"Two hours." The man at the forge said.

Adam narrowed his eyes. "It's just a shoe."

"And apparently it's the day for thrown shoes. You're fifth in a long line." The blacksmith crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture that Adam recognized as unmoving. He rubbed his forehead.

"Fine. I'll be back in two hours. And it had better be done."

"It'll be done when it gets done." The blacksmith said.

Adam chose not to answer and walked away. If he was going to wait around, it was going to be where it was cool. As he crossed the street, a loud thump made him glance over to where a large man was loading supplies from the mercantile. He paused as something about the man caught in his mind. Something about the shoulders, or the way he carried himself reminded him of someone. Adam debated waiting to see if he could catch a glimpse of his face but then he shrugged it off. It was just a mountain man; he'd seen hundreds of those in his life. Just one more to add to his list. He entered the saloon and exhaled at the change in temperature that was a result of a simple move out of the glaring sun.

After getting a beer he sat down at a table near the window so he could keep an eye on the wagon and stretched out his legs onto the adjacent chair. He shifted his holster as it snagged on the chair, and for once his fingers noticed the worn down smoothness of the leather. Adam glanced down at it and noted the lightening of the leather, a testimony to its age. He should replace it, but he couldn't bring himself to do so any more than he could replace the gun inside of it. It was a gun he had never tired of practicing on or watching his Pa send bullet after bullet into glass jars with.

"When do I get my own gun?" He had asked while watching his father clean it one night.

"Me too!" the seven year olds voice was eager as Hoss tugged at his Pa's leg.

"Why do you want a gun, Hoss?" Ben asked, his voice warm with a fatherly smile.

"I want to be like you, Pa."

Ben had looked at Adam and exchanged a grin. Then his face melted into thoughtfulness. "Adam, maybe you should tell Hoss what I told you about guns."

Adam had straightened, feeling the weight of the task settle on his shoulders. "Guns aren't meant to define a person; they're meant as a defense. Being able to kill someone with a simple tool isn't something to be proud of, being able to look someone in the eye and refuse to succumb to violence is." Adam was sure his little brother didn't understand half of those words, but it was part of a much longer speech he'd been the recipient of multiple times. He was sure that by the time Hoss was old enough to learn how to shoot he too would have heard it enough to be able to recite it.

Adam's hand followed the contour of the grip as the other lifted his drink to his lips. The beer was as smooth as the glass as it went down his throat, but it tasted more like horse sweat than a drink. He set the beer down and remembered another speech about guns, not three years after the first.

"Having a gun is pointless if you're not faster than the other man." Bates had demonstrated his own proficiency to Adam earlier. Adam had watched quizzically, slightly amused by the image of a man in a business suit shooting like a gunslinger.

"No one wants to kill anyone, just like no one wants to die. But sometimes things happen, and you have to be ready for it. Survival, my boy, that's the key."

"So another human's life isn't as important as my life?" It had been back when Adam still challenged Bates on certain things.

"Is it to you?" Bates had demanded. "If someone came in here with a gun and said he was going to kill one of us, and you could choose which one, wouldn't you save yourself?"

"I…" Adam would have liked to say no, but he honestly didn't know the answer.

"Of course you would. Why else did you pull the trigger on Singer? Man will always reach for their own survival first and worry about others second. It's why you have to be careful when you have a man trapped in a corner."

The subject had shifted, but part of Adam's mind had remained stuck in the previous topic, and if he was honest with himself, it still was. The conflicting images swirled in his mind even as he swirled the beer around in its glass. A familiar ache rose inside him like when a beggar who had forgotten his hunger catches the scent of bread. It was a longing for the familiar voice that had once shaped his attitudes and beliefs to echo in his ear once more and for the familiar hands, strong and capable, to grip his shoulder in a reassuring gesture. He wished he could have an hour with his Pa, just one more hour where he could inhale his scent once more and ask him if there was any way to move on. Maybe he could even receive some sort of justification.

But he couldn't ask him, not in this life, and probably not even in the next. If his Pa was looking down on him from heaven, Adam doubted he'd ever get the chance to tell him what he thought of his son's choices because he was certain the pearl gates were closed against him and locked tight. He took a drink, not sure if he was trying to wash away memories of the life he used to have or thoughts of the one he had now.

"Hey there, Hal. Got a drink for me?"

