EPILOGUE

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Adam laid the papers he was working on down on the top of his father's desk. He leaned back in the office chair, pinched his nose, and then rubbed his eyes. He'd been at it for hours, trying to find an error in his calculations, but he knew it was an exercise in futility.

His mind was elsewhere.

Glancing up, the man in black looked at his brother. Little Joe was seated on Marie's settee, book in hand, staring off into space. He and his Joe were alone in the house. Hop Sing was in Sacramento visiting one of his countless cousins. Pa and Hoss were in town. The pair had gone to get supplies when the area was hit by a sudden, unexpected snowstorm. There was no way of knowing when they would return. It had already been a couple of days and it might be a couple more. It all depended on snowfall, the sun, and how long it took everything to thaw.

The last few days alone with Joe had been…interesting…to say the least. His brother was uncharacteristically quiet . Little Joe's naturally ebullient personality had failed to resurface after Doc Martin allowed him out of bed. He was pretty sure he knew the reason why. He'd never forget the look Joe gave him when he told him Duke Miller was dead. It was like he didn't believe it.

It appeared Duke Miller haunted him still.

Adam pushed off the desk and rose to his feet. He stretched and then moved into the great room. Pausing near the front door, he said, "Joe, I'm heading to the kitchen. Would you like me to bring you something to eat? There's plenty of that smoked meat and cheese." To his knowledge Little Joe hadn't eaten much of anything in the last two days. The man in black counted to ten and then asked again. "Joe?"

His brother nearly jumped out of his skin. Joe's smile was chagrined. It made him look like the little boy he had been not so long ago.

"No, thanks, Adam," he said. "I'm not hungry."

They'd been playing this game for a while now. He'd ask. Joe would say 'no', he wasn't hungry, or, 'no', he didn't want to talk, or just 'no'.

Adam decided it was time to deal with it – whatever 'it' was.

He walked over to the settee and stood directly in front of his brother and waited. Joe ignored him for several heartbeats and then looked up. For a second there was something – a shadow in those great green eyes of his.

Was it fear?

"What are you looking at?" baby brother demanded.

"What does it look like I'm looking at?" Adam asked as he took a seat on the table directly in front of him. "I'm looking at you."

Joe scowled. "Yeah? Well, stop it!"

Adam laced his fingers together and leaned forward. "Sorry. No."

"No? What do you mean 'no'?" As the silence grew longer, Joe's temper grew shorter. He started to rise. "I don't have to sit here and –"

Adam reached out and caught his brother's arms. He forced him back down and held him in place. "Yes, you do. Joe, listen to me, running away isn't going to – "

"Who's running away?" Joe fired back. "How can I run away when I'm stuck here in this house with you?"

"Well, thank you," the older man said as he released his grip. "It's nice to know I'm wanted."

Joe's eyes glistened with tears. He sucked in a ragged breath and pleaded, "Adam, please…. Just let it go."

Pleaded.

Feeling like a heel, he pressed on. "Let what go, Joe? Tell me."

Little brother glared at him for several heartbeats and then dropped his head so he didn't have to meet his eyes. Adam watched as tears fell to wet Joe's tan trousers.

"I got her killed, Adam."

Of course, he knew who 'her' was.

"Joe, you had nothing to do with Marie's death."

His brother fairly exploded off the settee and began to pace. "Duke Miller hated me, Adam! Me! He dropped those jacks in the yard because he wanted to kill me! Not Mama! Me!"

His brother was shaking from head to foot. Little Joe really wasn't all that far into his recovery. It had been five weeks since Miller's death and Joe had only been on his feet for the last few days; since just before Hoss and Pa left for town. Adam wanted to reach out, to lend him some strength – hell, to take the kid in his arms – but he knew it was too soon. So he held back and prayed Joe wouldn't drop.

"Miller didn't care who he killed, Joe," he replied, careful to keep his tone even. "You, Marie, me, it wouldn't have mattered. All that mattered to him was coming out on top."

"You're wrong, Adam! Duke hated me!" Joe was breathing hard. "Look at what happened in the barber shop."

"Oh, come on now, Joe. You can't possibly mean to take responsibility for Paco's father defying Duke Miller."

"Can't I? If I hadn't challenged Duke first…. If I'd just gotten up out of that damn chair and moved out of the way…." The tears were falling now. "If I hadn't gotten so…angry…Paco's pa would still be…." Joe sucked in air. A tremor ran the length of his slightly emaciated frame. "What's wrong with me, Adam?"

Replying to that statement was like walking a tight wire.

"First of all, come over here and sit down."

Joe was standing too close to the door. He was afraid he was going to bolt out into the snow – in his stockings and without a coat.

"I can't."

"What?" Adam chuckled. "Sit still?"

Joe nodded.

"Why don't you try? For me, okay?"

His brother's jaw tightened. Those nostrils flared. Then he nodded.

One battle won.

As his brother returned to the settee, Adam pursed his lips and considered what to say – and just how to say it. "First of all," he began as Joe sat down, "there is nothing wrong with you. You have a temper. You need to learn to control it. We all do."

"You don't have a temper," his brother countered. "You always think everything out. You don't make mistakes."

