By the time Bret was dressed, Beau had finished with the horses and was back inside getting a poker game set up with his father. "You wanna play, Bret?" he asked.

Poker was the last thing Bret felt like doing. He still didn't feel right; his head was hurting and his stomach was starting to feel funny, but he figured he'd better not refuse. With Uncle Ben having already asked once how he was feeling, declining a poker game was sure to raise more questions. "Sure," he mumbled hoping it wouldn't be too long before Doc arrived.

The game started and every once in a while Ben would slip in a bit of information about bottom dealing and holdouts but, for the most part, they just played. Simply playing was just fine with Bret, the longer the game went on the worse he felt, and it was easier to pretend he was feeling alright when he wasn't being quizzed. Had his uncle actually been in a teaching mood today, Bret was sure he wouldn't remember most of what he was told and being unable to answer questions would have only made Ben suspicious. Thankfully today, Beau seemed to have plenty of questions and comments and Bret was allowed to more or less just sit there.

They had been playing for close to an hour when Bret begin to wonder just how much of a fuss Ben would make if he said he didn't want to play anymore. His throat was scratchier than ever, and he was beginning to feel a little queasy. He didn't want to cause Ben any more problems, and he sure didn't want to make trouble for Pappy, but he really just wanted to go back to bed.

"Bret."

Bret's attention was jerked back to the game when his name was called by a rather impatient sounding Beau. He looked over to his cousin who was giving him a strange look. "What?"

"Do you need somethin'?"

Bret looked at his cards again. Maybe he didn't feel like playing, but so long as he was he needed to pay attention. "Yeah, give me two."

"Bret, are you sure you're feelin' alright?" Ben asked.

Bret swallowed, managing to not grimace at the discomfort in his throat. "I'm fine."

"You ain't actin' fine," Beau muttered.

"Just thinkin' about Bart," Bret lied, or sort of lied. He had been thinking about Bart, earlier anyway.

Ben's brows furrowed and he leaned forward some. "Bret, if there's som . . . . "

Bret never found out what else Uncle Ben was going to say to him. That was all he got out before Pappy interrupted from upstairs. "Ben!" The voice was tense and urgent.

All three Mavericks turned toward the sound and Bret and Ben jumped to their feet, the poker game all but forgotten. Bret looked to his uncle, slightly panicked. "Ben?" He didn't like the way Pappy sounded at all.

The only answer Ben gave was to shake his head as he started walking towards the stairs.

"Ben, get up here," Pappy called again.

Bret rushed over to his uncle. "What's goin' on, Uncle Ben?"

"I don't know." Ben paused at the foot of the stairs and turned his attention back to the boys. "Y'all stay down here, and if Doc comes in send him up."

Bret watched as Ben ran up the stairs. Pappy had already disappeared, and it wasn't long before his uncle also darted into the bedroom and shut the door behind him. The relief he had felt after his talk with Ben last night had deserted him. Pappy had sounded, well; mad wasn't right, but it was the only word Bret could think of. He had only heard that tone when Pappy was upset about something, and Ben had definitely looked anxious when he'd hurried upstairs. Bret glanced back at his cousin and wasn't encouraged to find that Beau looked scared. Beau had been the least worried of any of them the last few days. If he was scared now it meant he hadn't liked what he'd just heard and seen, either. Had something happened no one had been expecting?

With that thought, Bret's stomach unexpectedly rolled. Without a word to Beau, he darted out the door and made it off the porch before his stomach completely rebelled. That was where Beau found him a minute later, in the yard on his hands and knees, vomiting.

"Bret?" Beau hesitantly asked after he'd finished. "You okay?"

Eyes squeezed shut, Bret nodded. "I'm fin . . . ." Before he finished, Bret threw up again.

"Bret," Beau exclaimed in horror when the vomiting started again. "I'm gonna get Pa," he said when Bret's retching again subsided.

"No," Bret stated as forcefully as he could. It wasn't very intimidating, but it stopped Beau. Bret raised a shaky hand to wipe his mouth. "I'm . . . fine," he managed after a moment.

"You sure you don't need pa?"

Bret nodded as he sat back on his heels. "I-I'm fine." That wasn't entirely true, his already scratchy throat now felt like it was on fire, and his stomach still felt a little off, but Uncle Ben didn't need to know any of that. He was determined not to cause any more problems for Pappy or Uncle Ben, especially if there was something else wrong with Bart.

Beau didn't look like he believed him. "You really sure?" he asked dropping down next to him.

Again Bret nodded. "Yeah, I am now." He tried to, and didn't quite, suppress a shudder, but if Beau noticed he didn't comment.