Adam glanced up as the man he'd seen from outside entered the saloon. Once again, he was struck by a niggling memory of someone, though for the life of him, he couldn't figure out who it was. But now that he could see the man's face, he caught another glimpse of a memory, something in the roundness of it, maybe in the nose. Adam frowned. It was like an itch in the middle of his back that he couldn't quite reach or like trying to remember a dream. The harder you tried, the quicker it disappeared.

"Sure thing. Haven't seen you in a while." Hal slid the man a beer, and the man took a long swig and smacked his lips appreciatively. Adam wondered if the bartender had given him a different type of beer than the one he was drinking.

"Just stopped in for some supplies before heading back up north." The man took another drink, and Adam tried another sip of his own beer. He grimaced. Maybe the bartender had accidentally given him dishwater.

"Well, better be on my way; I just came in for something to cool me off."

"It sure is a hot one. We'll see you around, Hoss."

Adam nearly fell out of his chair. Hoss? It was a common word around mountain men, but that man… suddenly he realized who the man reminded him of. Everything about him screamed Cartwright. Adam stood and in a few strides had crossed the saloon and pushed through the swinging doors.

"Excuse me." He frowned, trying to think of what he was going to say if he was wrong. The man turned and Adam found himself drowned inside a pair of deep blue eyes. They were eyes that had stared up at him unblinking during the first hour of their life, eyes that had filled with tears when Adam had lost his temper, and eyes that had lit up when he'd apologized and offered to take him fishing. They were eyes that he would recognize anywhere. He wasn't wrong.

Adam stuck out his hand. "Adam Cartwright."

Hoss stared at him for what seemed like years. Then he blinked.

"Adam?"

Adam nodded. For a moment the two men studied each other with eyes agape, then Adam felt Hoss grab his arm and pull him towards him. He exhaled, amazed at how solid this man was, who a few moments ago had been only a shadow and a memory.

"I can't believe I have to look up at you." He said as he straightened.

Hoss unconsciously drew himself up. "Where have you been, Adam? I thought you were dead."

Adam blinked at the simple statement and for a second he couldn't get his mind past it. "What? Why?"

"The men you met up with in San Francisco said you'd been killed by the man who killed Pa."

"What men?" Even as he spoke, Adam knew the answer. Questions that he didn't know had existed but that had been hovering in the back of his mind came forward and received answers as quickly as they appeared.

"Bates." He hissed. The name carried the poison of a serpent. In the time it had took for Adam to eat dinner, he must have sent some of his men back to the ranch. "They burnt the house."

As Hoss studied Adam, his mind struggled to reconcile the hazy memory of his tall older brother to the man in front of him who was smaller than he was.

"Who's Bates?" he asked.

Adam didn't answer. He'd killed dozens of men over the course of his life, but he'd never wanted to kill someone as much as Bates right now. He closed his eyes against the volcano of wrath that was erupting inside him. The emotions were too powerful to water down by putting them to words, so he didn't speak. Instead he saw in his mind Bates dying, over and over, bullets ripping into him, shot from Adam's own gun, a thousand times in a split second.

Hoss put a hand on his brother's arm. "Adam?"

Adam took a deep breath, and the volcano simmered down to a steady boil. "If I had known then…"

"Known what?"

Adam shook his head. He would deal with Bates later. First he had to get back what the man had stolen from him.

"Where's Joe?" he asked.

A cloud shifted over Hoss's face. "He died in the fire."

Adam closed his eyes as the hope that had risen for a brief moment collapsed again. Then he opened them again. He still had things to be grateful for, and the biggest one was standing right in front of him.

"I'll take care of Bates later. Do you want to get a drink? Maybe you can convince the bartender to give us the good beer."

Hoss's face burst into a familiar grin that had always made Adam think of the sun breaking free of clouds. He clapped his brother on the shoulder in a way that painfully reminded Adam of Pa and then led the way back into the saloon. They got their drinks and sat down in silence. Both were unable to take their eyes off each other as they mentally compared the past to the present. Adam took a drink and couldn't help but notice that the beer hadn't improved in the two minutes that he'd been outside. He put his mug down and leaned back in his seat. Where to start? For some reason he didn't want to cloud the moment with the darkness of the past. It was enough to sit next to his brother, drinking poor quality beer in a hot saloon.