Adam blinked. "Can I have that in writing?"

That got a little smile.

"Of course, I make mistakes. I'm not God."

His brother had been looking at him. Joe's head went down again.

Now they were getting somewhere.

"Are you mad at God, Joe?"

Joe's black lashes quivered. Those green eyes flicked up and away quickly.

"It should have been me," he said, so quietly Adam had to guess at the words.

"Should have been you…what?"

Joe looked right at him. "Me, who killed Duke Miller. I should have done it for Mama."

They hadn't talked about it. He hadn't even talked about it with his father. The 'how' of Duke Miller's end was an unspoken question that had yet to be answered.

"So you think I killed him?" Adam asked.

First there was defiance, and then doubt in his brother's stare. "Didn't you?" Joe blinked. "I thought, well…. I heard Sheriff Roy say your gun had been fired."

Roy had come to the house shortly after they brought Joe home. He'd grilled him like a prime steak. The sheriff could tell he was hiding something. Hell, Roy knew Pa was hiding something.

"When did you hear that?"

Joe looked up through the fringe of curls on his forehead. "The night after Doc let me come home. I got out of bed."

"Good Lord, Joe! You could have opened up one of those bleeders!"

His brother scowled. "Yeah, well, everyone always leaves me out of everything."

"Might that be because of that explosive temper you're worried about?"

Joe glared at him a second longer and then seemed to deflate. He sank back against the settee. "I wanted to kill him, Adam. From that day when Duke shot Paco's pa, I wanted to kill him – with my bare hands. I would have too, if Sheriff Roy hadn't stopped me."

"That temper almost earned you time in jail."

Joe pouted like a little boy. "It would have been worth it."

"Would it, Joe? Really?" Adam looked straight at his brother. "Okay, you deserve it. Here's the honest truth. I found a trail outside behind the stable and followed it. Duke was at the ravine. You know, the one where you and I hid all those years ago?" His brother was listening, those intense green eyes fastened on him. Little Joe nodded. Adam nodded too, and then he rose and crossed over to stare at the fire. "Duke was there, up top. He admitted to everything. Then he told me there was no way the law could stop him; that there was nothing to prove he had done any of it." He glanced at this brother. "Causing Marie's accident, yours, shooting you…." Adam drew a breath as he remembered. "I had my gun primed and loaded. I pointed it at him and, God forgive me, Joe, I pulled the trigger."

"God forgive you – for what? Duke Miller deserved to die."

"Did he? Did Peter Kane? Did either of them deserve to die at my hands? Joe, who am I? Who are you to play at being God?" He paused. "If we exact vengeance, how are we any different than the ones we hate?"

A silence descended on the room, so profound Adam was sure he could hear their combined hearts beating.

"So…did you kill him?" Joe asked.

Adam returned to his seat on the table. He reached out to touch his baby brother's leg. "I wanted to so badly I could taste it, for Marie, but most of all for you, so that that man would be gone from your life forever." He drew in another breath and let it out very slowly, composing his mind and his words. "Thank God, I didn't have to. The upper bank gave way, Joe. Miller fell into the water. He drowned."

Joe shook his head. "Still…."

"Joe, what do you think your mother…our mother would have said?"

His brother held his gaze a moment for a moment and then rose to his feet. That restless energy that was Joseph Francis Cartwright propelled him to the hearth where he took hold of the poker and began to stir the ashes.

"I don't have to think it, Adam. I know."

The statement was so strange it stopped him for a moment. "What?"

"When I was…dying…I heard you all. You and Pa, and Doc Martin. You kept telling me to hold on. You told me…." Joe looked over his shoulder. "You told me I wasn't allowed to die. I…did, Adam. For just a second."

"Joe, no." It wasn't possible. He couldn't contain the thought.

His brother turned to look at him. "It's true. I died out there in the street. Mama was there and she…." Joe sniffed in tears. "I saw here again in the examining room. She was standing between you and Pa. She had a hand on each of your shoulders. Mama told me, before she sent me back, that one day I would understand. That…it didn't matter. That God has His reasons."

Adam hadn't realized he was holding his breath. He let it out.

"Did you believe her?"

Joe looked directly at him. "Do you?"

In that instant, the burden Adam had been carrying for the last five weeks fell off of him. He understood that God had directed him to that moment, with Duke Miller on the top of that hill and at just the right place for the bank to give way. He'd tried but he couldn't reach him, so he stood there and watched as the rushing water, with its heavy debris, struck and pulled the man under. For a second he had felt joy, knowing the man was dead, but just as quickly, that joy had been replaced with sorrow. Not for the fact that Miller was dead, but for the man himself – for the child whose name had been Duardo, who had never truly lived.

Joe was watching him closely. "Are you okay, Adam?"

He nodded. "You?" he asked.

Joe was slow to do it, but he nodded as well.

"So," Adam said, slapping his thighs and rising to his feet, "how about that sandwich?"

Joe put the poker down. He smiled – a genuine Joe Cartwright smile – and then he was on the move.

"Last one to the kitchen gets to bring in the firewood!"

Oooooooooo

END