Author's Notes

Hi guys! I think this was an update-delay-record, sorry! I needed to have the next few chapters pretty much done to get everything just right so I plan to post the next three chapters within a week. I wish I could express just how much all of your sweet reviews and messages about my writing mean to me. I am very grateful to you all, guests and members.

Okay, let's go! It's Thursday, the day of the rodeo in Virginia City, so this starts off the morning after the previous chapter. Enjoy and have a lovely weekend everyone!


Chapter 29

"Madeline? Are you all right in there, dear?"

"Yes, Uncle Paul . . . I'm just getting dressed. I'll be down in a moment."

"All right . . . I have breakfast almost ready."

Madeline listened for her uncle's footsteps as they disappeared back down the hall, then she faced the mirror of her dressing table again. Watching her reflection, she hooked a tear-shaped pendulant earring in her earlobe. The gemstone was lilac-colored like her skirt and matched her black shoes with the dark-purple buckles perfectly. It was very important to her today, that everything was just right. Her clothes, her jewelry—her appearance needed to be flawless. Closing the little jewelry box, she slowly pushed it to the side on the dresser table, still watching herself in the mirror. She saw blank, lifeless orbs there, but her mind couldn't seem to comprehend that they belonged to her.

She had deliberately taken her time getting ready this morning. The longer she stayed in her room, the less time she would have with her uncle downstairs before he had to leave to go on his house calls. It was Thursday today, and he usually did some house calls outside of town which was just what she needed. She hadn't actually seen him since noon the previous day when he'd returned from his visit to the Ponderosa. When he had told her that Adam was in a bad way. Afterwards, he'd left to see his patients and been gone the entire afternoon and evening, unaware of what she'd done and what had happened to her.

Yesterday had been the worst day of her life. As if fate had decided to play a cruel trick on her, everything had gone wrong and her attempt to help herself and the people she loved had failed in the worst way possible. Her frail hope of getting out of this living terror and preventing anyone from getting hurt had literally been choked out of her. Now, feelings of emptiness and guilt were the only ones she had left.

In the mirror, her eyes were glassy—like they were on the verge of shattering and spilling out deep forest green. She touched the tips of her fingers to her cheek, just by the faint veil of rogue there.

She knew now why Ray had stopped himself from slapping her when he'd attacked her. It was so odd, her face was creamy white, untouched, like blank canvas. And then just below her chin—the blues, reds and purples started like the beginning of a story that unfolded down her neck to her shoulders and arms, to her back—the terrifying tale of her ordeal the previous day. It wasn't the worst she'd ever gotten from him, but it had been so long since he'd marked her body in this way. It felt worse somehow, and more painful.

Her fingers worked delicately with the subtle fastenings at the top of her blouse. It was a fine blouse, pretty and white with long sleeves that gathered by her wrists. The gatherings weren't too tight which was good—the material wouldn't scratch much against her bruised skin underneath. A lacy jabot cascaded down the front of the blouse from the high neck collar and her fingers paused to feel the dainty lace decoration before she carefully did up the collar. It fitted quite loosely around her throat, so it didn't cause her too much pain, and it went high enough to conceal the blue and purple imprints of his fingers. His marks disappeared as she finished with the last fastening, and she turned her head left, then right. She would need to wear her hair down. If she angled her head in certain ways, some of the bruising was faintly visible at the top of the collar, but her hair would cover that.

It didn't matter much to her. She felt like having her hair down today anyway.

As she settled a flower-clip at the top of her head to keep some of the curls out of her face, she thought about how strange it was, going through this routine again. Hiding his marks before meeting the outside world. And this time, it wasn't just anybody she would be facing, but the person who probably knew her better than anyone else.

Last night when her uncle had come home, she avoided him by pretending to be asleep. Pretend-sleeping was something she'd practiced a lot over the last three years and she'd gotten very good at it. Even so, it had never stopped her husband from doing as he wanted with her and from taking his pleasure.

