I only checked this twice before posting it so there may be a typo or two. Hope this is enjoyable to anyone who decides to read. Thanks.
Thirteen ~ Machinations
Adam drove the buggy into the yard of the Ponderosa. It was late and he had spent far too long with Violet but she had been worth every second that ticked by. Adam worked on unhitching the harness tracings; he decided he'd leave the buggy in the yard overnight after tending the horse. All he wanted now was sleep.
"Easy, girl," he said as the last of the tack dropped away and he led the horse inside and into the stall where the other horses welcomed her with snuffles and snorts. He turned her about, holding on to the rope bridle that she always wore, and secured the bar across the opening. The barn boy had already filled her trough with a mixture of oats and alfalfa. "Now, you eat your fill and I'll have Lyndon rub you down in the morning." Adam walked outside and pulled the barn door shut. He turned to face a rifle pointed at him.
"Not very smart to leave your weapon behind. I'd think the army would've taught you better," Kelley said.
Adam walked toward him and grabbing the rifle by the barrel, jerked it away from Kelley; he shouldn't have left his rifle behind and hated looking negligent. "I ought to shove this up your ass and pull the trigger!" Kelley laughed but Adam was still angry with himself. "What the hell are you doing here? Must be close to midnight."
"Actually, it's past midnight. I waited for you on the road, figured you'd have to ride that way, but you didn't. And yet, here you are—safe and sound."
"I took the scenic route home, if it's any of your business. Beautiful countryside hereabouts. Stopped and watched the moon reflected on the lake—that's just the kind of man I am," Adam said, "goddamn poetic."
The front door opened, casting an arc of light into the front yard. Ben Cartwright, wearing slippers and a robe over his nightshirt and carrying a pistol, stepped onto the porch. "Adam? Is that you?"
"Yeah, it's me, Pa. I just put the horse away. I'll take care of the buggy in the morning."
"It's after midnight; I was beginning to worry a bit. Hoss said you and Miss Mansfield left the dance long before him." Standing under the porch light, Ben searched the shadows to see who else he had heard. "Someone with you?"
Kelley stepped into the circle of light cast by the open door. "It's me, Mr. Cartwright-Agent Lew Kelley. Just having a little confab with your son here."
Ben looked dubious so Adam spoke up. "It's okay, Pa. I'll be in soon."
"Okay, son." And Ben reluctantly closed the door; he wanted Adam safely inside.
Kelley's tone changed. His gut told him Captain Cartwright was withholding information-intentionally. "Let's cut through all this bullshit, Cartwright. Did you learn anything from Mansfield's daughter about the gold?"
"No." Adam held the rifle balanced on his shoulder.
Kelley heaved a sigh. "You were supposed to get her to cozy up to you and spill where the gold was-if there is gold. Have you seen any evidence there is?"
Adam thought of the gold coin Violet showed him, still warm from her flesh, but that wasn't necessarily proof of anything except that she could please a man. And his mind went to Violet and her soft skin and teasing tongue. She was surprisingly experienced for one so young and delectable. "I'm not sure. But I plan on checking…on following up, as any good agent should. You know, like you following up on me." Adam was pleased to see Kelley's anger.
"Just speak straight, Cartwright. What did Cammie say?" Keeley asked, frowning.
"All Cammie Mansfield knows is that her father came home from the war a very wealthy man. If she has suspicions on the source of the sudden wealth, she didn't say, but she might in the future, on a picnic or such."
Kelley stood straighter then and smiled. "Then you do have plans?"
Adam grimaced. "Indefinite plans. But she left me with the impression she'd be open to another outing. And I think," Adam said, "she might like you. You ever thought of courting her?"
"Go to hell, Cartwright…but not before you find out if there's any gold. I need to get back to town, get some shut-eye." Kelley walked over to his horse and took the reins in hand. "Why do I get the feeling you're not being…forthcoming?"
Adam shrugged. "Maybe you're just suspicious by nature."
"Yeah," Kelley said, mounting his horse. "That must be it."
Adam watched Kelley ride away and then walked across the yard to the house. He knew he'd have to tell his father something about why he was so late just out of consideration; his father must have been pacing, worrying about him traveling safely across the M Bar. But the story could be the same as what he told Kelley, the moon on the lake. His father wouldn't buy it either but it wouldn't matter as long as he was home safe and sound.
~ 0 ~
Adam lay in the dark on his familiar bed where he had, as he matured and felt the burgeoning urges of desire, fantasized about girls and kissing them and perhaps, if he could manage it, touching a soft breast. The curtains fluttered in the night breeze. It was chilly but he preferred it over Mexico's stifling heat that many nights, had him sitting shirtless under the wooden overhang of Carmelita's adobe "casa", unable to sleep.
He let the crisp air lightly whisper across his bare chest and thought again of Violet. He couldn't help but smile. She was something else and Adam could well understand why she was Mansfield's weakness. The Colonel was an older man and to have a young woman like Violet play up to him and tell him how wonderful he was, how virile and desirable he was, could be a difficult trap to escape. Adam knew, closing in on forty in a little over another year, that he could easily fall into that trap as well. Vanity ensnared many a man and brought him down. And Violet did have clever hands and her mouth…Adam almost groaned, remembering. He told himself to keep in mind that Violet was crafty and wanted enough money to be, as she put it, a woman of independent means-not having to fetch for anyone else or share a bed with any man she didn't desire. And with that comment, she had slid her hand sinuously over his bare chest.
