Chapter 25

Using her apron to protect her hand from the heat, Willie carried the coffee pot to a table by the front window. She poured two cups, set the pot down, and ran her hands over her stomach, a feeble attempt to smooth the wrinkles from her apron. This morning, she simply had not felt up to ironing it, and now, with the day over, she wondered why she'd bothered putting it on in the first place. Wearily, she sank into a chair and peered out the window into the darkness. She knew very well why. Because it was how she lived her life, doing everything that was expected. The fact that her world was falling apart made no difference.

It was Sunday and that meant ranches ran on a lick and a promise, with a fraction of the work crew. From midday to past sunset Willie's Cafe was loud and crowded, then, before they got too comfortable, the men would saunter down the street to one of the two Spanish Wells saloons, avoiding their usual haunts in Green River.

There was some measure of satisfaction to be found in doing what was expected, and today that came from her macaroni and cheese. It was a recipe passed on by her mother-in-law, supposedly handed down from Thomas Jefferson, himself. One taste, put smiles on the faces of the men trying it for the first time. And the others? They told of how it reminded them of home. This admission was usually accompanied by some oft-repeated tale of love and family. Whatever the reason, it prompted Willie to climb out of bed even though, this morning, it was the hardest it had ever been.

Of course, upon waking, she had no idea how bad this day would get. Teresa's midday arrival brought news, devastating news, of Scott's disappearance, adding worry to her aching heart and queasy stomach. It did put a stop to her frequent, yet vain, searches out the window for a familiar rider. What it didn't stop, was her wishing that Scott would walk right through that front door or her worry that he couldn't. The sorrow she carried was suffocating, making simple chores, like ironing an apron, overwhelming.

It started the moment Scott closed the door yesterday morning and had grown tenfold. What she'd wanted, then and now, was him to say it didn't matter, that nothing mattered, except how much they loved each other. Of course there was one thing that mattered more now, and that was his safe return. She would forfeit everything just to know he was all right.

"You really should eat something." Teresa said as she placed a plate of shortbread between the cups of coffee.

All Willie could muster was a half-hearted smile and a shake of her head as she watched Teresa sit down across from her.

"I wish we'd get some news," Teresa continued. Her voice cracked slightly. "But I would guess they'd go to Green River first, to tell Johnny. Unless they needed S…" Teresa's look of anguish was unsettling. Quickly, she shifted her gaze to the plate, grabbed a cookie and busied herself nibbling a corner.

Turning to face the darkened window, Willie saw her reflection peering back from the glass. Her face wore the same look of distress as Teresa's. All day they'd kept their hands busy, the key to keeping one's mind off a problem. Now all was quiet, every dish had been put away, the last pan scrubbed and dried. The floor was swept and the front windows washed. There was nothing left to do except sit and wait and fret.

The day's smiles were long gone, mere decorations for the customers. Not once did they rise from within. The men looked for those smiles, and Willie was not in the habit of letting them down, since all it took was a turn of the lip and a good meal. She had let one man down though, and it was the one man that mattered most. Time and time again, she'd tried to convince herself it had been the right thing to do. But, it sure wasn't feeling right at this precise moment.

Staring into her cup of coffee, Willie watched the steam as it twisted and curled - then vanish, exactly like Scott. She held her fingers in its warmth. The feeling of Teresa's stare, from across the table, pierced her thoughts. She lifted her eyes. "I'm not used to this. Just how long are we supposed to wait around for some kind of word?"

"You never get used to this, even when you and Scott are married, you'll never get used to this."

She drew a sharp breath. "Where on earth did you get the idea we were going to wed?"

"Oh, I just assumed. I mean, look at the two of you. I don't think I've ever seen two people more in love." Her face took on a dreamy quality. "It's like out of a book."