"What happened in San Francisco?" Hoss asked. There was an unspoken question behind the words that made Adam wince. Why didn't you come back?

"I found the man that murdered Pa and Ma. Then I came back, but I was too late." Adam surmised what was arguably the most life-changing few days in his existence in two sentences. Then he resisted the urge to take another drink as he cast about in his mind for some way to change the topic. "I'm sorry." He finally said. "I thought you had been inside with Joe."

"Anyone would assume that."

"What happened?" He didn't want to know, but he had to. It was like the first time he'd seen a dead man when he was seven. You don't want to look, but something inside you can't turn away.

"I was woken up by a man who said he met you in San Francisco. The house was on fire, and he pulled me out. I told him to go back for Joe, but he said it was too late." Hoss's eyes were dark and vacant as if he was seeing it in his head as he explained. Adam knew the look and put a hand on his arm, gently drawing him back to the present. "He said you said to take me to San Francisco."

Adam bit back the question of why Hoss had believed him. He'd been nine, a trusting child who should have been protected by his older brother. Adam took a deep breath. At the time Hoss had been kidnapped and Joe had died he had been eating steak in a hotel in San Francisco. "So how'd you end up here?" he asked in an attempt to clear his mind of the heavy guilt that had settled onto it.

"This is just a stop I make every few months. I actually live farther north in the mountains. I've lived there ever since I was found by a mountain man after we were attacked by Indians on the way to San Francisco."

Adam wondered what would have happened if they hadn't been attacked. If Bates' man had wanted to kill Hoss, he could have just as easily done it before burning the house.

"You don't remember anything about the man?"

"He was tall, but then again, everyone seems tall when you're a little fella." Hoss closed his eyes and tried to see clearly the murky image that was reflected on his mind. Then he shook his head. "Sorry, Adam."

Adam shrugged. "I don't know why I wanted to know. It doesn't make a difference."

Silence settled in, a long comfortable one in which Hoss drank his beer and Adam ignored his. Then Hoss spoke.

"What brings you here?"

Adam hesitated and then uncharacteristically decided to throw caution to the wind.

"Kidnapping, actually."

"Somebody kidnapped a friend of yours?"

"Nope." Adam shook his head, amused at Hoss's puzzled expression. He glanced around but the bartender was distracted by a newspaper and no one else was inside the bar. "I've got a kid in the trunk in that wagon over there. I'm taking him to San Francisco."

Hoss stared at Adam as if he'd grown a second head. Adam couldn't blame him. After all, kidnapping didn't exactly fit the image his little brother probably remembered of him.

"Why?" Hoss finally asked.

"Somebody's got your big brother by the nose, Hoss. The kid needs to pay money that he owes to a… an acquaintance of mine. I'm just making sure he pays. In return I get the Ponderosa."

"The Ponderosa?"

Adam could see that he was only making Hoss more confused rather than explaining anything. He nodded. "You got it." He raised his glass in a bitter toast and took a gulp. To Bates. He thought. May he rot in hell for making me look like a hard hearted criminal to my little brother.

"How did this friend of yours get the Ponderosa?"

"Acquaintance." Adam corrected, holding up a finger. "Clever lawyering and money will get a man a lot, especially when the government is eager to get rid of land that's not being worked."

Hoss shook his head. "Well if he's got you by the nose, maybe it's time someone did something to his nose." His fists automatically clenched, and the gesture somehow made Adam feel warm, like he'd just fallen into a hot spring after a cold rain. He grinned at Hoss, a movement that his mouth was a little rusty with, relieved that for once he actually had an ally.

"Maybe we both will, but later. If I learned one thing, it's that going up against Bates requires tact. You have to play by his rules sometimes."

"But the boy…" Hoss gestured toward the wagon.

"Like I said, he does legally owe Bates the money, and his family can pay up without blinking an eye. I wouldn't do this if I thought he would come to any harm."

Hoss eyed him for a minute. "San Francisco then? It's a bit of a ride."

"Yep." Adam's heart rose as he thought he caught on to what Hoss was hinting at. His brother's next words confirmed it.

"Care for a little company?"

Another grin. Could it be possible that this was going to be a habit? Adam clapped his brother on the shoulder and took another drink, not even noticing the bland taste. He felt as if a weight on his shoulders had been blown away by sudden breeze.

"I'd like that a lot, Hoss."