But last night, when she'd heard her uncle in the foyer downstairs, she'd turned on her side in the bed and kept her back to the door of her bedroom. With the bed-covers drawn all the way up to her chin, she'd stayed still as she heard him come up the stairs and to her room. She'd done it because she knew that he wouldn't have the heart to wake her up, and she had been right. He'd opened the door quietly, said her name once in a muted tone to check if she was asleep. She hadn't answered him. But then she'd almost given herself away when he came into the room and she felt his hand on her cheek, feeling for a fever. Somehow, she'd managed not to burst out crying and he'd left the room again.

But now, there was no hiding from him anymore and he was waiting for her downstairs.

She stood stiffly from the upholstered bench by the dresser-table and checked herself one last time in the mirror. He would know that she wasn't well and healthy because she certainly didn't look it. But she prayed that he would keep thinking she was ill and that he would leave and go about his day, so she could do what she needed to. Her gaze drifted down to the envelope lying on the dresser. Inside that envelope was the letter she'd spent most of the night writing. It was a letter for her uncle, explaining everything. About her strange behavior, about Ray Bradshaw, about Joe . . . even though she didn't know exactly what had happened to Joe. All she knew was that he had been hurt and because of her.

In that letter, she'd told it all, and she'd explained what she was going to do today and why she had to. She'd also included something at the end for her uncle to give to Adam. Deep in her heart, she still had the tiny hope that this letter wouldn't be necessary and that she would be able to say all these things in person. But the likelihood of that happening seemed so remote.

Her mind was made up though, she would do what she could to end this today—whatever the cost. Even if the price was her life. She would rather be dead than be forced to start over again with Ray Bradshaw.

Her appearance now in order, she walked across the floor to her bedroom door.

This sensation was so surreal because while every physical movement she made was tainted by pain—emotionally, she felt numb. It was as if there was just too much to feel that her emotions simply couldn't keep up anymore and now they were frozen. Cold and distant, not hers but someone else's. In her numbed state, she had the sense that she was treading on fragile ground, balancing along an invisible floor that would crumble with the slightest misstep. She couldn't allow that to happen.

Out into the hallway, down the stairs, and she continued down the hall to the kitchen. As she neared the doorway, she caught a whiff of coffee and something burnt. And the sound of her uncle's muttering. When she came into the kitchen, he looked over at her from the stove.

"Good morning, my Belle . . ."

"Good morning." Avoiding his gaze, she went straight to the kitchen table, which had already been set with dishware, and sat down. "I'm sorry, but I was so tired yesterday evening, I just couldn't stay up to wait for you . . ."

"That's all right," he said as he came over, holding a smudged dish towel. "I'm just glad you got some rest." He studied her with a spreading frown. "You still look very tired though, Madeline . . ."

"Yes . . . I suppose you were right about me being a little under the weather."

She bowed her head as a thick, unusual silence lay between them.

"I ah . . . well, I thought I'd make us breakfast but as you see, it . . ." He motioned to the stove and she spotted the burnt remnants of ham and scrambled eggs. ". . . It didn't turn out so well this morning, I'm afraid. I'll make up a new batch in a minute."

He went to the kitchen worktable to get a porcelain teapot. "Your tea is ready though, just the way you like it."

A quiet "thank you," was all she could get out when he set the pot down in front of her next to her favorite teacup, and the muscles of her chest clutched at all the effort he'd gone to.

"I'm sorry that . . . we don't have as much time as I'd hoped, I have to leave soon to go on house calls . . ."

The teacup became her focal-point—she couldn't bear to look at him. She felt so horribly deceitful and his dispirited tone twisted like a knife in her gut.

"Please don't worry about that, uncle Paul. I know how important your work is and you have people counting on you . . . you'll be going out of town, won't you?"

"I was going to, but I have some patients I still need to see in town that I missed yesterday."

"Oh . . ." Her hands folded tightly around the cup. "I see . . ."

She sensed him sit down in the chair next to her.

"Madeline, before I leave, I did want us to talk about Adam . . ."

"Yes, I know."

Lifting her chin, she met him with a resolved look. "If you would take me, I think we should go out to the Ponderosa later today when you have finished work."