Willie was unable to control the bitterness in her tone. "Then you didn't see Scott after he left here yesterday morning." The statement brought an abrupt change to her friend's expression, now a questioning stare. "He did ask me to marry him, and I said, no. I hurt him, Teresa, I hurt him deeply." The room started to glisten through the tears welling in her eyes. "I regret the pain, but I believed it was best. Judging by his reaction, I think I was right, but…" She watched Teresa's hand move to cover hers. The thought of looking into her friend's eyes and seeing pity was too much to bear. "…it hurts me too, and now, with him missing…" Her tears overflowed, rolling down her face, landing onto the red checkered cloth. She forced a laugh. "Would you look at me? Crying, as if tears were worth their salt." She pulled her hand back and wiped the wet from her cheeks. With a deep breath, she straightened and offered a smile. "I need to do something." She stood, as tall as her small stature would allow, and reached around her back to undo the apron's strings. "I'm going to Green River." She said as she draped the apron over the back of the chair.

"Oh, I'm not so sure that is a good idea." Teresa stood, shaking her head. "I mean, no. That is definitely not a good idea. Our place is here, out of the way. Johnny didn't want me at Lancer, and he doesn't want me in Green River. I think the same would go for you as well. We need to wait here, right here."

"I can't. I can't wait for the dust to settle. The only clue we'll get is if someone comes looking for Sam, if they'll even need Sam…" The completion of that thought caused her stomach to churn. What if they didn't need Sam and not for the right reasons? All afternoon she'd clung to the belief that Scott would be okay, a few bumps or a few bruises, but okay. He was always okay. But, what if that was a lie? What if Scott was dead or dying? She couldn't bear their last memory to be one of sorrow. Nervously, she moved about the room, grabbing her purse from the closet beneath the stairs. Opening the cash drawer, she removed some money and stuffed it in her small drawstring bag. "I'll get a room at the hotel. You can stay here or come with me, the choice is yours."

Teresa stepped in her path as she made her way to the coat rack. "Stop."

"I need to be there, Teresa. I need to know the minute they know. I need to be there to tell him…"

Hands tenderly pulled her in for a hug, a hug which she did not return. "He knows, Willie," Teresa whispered. "For whatever reason you said no, he understands. And you will have the chance to discuss it." Teresa pushed herself away and gave Willie's shoulders a squeeze. "Besides, if we stay put, they'll be able to find us. And that is important. Believe me, the last place you want to be, is Green River, as if Scott's disappearance weren't enough, there is more, going on. There's a man, I don't know the whole story but, this is Johnny's fight."

"Scott told me about him, this man, Grayson. He's despicable, and has profoundly affected each of them over the years. This goes beyond Johnny and he has no right to lay claim. Scott said, if not for this man, all their lives could have been different." She removed Teresa's fingers from her shoulders, separating herself from the embrace and stepped back. "Murdoch would have had the woman he loved, Johnny would have never left and maybe, just maybe, Scott's grandfather would have allowed him to grow up with his brother. This may be Maria's gambler, the one everyone speaks of in whispers even after all these years, but it affects all of us, and I intend to do my part, no matter how insignificant." She studied Teresa's face. "You knew? You knew who this man was?"

Teresa turned and walked toward the window, she answered before turning back. "Yes, I knew exactly who he was. Several months ago, Johnny told me about him. He said I had a right to know, since I told him the truth in the first place. So, when I heard the name, I knew what it meant, I knew we were in for a fight."

"There's certainly a lot of hate there, if it has gone on for all these years."

"I know he hated Murdoch. And it was his hatred that fed Johnny's. He told him lies, terrible lies, lies that, to a young boy, were believable. Especially after the few details his mother revealed." Teresa lowered her voice to a whisper and stepped closer. "I think he expected Johnny to kill Murdoch."

"So it's not above Grayson to have others do his dirty work for him?"

"Above him? Goodness, No. That is him, in a nutshell," Teresa agreed.

"Maybe he's here to finish the job he expected Johnny to complete. Do you know why? Why he hates Murdoch?"

"That I had to piece together. Johnny never said, exactly. I believe he hated Murdoch for stealing Maria's heart, that she never loved anyone else, and it made him crazy. When I told Johnny, he told me I read too much." A small smile brightened her face for a moment. "He's right, or course, but it could still be true."

"So, is it Murdoch, he's after? And if so, why now? Why wait all these years? It doesn't make any sense."

"I've been thinking about that myself. It may be farfetched, but could have something to do with Remy's mother. Remy told us she died, but he didn't say how or when. If we knew that, it might give us some clues."

