowl away. "Me either, Hop Sing. But don't worry, I imagine we'll all be down for that midnight snack."
"Not good. Cartwright men have no schedule. Men with no schedule eat whenever they want and get fat!"
Hoss took hold of his middle and shook it. "Is that what happened?"
"Do you have a schedule, Hop Sing?" Adam asked, amused.
"Hop Sing have to have schedule, else he have no time to complain about Cartwrights not eating!" With that, the Chinese man headed for the kitchen taking the dishes with him and leaving behind a long line of untranslatable Asian expletives.
Hoss looked from him to Adam. "What's wrong with you two? Joe's out of danger and that was some mighty fine soup!"
"I'm tired," Adam replied. "I imagine Pa is too. Neither one of us slept all that well last night."
"Ain't that too bad," Hoss said, rising. "I slept like a log."
"A log with a saw running through it," the man in black complained. "You should have heard yourself snoring."
"I don't snore!" Hoss protested. Then he added with a sheepish grin. "Leastwise I ain't never heard myself snore."
"Take my word for it. It was you or a sawmill," Adam groused.
Their father stood and tossed his napkin on the table. "Well, while you two boys spar verbally, I'm going to attend to the horses." He stopped a few feet from the table and turned back. "Say, Adam, don't you need to check Sport's leg?"
That was his cue. "Yes. I'll be out shortly."
As their father left the ranch house, Hoss asked, "What's wrong with Sport?"
"He was limping a bit when I rode in tonight. Maybe he has a rock under his shoe."
"You want me to take a look?"
Adam rose as well. "No, I'll do it. I don't think it's anything bad."
"All right then." Hoss patted his clothes and dust flew into the air. "I'm gonna wash this trail dust off of me and then go sit with Joe. You come get me if you need me."
"I think that's wise," Adam said, rising as well. "Phoebe is pushing herself too hard. See if you can persuade her to get some sleep."
"That gal sure is devoted to our Little Joe." Hoss stretched and yawned. "If'n you don't need me, I'll just fall right into bed after I leave baby brother's room."
"I'll be fine. You do that. See you tomorrow, Hoss."
As his brother headed up the stairs Adam turned toward the door. His father was waiting for him in the stable, ready to talk.
But was he?