The words of persuasion he'd probably prepared for this talk seemed to get stuck in his throat. What he said instead was, "You, uh . . . you want to go and see him?"

"Yes, I think it's best."

". . . Yes, it, yes indeed it is!" His baffled countenance flitted towards elation, but he was still too dumbstruck to work up a full smile. "I just didn't think you would . . . he'll be so happy to see you, Madeline, it . . . it'll be just what he needs. I'm so pleased you've come to this decision."

She dipped her head, knowing full well that if she opened her mouth to reply just then, she would end up releasing a sob. She'd told so many lies already, this one should be no different . . . and at least it would give her uncle some peace of mind for a few hours.

"We'll go when I come home this afternoon!" With sudden vigor, he stood up. "I'll get this breakfast finished so I can go on my way. The sooner I come back, the sooner we can get going."

She began to stand, hiding a slight wince when the movement jolted the ache that covered her back. "I'll help you with the eggs—"

"Nonsense, you just sit down and rest while I get this ready," he ordered and strode back to the stove.

Feeling too weak to protest, she lowered herself back down into the chair. After a couple of minutes of watching his chaotic cooking, she heard herself speak.

"I love you, Uncle Paul."

He turned around to her and the smile he must have been wearing for the last couple of minutes wilted a bit. "Why, I love you too, my little Belle . . . what brought that on?"

"I don't know . . ." She managed a smile, teary though it was. "I just needed to say it today, I suppose."

"I know that today will be a tough day for you, but . . . believe me, you're doing the right thing. In fact, it's the only thing you can do."

After a brief hesitation, she nodded and he went back to salvage his cooking. She drew into herself then, praying that he would be able to forgive her someday for this conversation.

xXXx

It was a fine day for the annual rodeo in Virginia City. After the previous day's bleak weather and downpours, there was still a hint of that after-rain freshness in the air, but the grey skies had passed and left just a thin cloud-trail behind which would soon be consumed by pure blue. The summer-fierceness was gone, replaced by that special touch of fall, but for the first day of the month of September, it was fairly warm.

The vibrancy of the town seemed to have rebounded with the return of sunshine and every street was a hum of activity. Excited cowboys conversed about the rodeo event while women's voices blathered enthusiastically as if there was suddenly a year's worth of gossip to discuss after one rainy day. As for the town's youngest citizens, the children, well, they were like little fireballs of bottled-up energy, many of them shooting up and down the boardwalks, weaving around the adults. Inevitably, that brought about clashes and one such collision had just occurred outside of Mr. Baxter's General Store where three remorseful-looking boys were now gathering the dozens of apples that had spilled out into the street after an animated game of "tag" had come to a crashing end.

The masses of people were primarily being drawn to the end of C Street—past the livery stable and the blacksmith shop to where the rodeo was being held near the edge of town. There would be several shows and competitions there throughout the day and cowboys were lining up for the bronc-busting already, hoping to win some prizes. Colorful buntings decorated the buildings and salesmen stood about shouting to the crowd, advertising food, drinks and all sorts of rodeo-related merchandise.

That was what Virginia City was like when the Cartwright family rode into town at noon—all four of them. Adam and Ben rode their horses in front and trailing after them were the two younger family members. Hoss drove the buckboard and little Joe was sitting in the back along with a mound of pillows.

The youngest Cartwright hadn't been happy at all with this manner of transportation and he'd expressed that through a bit of silent sulking during the ride from the ranch. But now that they'd entered town, he was too intrigued by all the commotion going on around him to be miffed and he sat upright, so he could see more.

The only reason he was even here, was thanks to his own remarkable persuasion skills, helped by a few backing words from Hoss and Adam's sensible reasoning that Joe needed to talk with Roy in person anyway about the bushwhackers. Together, the brothers had won their pa over and Joe had been allowed to go with his family to town on the condition that he rode in the buggy where he could rest. It had been Joe's natural reaction to protest, but now that they'd arrived, he felt quite relieved that he hadn't been on horseback for the last two hours. Although he tried to hide it, he was sore in every part of his body and despite Hoss' mindful driving and effort to avoid potholes in the road, he still felt every ache and pain just from sitting in the buggy on pillows. He wasn't up for sitting a horse right now and his family knew it even if he wouldn't admit it.

