Part Ten

San Benitos Mountains

Cipriano remained by Scott's side as they headed into the San Benitos. He was comfortable with the young man's ability to lead the staff Cipriano had selected. Only those who had used firearms in the military or had experience with other weapons were with them.

Scott scanned the area before turning to him. "Cipriano, you're with me." He looked back at the men behind him. "The rest of you follow a hundred yards behind."

Cipriano followed close behind, his eyes surveying the terrain, his thoughts circling around Murdoch Lancer sons. He didn't know the background of either of them, and could only determine their personalities by their actions.

One thing was for certain: it was a poor time for them to get to know their father.

~#~#~#~

Coley watched the men ride across the stream. "Well, there's eight of them."

Pardee grinned. "That doesn't leave too much at Lancer, now does it?"

"Nope."

Pardee moved off the rock with Coley following behind. They headed back to the rest of the men waiting on dirt bikes and ATV's. If they timed this right, they could hit Lancer quick and hard, taking out Murdoch Lancer. His son would be next on that short list.

Their employer was impatient to see results.

Pardee pulled his gloves and helmet. "Baines, call the rest of the men and tell them we'll meet them in town." He looked around. "Move out quietly. They're just on the other side of this ridge."

~#~#~#~

Scott crawled over the rough rock to peek over the edge to the valley below. Recognizing the men he had fought with at Baldemerro's, he took Pardee for the man who led the way, pushing his dirt bike.

No one was remaining behind and Scott took that as a sign Pardee was going for the last push to take Lancer. They still didn't know for what purpose and that thought irritated him.

Scott scrambled back down the waiting men. "All right, we can head back."

~#~#~#~

Hacienda

Murdoch watched the hypnotic flames in the fireplace, the glass of scotch warming in his hand. The sound of soft footfalls alerted him to someone entering the room.

Turning, he felt his leg burn, but felt vulnerable and exposed with his back to the room. "Who's there?"

Teresa came into view. "It's me."

"I suppose it would do no good if I told you to go to bed?"

An arched brow lifted, an act so reminiscent of Paul his heart thumped painfully with the reminder of their loss.

"I'll fix the fire." Suiting actions to words Teresa picked up the poker and crouched down before the fire, prodding the logs. "You're thinking about your sons out there, aren't you?"

Murdoch couldn't stop thinking of them. "They're strangers to me." Teresa stood up with such ease that Murdoch felt a pang of jealousy.

She picked up a blanket. "It'll take a little time. But once they get to know you…"

"They'll stop hating me?"

Teresa rolled her eyes. "You're such guys." She spread the blanket over his legs. "They don't hate you. They want to love you."

Murdoch leaned his head back against the chair. "I ought to get myself a dog." He looked up at her; she smiled back at him. "They don't answer back."

Teresa settled down by his legs and rested her arms on them: A routine that began a few weeks after Paul's death. He welcomed the closeness and stroked her hair. It was a marvel at this age that she allowed it.

"You miss your dad, don't you?"

"Yes - but I've got you." It was so simple of a statement, but one he felt in the solar plexus.

"Yes, you have. You surely have."

~#~#~#~

Morro Coyo

Johnny eased himself out the door, frosted mug in hand. The air outside was no better than within the Buckhorn. His left hand twitched against the light pole. It was impossible to relax with the musty odor of stale beer and cigarette smoke wafting out of the bar behind him and the sweatiness of the men standing beside him. The smells crept into his brain and tapped on it, making his head ache. He gripped the half empty mug tighter.

A screaming-red Chevy rumbled down the road. Day Pardee pulled up, flashed a smile and cut the engine. The longer Johnny stayed here the more uncomfortable he felt. There was no way to avoid a confrontation.

Day slid out of the car and gave the car door a negligent kick to shut it. "John, you make up your mind yet?" Pardee placed his foot on the curb and leaned on his knee.

Johnny wiped the moisture from the rim of his mug with the edge of his thumb. "Yeah, I made up my mind."

"We'll be movin' out soon." Pardee studied him under the brim of his hat. "I figure we'll get breakfast at the Lancer Preserve."

Johnny leaned against the light pole and took a long sip of the beer, giving a curt nod. Pardee stepped up on the porch and brushed past him, walking to the bar's front door.

Johnny heard Coley talking behind him. "He wants in?"

"That's right," Pardee said.

Coley lowered his voice, but Johnny still heard the fat man's reply. "I'm not so sure I trust him."

Johnny could feel their eyes on him. Assessing, wondering. He had a sick feeling the confrontation would come sooner rather than later.

~#~#~#~

Lancer Wildlife Preserve

His horse began to pull ahead of the small group and Scott felt a surge of excitement, even though he knew the danger had just begun.

He reined the chestnut to a stop and turned to face the men before him. "All right, I want men on the roof." He jabbed a finger in the air. "There - and there. I need some on the front portico, and a few around the back of the house and the patio. Move out!"

Picking up on his mood, the horse began to rear a bit. He pulled in the reins and brought it down to a rhythmic prancing. It wouldn't be long before Pardee showed. Scott looked around at the mélange of men, weapons and animals. They'd be ready—but he needed to talk to Johnny about strategy to cover the house when Pardee showed—where was he?

~#~#~#~

Hacienda Great Room

Murdoch met him at the door. "What happened?"

Scott stepped down into the room and hefted the rifle in his hand. "Nothing," he said, walking to the table, "yet."

He fingered the hunting gun's heavy stock in his hand, wishing it were a standard issue assault rifle. The lighter M16 with a telescoping lens would be perfect for this scenario.

Scott set the weapon down and turned to sit on the edge of the table. "We rode just far enough to make them think we'd taken the bait, then we cut back through Cipriano's pass."

The smell of coffee preceded Teresa entering the room and he was more than ready to accept a cup from her. "Pardee should be along soon. It'll be daylight in a few minutes, we should get ready."

Teresa looked worried but not afraid—good girl. She swung her eyes to Murdoch looking to him for direction. Murdoch looked resigned, if that was the correct word. Or perhaps—older—somehow.

His father gave an audible sigh. "Honey, get my rifle."

Scott glanced around the room. "Where's Johnny?"

Murdoch looked at him, his eyes darkening a little. "Gone."

The mug moving halfway to his mouth stopped. "Gone where?"

"What difference?"

No matter how gruff Murdoch's answer was, it made a difference to his father that Johnny wasn't here. He watched the man hitch towards the door, his limp more noticeable than Scott had seen it before.

He looked down into his cup and swirled the coffee around. If he was being truthful, Johnny's disappearance made a difference to him, too. But for a different reason. Niggling in the back of his mind was the unacknowledged desire to get to know his brother, as much as Scott wanted to know their father.

It didn't look like he would have that chance.

TBC