"Clues? Johnny's right." Willie felt a laugh bubble up from within. For the first time, all day, the weight she'd carried lightened slightly. "You do read too much."

Teresa put her hands on her hips. "That may be, but if it helps us figure things out then it's time well spent."

"If you know so much, then why did Johnny go into town? I know, he thinks it is his fight, but he's not a foolish man. He has no business moving around with his injury. How in earth is he dealing with the pain? And to make matters worse, with everyone looking for Scott, I'm sure he's alone."

"I suppose he thought they took Scott to force him into town, that if he showed, Scott would be let go," Teresa said.

"That is all the more reason to go to Green River."

"You still don't belong there. You're not making sense."

"Maybe not, but I'll tell you what makes less sense, and that's leaving Johnny alone with that man. I think we both know Johnny well enough, that if he's offered Scott's freedom, there is nothing he wouldn't do."

A soft knock at the front door sent Willie running across the floor. Her heart in her throat, she swiftly unlocked the door and flung it wide open. She felt Teresa's presence, press against her back, her eyes peering over her shoulder.

~*~*~*~

The drug's warmth oozed over him like mud, dragging away everything in its path, his strength, his hate and most importantly, his pain. His grip around Grayson's throat softened. Whiskers pricked his ear followed by Tom's soft voice. "Johnny, let him go." A huge bear-like arm wrapped his chest. Blinking, he fought to keep things in focus. All he managed to do was slow things down. Tom's voice waded through the mud again, the voice that didn't match this giant of a man. "You're gonna get yourself inta trouble if you ain't careful, Johnny. Let go, and sit down before you do something you'll regret."

From the corner of his eye, he looked at the bartender. "Might regret it later but it sure would feel good now." Releasing his grip, he allowed himself to be pressed into a waiting chair. Dios, he felt like he'd just broke a week's worth a horses.

"I'll get ya some water Johnny. Stay put, ya hear?"

"Yea, I hear you, Tom." It may have been Tom he was talking to, but it was Grayson he was watching. Watching as his hand rubbed at the marks on his neck, watching as a sick smile spread across his face. Watching as he bent at the waist to pick up a chair that had toppled to the floor.

"John, it's not like you to lose control. Have you forgotten everything I taught you?" Once more Grayson reached down. Lifting Johnny's injured leg; he gently placed it on the chair. "You are still good with a gun, I hope," he asked tugging on the cuffs of his shirt. It was an old habit, one Johnny had watched many times before. "It would be both a pity and a hazard to allow that skill to slip away."

Johnny slid low in his chair, grateful for the armrests. One wrong move, and he figured he'd hit the floor, not looking too slick in the process. The picture in his head made him laugh.

"Ignoring me? You, of all people, know that never works, John."

He felt like he'd been poured into his chair, no, that wasn't quite right. It was that mud thing again, he coated the chair. Each bounce of Tom's footsteps traveled across the floor, up this chair and through him. Dios, he'd forgotten how good he could feel, how comfortable his skin fit.

Closing his eyes, he drew in a long slow breath sensing the movement of every muscle, feeling Tom's steps getting closer and knowing Grayson just stood there looking at him, waiting.

With water in hand Tom returned to the table. Johnny opened his eyes and took the glass, drinking it down quickly, he was anxious to rid himself of the sour taste that had settled in his mouth. Water did little to wash it away. Passing the empty glass back to the waiting man, he nodded. "Thanks, I'm good now."

Johnny felt Tom's eyes on him as he stood motionless for a moment, finally he turned away. "Won't be far if ya need me, Johnny."

"Okay, Tom," Johnny replied with a wave of his hand, eyes still fixed on Grayson.

The laudanum made him comfortable, very comfortable, and he had no plans to move or go anywhere. Hell, he couldn't if he wanted to, being a part of the chair like he was. Besides, there was work to do. He needed answers and it was time to get them before his eyeballs begged for darkness or his brain started screaming for more.

Both elbows leaned heavily on the arms of the chair, and he laced his fingers over his stomach. Pressing his thumbs together, he looked at them carefully, studied them, trying to remember that one important question. The question he needed to ask, the question that brought him here in the first place.