Joe was just glad to be here with them, in town for the annual rodeo event. In truth, the rodeo wasn't all as important to him as he'd made it seem. He just had this strong need to be with his family and especially Adam now that he was himself again. Also, Joe knew that his pa and brothers would try to track down the men who'd bushwhacked him, and he wasn't about to let them do that without him.

"Are you all right, Joseph?"

Joe looked up past Hoss and saw that his father had turned in the saddle.

"Yea, I'm fine, Pa."

Ben gave his youngest boy a scrutinizing once-over.

"All right. Just remember not to overdo things today." His gaze shifted to include Hoss. "After you've put up the horses at the livery stable I want you to meet me at the sheriff's office to speak with Roy."

"Sure, Pa," the brothers replied in unison.

Twisting back around, Ben aimed his next assessing look at his eldest riding next to him.

"And what about you?"

Adam concentrated on the busy street ahead. "What about me?"

". . . Are you all right, son?"

It took a moment before an answer came. "I'm going to see her, Pa. No matter what you say."

"I know that, Adam. When you insisted on coming to town today I didn't try to talk you out of it and I'm not trying to dissuade you from seeing her now. But I also know that you're upset about what happened to your brother and I don't want you to go about this the wrong way . . ." Ben watched Adam's profile intently. "Madeline probably has no idea about Joe being attacked."

The hardness in Adam's features lessened and his back curved slightly as some of the rigidity left him.

"I'm not gonna go flying off the handle. I just want to ask her a few questions about what happened when she talked to Joe yesterday, that's all."

"All right then . . . just remember that she was going to come out and see you today . . ."

"It doesn't mean anything if Joe pressured her into it, Pa."

Having no response for that, Ben rode along next to his son, but kept watching him.

Adam wore his habitual dark clothing, and had his black Stetson drawn down across his brow. Even though he'd shaved just yesterday, a light dusting of stubble already covered his chin and cheeks again and now that the heavy beard was gone, there was a faint bruise on the right side of his jaw where Fred Clayton had gotten a good punch in that night at the Bucket of Blood. The shirt-sleeve on his left arm was rolled up, revealing the fresh, white bandage that Hop Sing had changed earlier and although Adam could usually hide most things from most people, Ben could tell that he was in pain. The perceptive father had noticed the subtle winces that mounting Sport had provoked and the way Adam kept his injured arm cradled against his side—probably without even being aware of it. He'd been quiet all morning and for the whole ride to town, but while he looked pale and tired, there was also an aura of determination about him. Ben had the odd feeling that Adam would need it to get him through this day. The feeling was only strengthened when he noted the whispers and copious stares that were being aimed at his firstborn.

It wasn't surprising really; Adam hadn't been to town since the Bucket of Blood-disaster and the gossip about him was of course even more noteworthy because his behavior that night had been so out of character. Add to that the situation with Madeline which everyone undoubtedly knew about too . . .

It started to get to Ben as the whispering ramped up and he was filled with anger towards those insensitive people who had no idea about the trials his son had gone through and continued to struggle with. When he glanced at Adam to see his reaction, he saw the exact opposite. Which was a non-reaction. Adam's face was stoic as ever, showing no emotion of any kind.

As the family got to the heart of town where the International House was, they split up. Since they planned to stick around for a few hours at least, they'd decided to put up the horses at the livery stable. Ben dismounted outside the bank and handed Buck's reins to Adam, saying that he would see if he could find Roy while they took care of the mounts. After agreeing to meet up again after, Adam led the way down the street for his brothers at the fastest pace the crowd of horses and buggies allowed.