"You're not sick too, are you?"

Bret shook his head. "No." He sighed and finally looked at his cousin. "I'm just . . . . " Bret wasn't sure what he was, but whatever was wrong he'd deal with it. "I'm fine," he said again. "Let's just go back inside." Beau nodded once and helped him to his feet.

Bret still felt a little shaky but made it back inside without any trouble. Fortunately, for him anyway, Ben was still upstairs so he didn't have to explain what he and Beau had been doing outside or why he was trembling slightly. "Beau," he said when they got back to the sitting room. "Don't tell anybody I threw up."

Beau turned to him, looking a little unsure of those directions. "Why?"

"Because I don't wanna worry them, and I am fine now."

Beau hesitated but finally nodded. "Alright." Having given his word, Beau gathered the cards that had been abandoned earlier. Knowing Bret would decline any game he offered now, Beau didn't bother to ask him about playing and started a game of Maverick Solitaire.

Satisfied that his cousin would do what he'd asked him to, Bret lay down on the sofa to wait for Doc. He would feel better when he had word about his brother, and when his stomach stopped churning.

XXXXXXX

Bart groaned once more and Beauregard sighed heavily. Was Doc later than usual? He honestly didn't know what time Doc had been coming. Having sat in this room for so long his sense of time was off. The best he could do now was to tell whether it was day or night, and he could only do that because of the window in the room. Otherwise, he would have no idea of what time of day it was, just as he had no idea what time it actually was now. Maybe Doc wasn't running as late as Beauregard was thinking. Maybe it just seemed that way because Bart was so sick.

Since finding out about Bart's latest ailment, Beauregard had done his best to keep his son as comfortable as possible until Doc Jennings arrived. He also tried not to get too upset by the fact Bart appeared to be worse. Like his brother had pointed out, Doc had warned them the fever would get worse, and he hadn't seemed very concerned at any time since he'd been taking care of Bart. Jennings was the doctor, and Beauregard kept telling himself that the man had to know a bit more about Scarlatina than he did. But that rational, no matter how sound it might be, provided little comfort while he was sitting alone in his son's bedroom, virtually helpless, as his youngest burned up with such a high fever.

He had taken extra efforts to try and get water in Bart this morning. It seemed Bart was sweating more now, which stood to reason given how high the fever had gotten, and Beau knew it was important to keep him hydrated. The problem was over the last hour or so, he'd had a hard time getting Bart to drink. Up until now it had been a simple enough matter, even when Bart had been sleeping he'd been easily aroused, but since Ben had left that had changed. It seemed Bart was no longer sleeping; unfortunately, he didn't seem to be awake either.

Beauregard wasn't sure what name to put on the state Bart was in. His eyes were closed, mostly, but he was so much more restless now. He was constantly tossing and moaning, and rarely did he respond when Beauregard attempted to rouse him. At times, his eyes would open, but even then Beau felt like Bart wasn't seeing him. It was disconcerting to say the least, but Beauregard was trying not to let it get to him too much. Bart had been responding fine just an hour ago, and it wasn't possible that he could have taken a serious downward turn in such a short amount of time. Was it? Another groan came from Bart; another sigh came from Beauregard.

Taking the cloth from Bart's head, Beauregard got to his feet and tossed it back into the basin. Blowing out a breath he braced his arms on the nightstand and spent a long moment just staring down at the basin of water and the rag floating in it. He was starting to feel slightly numb inside and wondered why that was. Exhaustion most likely. Exactly how long had Bart been sick? He thought back, what day was this anyway? Sunday? And what day had Bret woken him up? He was pretty sure that had been Thursday. Maybe. He shook his head, it didn't matter; he just wanted this over. He wanted his boy back on his feet healthy and vibrant, riding his horse and playing poker and finding mischief in that strange way that only Bart Maverick could.

Straightening, Beau took the rag from the water and wrung it out before sitting back down and set about trying to cool Bart's fevered brow once more. A soft whimper came from Bart when the cool cloth touched his fevered skin, and Beau began to mutter words of comfort as he gently wiped his boy's face and neck. Surely Doc would be able to do something to ease Bart's suffering when he arrived, even if it was only a little. Giving Bart's forehead a final swipe, Beau placed the rag on the nightstand and leaned forward in his chair, resting his arms on the bed and brushing Bart's hair back. Wiping Bart's face seemed to calm him and Beau found himself thinking that as long as Doc didn't get tied up in town with a broken bone or an impending birth, Bart should be fine until he got here. Once again he wondered if Doc was running behind and made a mental note to ask Ben to bring him his watch next time he came up.

