Bret was up first the next morning, and he already had a pot of coffee made and ready by the time Doralice stirred on the settee. He brought her a cup and then went to help Bart on his first day out of bed.
He found his brother sitting on the side of the bed, rubbing his head. "Does it still hurt?"
"Some. But not as bad as before. You're up early."
"I made coffee. You want some?"
"Sure would be nice." The attitude seemed to be gone this morning . . . at least most of it seemed gone.
"I'll get you a cup. You been up on your feet yet?"
Bart looked up sheepishly. "Just for a couple minutes. Unsteady at first, but it got better. I guess the doc was right about bein' dizzy when I stood up."
"You gonna be able to ride, or do you want me to take the buggy?"
"I'll ride. Just make sure I've got a decent horse."
Doralice came in with the coffee for Bart. "How you feelin' this mornin'?"
"Pretty good, actually. Ask me that again tonight, and we'll see how I really feel."
Bret laid a hand on Bart's shoulder. "I want you to promise me that if you get tired, you'll tell me. There's no sense in wearin' yourself out the first day.''
"Alright. Are we gonna eat breakfast?"
"I can have breakfast ready in just a few minutes," Doralice told them both. "Eggs, bacon and biscuits. Maude won't be at the saloon for a while yet anyway."
"Sounds good. Mrs. Maverick, uh, Doralice, can I talk to you for a minute?"
Bret left the bedroom, hoping that Bart was going to mend some fences with his wife. By the time Doralice made her way into the kitchen, it appeared that he had.
Maria Elena arrived at her normal time and took charge of the children's breakfast. Meantime, Doralice fixed the promised meal for the adults, and in less than half an hour the little people had been fed, and the adults were sitting down to eat. Breakfast was a quiet meal, with little in the way of small talk going on. Bart asked a trivial question or two, but that was all in the way of conversation.
By the time the meal was finished, the twins had left for school, with Maria Elena escorting them. Beauregard and Breton were playing in the bedroom, and the brothers were drinking coffee at the kitchen table. Finally Bret looked at his watch and decided it was time to go. "Be careful, please," Doralice reminded them as they left for the saloon. Bret took it slow, there was no sense in hurrying. When Bart walked through the batwing doors he looked around; Bret watched him for any sign of recognition. There was none. Willie was already behind the bar and Evan Sunday was busy delivering the morning's supply of sweet rolls. The amnesiac perked up when he caught the smell of the pastries. "I know that smell. She delivers them every morning."
Bret nodded. "You're right. She does. Is that your first memory?"
"Not exactly." A gentle shake of the head accompanied the statement.
Bret looked at him quizzically. "What does that mean?"
"It means . . . there's one or two little things I've remembered. But nothing of any significance."
Bret knocked on Maude's door, and he heard another 'Come in,' his second of the morning. Pushing the door wide, he ushered Bart in first, then followed. "Good morning, Maude."
"Morning, Bret. Morning, Bart. Good to see you up and about. Please, have a seat, boys."
"You're my mother-in-law?"
"Yes, I am. Is there somethin' wrong with that?"
Bart blinked once or twice, trying to figure out how to say exactly what he meant. "You're . . . too young. Way too young."
Maude let loose with that delicious laugh she had. "You ain't the first to tell me that, son, and it ain't the first time you've said it."
Bart chuckled. "Glad to know I had eyes before."
Maude was still laughing. "Why do you think all them babies you got are so beautiful?"
All three of them laughed until they couldn't laugh anymore. Maude finally got herself under control and continued. "You sound good, you look good. How do you feel?"
"Better than I did. I just want to remember . . . everything I don't."
"You have to give it time, Bart," Bret reminded him.
"I don't want to give it time."
"Now that sounds like the Bart Maverick I know," Maude remarked.
"Me, too," his brother pitched in.
"So I take it I have no patience," the younger man stated.
"That . . . would be putting it mildly," Bret said bluntly.
"How did y'all manage to put up with me?"
"You have a lot of outstanding qualities, Bart. It wasn't difficult to 'put up' with you." Maude sounded sincere; whether she was or not was anybody's guess. "And I want you back at work as soon as you feel up to it."
"But what if I can't remember how everything works?"
"You're a bright man; you've been doin' this for a long time. You'll figure it out." Bart sighed. He certainly hoped he would. "I'm not the only one that believes in you. Doralice is pretty well set on your sterling qualities, too."
"She's prejudiced."
"I just want to make sure that you'll come back to Maude's."
Bart was trying to be honest, and fair. "I can't make any decisions right now."
Maude took another swallow of brandy. "I guess I can't be upset with you for not wantin' to commit to somethin' you don't remember. Will you at least think about it?"
"I can do that. Do you have any objections to me playin' poker in the saloon?"
The owner shook her head. "As long as you don't win the place out from under me," and once more she laughed.
The brothers looked at each other, and Bret stood. "We need to go, Maude. We're on our way to see Pappy."
"Oh dear lord, that should be interesting. Just remember, Bart, he is your father, and he does love you."
"I'll keep that in mind, Maude. And thanks." Bart tipped his hat and followed his brother out of the boss's office. Maude seemed like a nice enough person, and he understood where Doralice got her good looks. He must have been a decent employee; she wanted him back at work.
It sounded like this meeting with his father was going to be . . . he couldn't find a word to describe it. He'd just have to wait and see.