Ben lingered to watch his sons until they were gone, and then went in search of Roy. He walked to the sheriff's office first but found that the front door was locked which obviously meant that his friend was elsewhere. Mildly frustrated by that, the Cartwright wandered around, keeping an eye out for Roy or Deputy Andrew or for anyone he'd be able to ask about the sheriff's whereabouts. Ever since finding out about the attack on Joe, Ben had kept calm in an effort to prevent his two oldest sons from going off half-cocked and getting into more trouble. But the fact of the matter was that he was just as eager as Adam and Hoss to find the cowards who'd dared ambush his youngest boy. He couldn't relax until he'd found them and seen that they were brought to justice. However, Roy's assistance was frankly indispensable in the bringing-them-to-justice part, and Ben became increasingly annoyed when he still saw no sign of the lawman now that he really needed him.

Deciding to put his search on hold, he stopped in the shade of the tin roof outside the bank. He was surveying the street when a stranger's voice suddenly addressed him.

"Excuse me, Ben Cartwright isn't it?"

Ben shifted sideways and faced a finely-dressed man standing just there as if he'd appeared out of nowhere.

"Yes, it is . . ."

The man did a graceful bow and removed his bowler-hat. "I thought so." He offered his hand as well as a civil smile. "Chris Barns, good day to you."

"Good day, Mr. Barns," Ben said, shaking his hand. There was nothing even remotely familiar about the man. With greetings over, the ensuing silence was filled with some awkward foot-shuffling on Ben's part.

"I'm sorry, do we know each other?"

Mr. Barns' expression didn't change at all. "Forgive me sir, but I've heard so much about you, I feel like I do know you already. No, we haven't met, but I know your son Adam."

"Oh, you're a friend of my son?"

"Yes, I am, we met a few days ago. I was present when the troublesome Mr. Clayton fought Adam at the saloon and I helped Sheriff Coffee look for him afterwards to make sure he was all right. I also gave a witness statement in Adam's defense. Terribly unpleasant incident, that was."

"I see . . ." Ben said, trying to remember if Adam had mentioned anything about this man, but his mind was coming up blank. But then, Adam had been in his own little bubble the last couple of days, so it wasn't any wonder if he hadn't. Ben did suddenly recall Roy saying something about a witness speaking out in Adam's defense. This must be that man.

"Well, I thank you, I appreciate what you did for my son, Mr. Barns."

"Please, I only did what any upstanding citizen would have done," Barns said modestly. "I do hope he is feeling better? He wasn't all that well last I saw him."

"He's doing quite well now, thank you."

"I'm pleased to hear that. He has been on my mind a great deal these last few days, you see."

Forgetting all rules of proper decorum, Ben made no reply. He was too fascinated by the immovable, white smile that seemed attached to the man's face.

"Well . . . I just happened to see you standing here, Mr. Cartwright and I remembered that Adam encouraged me to speak to you about this enterprise I'm involved in. Perhaps he mentioned it? The San Francisco-Fresno Railroad?"

Ben's sight moved up to Mr. Barns' bright-blue pools. "No, actually he didn't . . ."

"He must have forgotten then. But I would be thrilled to have the chance to discuss the project with you. It's my understanding that you have had several investment dealings with the railroad in the past? If you have no other plans, perhaps we could share lunch today while I explain it in further detail?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Barns, but the timing is a bit unfortunate right now," Ben said in a polite tone. "I have some personal matters to attend to today. Maybe some other time?"

He didn't want to be rude or ungrateful to the man who'd apparently helped Adam out, but railroad investments were honestly the last thing on his mind today.

"Oh, that's very unfortunate indeed." For the first time, the white smile faltered as Mr. Barns continued. "The thing is, I'll only be in town for another day or two . . ." Stroking his mahogany mustache, his smile suddenly bounced back in place. "Then might I just invite you for a cup of coffee? I won't take up much of your time, I'll just present my enterprise and leave it up to your consideration."

Ben was struggling to come up with a polite way of declining the new offer when the man spoke once more.

"It would be a positively delightful way of ending my visit here in Virginia City, sitting down with a successful businessman of your caliber, Mr. Cartwright."

"Well, I . . ." Ben finally nodded at the expectant man. "All right, Mr. Barns. It would be my pleasure too."