Keeping a hand on Bart's head, Beauregard put his own head down on the bed and closed his eyes. He was still tired, but he wasn't lying back down. At least not until Bart started improving, and he meant that, he didn't care what Doc or Ben said. He was just about to drift off when another moan came from Bart. Sitting up, Beau attempted to rouse Bart. "Bart. Wake up, son." Bart didn't respond to his voice but instead moaned again. "Bart," Beau said with a little more authority in his voice. "Look at me." Again, Bart seemed oblivious to his father. "Bartley."

Bart tossed some, groaned a little, but finally opened his eyes. They were glazed with fever and yet again Beauregard wondered how much Bart was aware of. "Bart?"

"Mama," Bart moaned through dry lips. "Make it – stop. Mama, it 'urts."

A sucker punch to the gut wouldn't have driven the breath from Beau more effectively. It took him a minute to regain his bearings. "Ma . . . " Beau had to swallow back the lump that had unexpectedly sprung up in his throat. "Mama's not here, Bart."

Those fevered eyes blinked at his once, twice, then. "Don't leave, Mama. Mama." Bart's voice rose a little more with each word.

Afraid things were only going to get worse Beau jumped up and quickly strode to the door. Opening it just enough to step onto the landing Beauregard called to his brother. "Ben." He did his best to keep his voice level, but he knew there was tension he couldn't hide. When Bart called for Belle again, Beauregard's heart jumped. "Ben, get up here." He didn't wait around for his brother but hurried back to Bart.

Bart was tossing again, his eyes open and unfocused. "Shhh, Bart," he said quietly, his hands going to Bart's shoulders to keep him still. "It's okay son."

"Mama," Bart cried. "Mama, no. Mama!"

"What's wrong?" Ben asked rushing into the room.

"He's callin' Belle." As if to prove his point, Bart again called for his mother. Beau shook his head. "Mama's gone, Bart. Listen to me, son. Listen."

Ben winced at the pitiful exchange, but went over and stilled Bart's legs while Beauregard kept trying to calm Bart. Ben doubted Beauregard's words would do any good, but he made no move to stop him. Beau needed to feel like he was doing something.

Bart continued to cry for Belle until, without warning, his eyes slid shut, and the frenzied movement ceased. The fit stopped so abruptly Beau's heart skipped a beat, but he relaxed when Bart moaned and shifted some. The fit had only lasted a couple of minutes but to Beauregard it had seemed much longer. Taking a shuddering breath, Beau got up from the bed and ran his hands through his hair. He turned to his brother. "What. . . .?

"Delirium," Ben suggested. It wasn't uncommon in high fevers and if Beau was thinking more clearly he would have remembered that.

Beauregard nodded vaguely. "Yeah."

"He's alright."

"Until it happens again." Beau snapped. "How much longer can this go on? He's a child, Bentley. He can't keep fightin' this."

Ben sighed but made no comment. Beauregard needed to let off some steam and Ben was going to let him. It was better he lite into his brother than someone else.

"Where's Doc when you actually need him?" Beauregard continued angrily.

"He's right here," a voice behind the Mavericks called.

Beau and Ben both whirled to find Doc Jennings standing in the doorway. Beauregard huffed. "You could have been here ten minutes ago."

"I got here as soon as I could," Doc answered not at all fazed by Maverick's snappy tone.

"He was delirious," Ben offered as Doc came over.

Doc grimaced. "That's not unusual, Beau. I apologize for not warning you, but it's pretty common. I didn't think about it." Ben rolled his eyes while Beauregard sent the doctor a glare that would have frozen a lesser man. Again Doc didn't seem bothered and went over to the bed to begin his examination. He first took Bart's pulse, than pulled out his thermometer. "Ben, on my way up I passed a couple of boys who looked pretty shaken. Why don't you go see if you can reassure them?"

Ben nodded assent, but first there was someone else he needed to reassure. Going over to Beauregard, he gave his brother's shoulder a squeeze. "You alright?"

Beau sent another hard look in Doc's general direction. "No." He wasn't sure a warning would have actually prepared him for what had just happened, but it would have been nice to know just the same. The only thing worse than having to watch his son suffer was having to watch his son suffer while he called for a mother who couldn't come. Taking a deep breath, he faced his brother again. "But I will be. You might as well go see about the boys; there's not much you can do here. And uhhh, tell Bret . . . tell him everything's okay."

Ben smiled some. That was the first positive thing he'd heard from his brother in days. Maybe Beauregard was starting to believe things would work out. "Alright."