"I know you're upset with me, son. Especially after what happened to your brother."

That was it. "Scott! What have you done with Scott?"

"Now, that is actually a very funny story. I'm sure you'll enjoy hearing it," he said as he pulled up a chair.

"Doubt it."

"You used to have a sinful sense of humor, don't tell me your father has managed to strangle that from you."

"Get to the point, where is Scott?"

"He's safe, at least he should be. None of this seemed familiar to you? I'm so disappointed." He pressed a hand to his chest trying to look hurt. Johnny looked at him, searching his memory for something, anything. Grayson continued. "Most likely, he's on his way back as we speak. It may take him a while, being on foot and without boots, but I have every confidence he'll make it. You must remember a similar situation, with that old skinflint, what was his name? Streeter? You had another name for him, though. You used to call him…"

"I called him Balls, 'cause of where he kept his money sack."

"Ah, yes, if I recall, that didn't stop you from reaching for it when the time came, now did it, son."

"Nope, my hands had been in dirtier places."

"True, very true." The older man laughed and the sound caught Johnny by surprise.

"I forgot that about you. Your laugh always made things hurt less." He willed the smile from his face, upset it had found its way there in the first place and looked back to his thumbs. "Damn you. I want to hate you. I have every reason to hate you. Why can't I?"

Grayson reached out and put his hand over Johnny's, stilling his thumbs. With just one look he quickly pulled it away. "We've shared a lot over the years, son, laughed a lot. I won't deny I've made some mistakes, huge mistakes, but I did love you. As I said before, we're a lot alike, you and I. And just like you now, I wanted to hate you then. You were his spawn, the product of their love and I hated that. Yet, when I looked at you, I saw her." His voice softened. "I loved her."

"You sure had a funny way a showing it. You never spoke like you loved her. You were never there to take care of her. Hell, she needed Socorro to protect us from you and the men you sent. What would it have done to her if she'd learned Socorro worked for you all along?"

"I told you I made mistakes." His voice hardened. "Until I met Rebecca, I didn't know. I didn't know that what I was feeling was love, didn't know how to show it. She opened my eyes. She was a remarkable woman."

"And yet, you repay her by ruining her children? Have you done to them what you did to me?"

"No, son, I've learned my lesson. That was an unfortunate decision. One made long before my arrival that night and later regretted. You were such an unruly child, and at the time, it was only hate that I held in my heart for you. In fact, your fate was sealed within the first ten minutes. By the time the sun rose the next day, you were exactly what I wanted you to be."

"Learned your lesson? Are you trying to make me sick?" A surge of strength sent his fist crashing to the table, and he leaned forward. His words squeezed through clenched teeth. "Then tell me, why am I sitting here with your little gift clawing at my insides? Why is my brother getting treated like one of our dupes and why do I suddenly feel sorry for both of that woman's kids?" He relaxed and leaned back, his strength lost to the call of the drug. "Never mind, I don't want to know." He waved his hand dismissively. "This isn't the only table in the place. I suggest you go find yourself an empty one and leave me alone."

"Now that is just poor manners, young man. It seems to me, I tanned your backside more than once teaching you better ones."

A chill forced his eyes closed, and he gripped the arms of the chair as every muscle tensed. Damn, not yet, not this soon. How long had it been? Only a few hours? He looked as his hands, they were damp, and he ran them up and down the legs of his pants. Then, as suddenly as it came, it was gone. Warmth calmed him. His eyes met Grayson's as he stood there, looking at him waiting, exactly as he was when they started this dance. Had their conversation even taken place? It must have, he wasn't that messed up, was he?"

"You're not looking so good, son. Perhaps you should rest. We can continue our conversation in the morning."

"No, I want to know why you're here, what you want?"

"That, John is a very long story. One I don't believe you are up to hearing. Suffice it to say, I am here to ask for a favor. One I hope you are capable of granting."

"Why would I possibly do you a favor? I owe you nothing. "

"Because, John, a man knows when he's coming to the end of his time. And mine is near. I can feel it. You wouldn't deny a dying man his last wish, would you?"

TBC