"Excellent! Why don't we meet at the International House at"—He checked his pocket-watch dangling from his suit-jacket—"say one o'clock?"

"Yes, that sounds fine."

"Good." He replaced his bowler-hat on top of his head. "Oh, by the way . . . is Adam in town today? Perhaps he could join us if he is . . ."

"He is in town, but I'm afraid he has a few things to see to, so I doubt he'll have time to join us."

"Ah, what a pity, I should have liked to speak with him again before I leave. Well, maybe I'll run into him at some point." Mr. Barns tipped his head respectfully. "I shall look forward to seeing you very shortly then, Mr. Cartwright."

"Yes, me too, Mr. Barns . . ."

Flashing his white teeth once more, Mr. Barns stepped around Ben and fell into a self-assured gait down the boardwalk.

Ben couldn't help but watch the departing man. A peculiar man, he thought to himself. It was a type of peculiar that couldn't be defined. Outwardly, Chris Barns seemed to be a gentleman without flaw; confident and agreeable in every way—fancy grey-suit attire to complement the civil manners he wore so aptly. Yes, quite a perfect gentleman, Ben thought. And downright peculiar.

xXXx

Ray rounded the corner of the Land Office and stopped to wait for the man following him to catch up. He'd given all his men firm orders not to approach him out in public unless it was strictly necessary, but Frank had been on his tail since his talk with Ben Cartwright and he knew there must be a reason for it. There weren't too many people around here and he stood in the shade until the man he'd awaited came lumbering around the corner.

"Mr. Bradshaw—"

"It's Barns here, you imbecile!" Ray bit out.

"Sorry . . . Mr. Barns." The man stretched out a huge arm, at the end of which was a meaty hand holding an envelope. "We just caught a messenger who was about to deliver this to the sheriff's office."

Ray took the envelope and opened it. He unfolded the paper and pointed a mustache frown at the short message.

"Once again, I'm left with no choice . . ."

Hands folded in front of him, the man stood with his back straight and asked, "What would you like us to do, sir?"

In a resigned manner, Ray refolded the message neatly again. "You come with me, Frank. You'll be on watch, but I will handle this."

"Yes, sir."

xXXx

Meanwhile, it had been slow going as the Cartwright brothers had navigated the huddled street and it took longer than expected to get to the livery stable. There weren't many free stalls, but old Luke the stable keeper had managed to find room for the horses and a spot where the buckboard could be. A little way further down the street from the stables was the entrance to the rodeo event—a huge banner stretched between the buildings on either side of the road. The brothers could hear the noise and cheers from the crowd that had gathered down by the corral and still more people were heading that direction. The bronc-busting contest was well underway by the sounds of things, and Hoss and Adam sensed Joe's disappointment. If he had been up for it, he would have competed, and he likely would have won the thing too. Hoss gave his shoulder a light pat and said that there would be plenty of other rodeos.

Keeping a slow pace for Joe's sake, the three walked back up the street to meet their pa and the sheriff, but they'd only gotten a few hundred feet when a group of young ladies stopped them in their tracks. Adam and Hoss backed up as Joe was rushed by a flood of concerned, shrilly voices asking him what had happened. With his dark-blue shiner now in full bloom, Joe assured the girls that he was all right, that he'd had much worse, but he didn't seem to mind the sympathetic strokes to his cheek and the worried looks he was receiving in abundance. Watching the spectacle, Adam thought that although the kid was undoubtedly sore, being in the center of some lovely female attention probably eased the pain a little.

Almost ten minutes later, Adam and Hoss had taken up position on the boardwalk—Hoss leaning forwards with his arms resting on the railing and Adam standing beside him as they observed the perfume-scented wall of flounced skirts and bonnets that was keeping their younger brother from view down on the street. Adam adjusted his stance restlessly, his fingers picking at the edge of the bandage by his left wrist.

"I haven't got time for this," he mumbled and eyed the scene as if he expected his statement to make the group of women disperse. When it didn't, he looked at Hoss.

"I'm going to talk with Madeline. Can you make sure Joe gets to Pa and Roy whenever he's done with . . ." To finish his sentence, he simply flapped a hand at the ladies.

Hoss straightened up. "Yea, right, I'll make sure . . ."

Turning, Adam was about to continue up the boardwalk when Hoss spoke in a rush behind him.

"Maybe ya should wait and I kin come with ya after we get Joe to the sheriff . . ."

Adam stopped short and slowly twisted back, one of his dark brows arching up. "Why would I need you to come with me?"

"I ain't sayin' ya need me to . . ." Hoss' head dropped along with his voice. "I kin wait outside while ya talk to her or somethin' . . ."

Scrutinizing the big man, Adam crossed his arms, deciding that the painful twinge the motion evoked was worth it to emphasize his impatience.

Hoss peered up at him. "I reckon I just thought that if things don't go well with Madeline—"

"You thought that if things don't go well with Madeline, I'll end up in a saloon, miserable and out of my head again?"

"I didn't say that, Adam . . ."

"You didn't have to," Adam said, irritated with himself that his tone carried a sharp edge that he didn't know where was coming from. "Like I told Joe yesterday—I'm fine now. So, you can all stop worrying."

Hoss' head jolted up and a burst of fierceness entered his eyes. "It ain't that we just expect ya to be fine—dang it, Adam—why can't you see that we just wanna—"

The brief, uncharacteristic show of frustration died away on a sigh as Hoss angled his body away from him and Adam was too floored to speak. He knew exactly what four-letter word his brother had meant to say at the end—the same word had been mentioned twice to him yesterday—once by Hop Sing and then by his father. It was popping up everywhere around him and yet, something was keeping him from accepting it. Why was that so hard for him? Was he really just that stubborn? When he realized that Hoss either couldn't or didn't want to say anything else, Adam tried to get back to his accustomed composed disposition.

"Look, I'll come and find you as soon as I've spoken with her . . . it won't take long."

"Yea, okay . . ."

"Right then . . ." Adam turned to walk off, wishing that Hoss would look at him again before he did. "You keep little brother out of trouble . . ."

"You just keep yur-dang-self outta trouble."

As if knowing what he needed, Hoss glanced up at him and even achieved a little smile which was more than Adam felt he deserved. But he smiled back, gratefully, then he headed up the boardwalk with brisk strides.

Madeline always worked on Thursdays and so Adam went straight to the restaurant without detouring to Paul's house, thinking she must be at work at this time. He also wanted to avoid running into the doctor if possible because in his opinion, his injured arm had been prodded quite enough already for the day. He didn't speak to anyone on the way and he was glad that people stuck to gossiping about him instead of addressing him directly.

The noise-level in the restaurant dropped the moment he stepped inside the establishment. Once again, he was the only man in a room full of women and many of them were social club members. Tuning their whispering out, he stepped up to the counter where Sally was standing, her whole face brightening as she saw him. He put his hands on the counter and he was a little surprised when she immediately grasped them with hers and smiled in barefaced relief.

"Adam . . . it's so good to see you. You're looking for Madeline?"

"Hi Sally, uh yea, I am . . . is she in the kitchen?"

"No, she has the day off today." Deep lines appeared on Sally's forehead. "She hasn't been well, Adam. In fact, I am very worried about her, I'm sure she is ill . . ."

His attention suddenly sharpened, Adam leaned across the counter. "Ill? What makes you say that?"

"She looks so exhausted and . . . oh, let's not waste time here, I don't know how to explain it to you. Just go and see her, will you?"

Frowning, he quickly nodded. "She must be at home now then?"

"Yes, I think so." Sally let go of his hands. "Adam, whatever has happened with you two, she's been unhappy ever since . . . talk to her, please?"

"I will, Sally."

He was deaf to the women's whispers drifting around him as he left the restaurant. A sudden jittery feeling had sprung up inside him, but he couldn't figure out if it had appeared because he was worried about Madeline or if there was something else too.

When he got outside on the boardwalk again, he set out on a fast walk down the street towards the town-center where he could go the most direct route to Paul's. He was still distracted, but as he came around a corner and strode past the International House, he noticed Maisy McCoy on the opposite side of the street.

Some part of his brain did envision what would soon happen since she was going in the direction where Joe was probably still swallowed up in his group of female admirers. But Adam kept going on his way, mentally apologizing to little brother in advance for doing nothing to prevent the coming awkwardness. Getting to Madeline was more important right now.

Just how ill was she? Surely, Paul would have sent for him if it was anything serious? Then again . . . why would he? Things had changed, and Adam knew he didn't really have any right to know what was going on with her. But if she wasn't feeling well, she might not be up for talking and what then?

He tried pushing his concern and pondering away and the speed of his steps increased. No, he wasn't about to give up now—he was going to do everything he could to find the men who'd attacked his brother. Madeline would just have to talk with him for a few minutes and answer his questions and then he would leave again if that was what she wanted.

He had just passed the bank when a hand landed on his shoulder, but he didn't startle because the touch was so familiar.

"Adam?"

He halted and glanced at his father who was suddenly standing next to him, regarding him questioningly.

"Oh, hey Pa . . . I didn't see you."

"I know you didn't, it's all right." Ben swung a grazing look at their surroundings. "I haven't been able to find Roy yet. Where are the boys?"

"They're somewhere between here and the livery stable." Adam locked eyes with his father. "They got held up when a few sympathetic young ladies saw Joe and wanted to make sure he was all right. He didn't exactly complain."

"Well that little . . ." Ben shook his head, probably thinking that he should have seen that one coming. "Roy isn't here yet anyway, so I'll just wait for them. Are you on your way to see Madeline now then?"

"Yea. I stopped by the restaurant, but Sally said it's her day off."

Something must've shown in his voice because Adam realized that his father now focused on him with keen interest. "Oh? Did Sally say anything else . . .?"

"Well . . . she looked very relieved to see me and said that she thinks Madeline is ill."

"Hmm." Stroking two knuckles along his chin, Ben's expression was austere. "I think it's a good idea that you go and see her."

"Yea. I'll come to the sheriff's as soon as I've spoken with her."

"All right, son." Ben delivered a quick shoulder-clap. "By the way, I just met your friend, Chris."

Adam blinked at him. "Chris who?"

"Chris Barns," Ben said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. "I just talked to him."

The confusion cleared from Adam's eyes as an image of the man from the Silver Dollar emerged from his memory. "We met a couple of days ago, yes, but I wouldn't call him a friend . . ." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Did he talk to you about that railroad deal?"

"Yes, he did. I'm meeting him at the International House for coffee to discuss it at one o'clock."

"Hmm. Just . . . before you agree to anything on that one, let me check into it first, okay?"

"There's no need, Adam. I already know that I won't be making any investments. But after what he did for you, I felt it would be impolite to decline his invitation."

"What he did for me?" Adam asked, back to being confused.

"Yes . . . he gave a witness statement in your defense about that fight with Fred Clayton at the Bucket of Blood." Now Ben also looked perplexed. "I got the impression the two of you knew each other."

Adam went quiet and little creases formed under his lower eyelids. Now as he thought back on their encounter in the Silver Dollar, he remembered Mr. Barns very clearly and he also recalled the sense of eeriness the man had given off. Eeriness from a gentleman with a perfect smile, who'd shown educational and upper-class qualities in the way he'd spoken. But it had undeniably been there, that eeriness, and in spite of the state Adam had been in at the time, he'd caught onto it. The uneasy feeling he'd had then was not unlike the jittery one he had now.

"Is something wrong, Adam?"

He came back to the present, faced his father. "I don't know, I guess . . . there was just something about the guy."

"Well, you don't need to think about that now, not on top of everything else we have going on today," Ben said adamantly, giving him a little nudge to redirect him. "Go and see Madeline. We'll be waiting for you over at Roy's when you're finished."

"Yea, okay."

Doing his best to rid himself of that uncomfortable sentiment, Adam left his father and walked down the street that would take him to Paul's house.

xXXx