Finally, Adam had grabbed her wrists and pining her to the ground, demanded she tell him about the gold and her demands, as he had just about had enough of her machinations, no matter how pleasing she was.
"You could take me over your knee and spank me," Violet said, smiling.
"Violet, its late. Besides, I have a suspicion you'd enjoy that far too much." He released her and standing, buttoned himself up. His tucked the tails of his shirt into his waistband and started on the shirt buttons. "I don't have time for you anymore and this little game you want to play."
"Oh, all right. Help me up, would you?" Violet put up one hand and after considering, Adam pulled her to her feet. She began to arrange her clothing. "This coming Wednesday, the Colonel and Mr. Costello are leaving for San Francisco to meet with some railroad people about selling rights-of-way—something like that. Anyway, they're going to Carson City and taking the train from there. He wanted me to go with him but when I asked him how he would explain that to his daughter, well, he finally agreed I should stay after all." Violet paused while Adam picked up the coin, handed it to her and then shook out her cape and placed it about her shoulders. "Thank you," she said, tying the ribbons at her throat while still holding the gold coin.
"Why is he taking Costello?"
"I think the Colonel is overly cautious. That charming Irishman is always chucking me under the chin, pinching and patting my fanny. I think the Colonel's afraid to leave him behind at the ranch, afraid I'll find I like Costello's bed better'n his."
Adam smiled, "The Colonel may be right about that. But go on with your plan," Adam said, slipping on his jacket.
"You be outside his office window at eleven this coming Wednesday night; everyone, all the hired men should be asleep by then and Cook snores enough to raise the dead! When Mansfield's gone, they drink a bit too much anyway, so they'll stay asleep. I'll let you in and I'm sure, together, we can find where the gold's hidden." Violet sidled up to Adam and slipped her arms about his torso, resting her head on his chest. "I can hear your heart pounding away," she said.
"Gold does that to me."
With a sound of disgust, Violet pushed herself from him. "Well, that's my plan to find the gold. And I get any reward for its recovery or for turning in the Colonel. You're already a rich man."
"Okay, I agree to that. But let me ask you this—why haven't you looked for the gold yourself?"
"I have." Violet pouted. "I couldn't find it."
"Then maybe it's not there."
"It's there—I know it's there! I told you, Mansfield gave me that coin and that's proof he has Confederate gold. You verified it yourself. He was in his office and when he came out, I was dusting all that tacky bric-a-brac in the parlor and he dropped that coin down the front of my dress, stealing a kiss as well. He hadn't been anywhere else but his office–-not outside at all—just his office. And then he said he was going to…to…some rancher somewhere to talk about a seed bull; I think he had taken out some of the gold to pay someone because he never came home with any bull. Not everyone is as knowledgeable about stolen gold as you are, Adam—or even care about it. To them, gold is gold. Why the Colonel really went away that time, I don't know nor do I care, but he didn't come home until late the next day in a very bad mood. I should have gotten another gold coin for my performance that night as well!"
"How do I know Mansfield didn't give you that piece as payment to set me up, so he can shoot me in his house, a sneak thief come crawling in the window."
"You are a suspicious man, Adam Cartwright, aren't you? You don't trust anyone. If I was going to set you up, then someone would have shot your ass off long before this; there was plenty of time when you were unarmed and exposed." Violet smiled and then giggled. "Oh, Adam you're so serious. Don't you ever laugh?"
"Not much is funny to me anymore. Okay, Violet. I'll be there Wednesday at eleven. I hope I don't regret trusting you."
"I hope I don't regret trusting you! Now, I have to get back and hope the Colonel hasn't been scratching at my door, begging to get in." She scrambled up the rise, lifting her skirts to keep the hems clean. At the top, she turned. "Goodnight, Adam."
"Goodnight, Violet. And take care of yourself." He watched as she smiled and then hurried off into the darkness. An old saying ran through his mind: Women always speak the truth, but not the whole truth. Adam hoped he hadn't made a mistake in trusting Violet but soon enough, Adam told himself, he'd find out.
~ 0 ~
The following Sunday morning was quiet with the rest of the family at church. Adam ate his breakfast of over-easy eggs, buttered toast, and hot coffee, sitting on the front porch, enjoying the morning, the birdsong, and tossing the bread crusts to the chickens that scratched about. He leaned back, setting the chair on its back legs, head resting against the wall, and closed his eyes. He was still drowsy after the late night but considered fetching his guitar and working out the fingering for a new melody he had heard at the dance. He went over the strings in his head and then considered buying a banjo. Could it be that much different than a guitar? And the fiddle—he always enjoyed listening to the fiddle. Of course, it would take time to learn to ply a bow and he knew that practicing would often sound like a cat screeching. And while lost in thought, he heard a rider approaching and dropped the chair flat.
Cammie Mansfield, dressed in the riding habit she had been wearing the first time they met, rode into the yard, smiling broadly when she saw him. Adam stepped off the porch, smiling back as she pulled up her horse.
"Help me down?" she asked, putting out her arms.
"Of course." Adam stepped over and put his hands about her waist, helping lift her down; he had forgotten how tall she was. "What brings you out to the Ponderosa this morning and why aren't you in church like ever good Christian girl should be?"
"Perhaps I'm not a good Christian girl. And I'm pleased to see you're home and not a good Christian man." Cammie was trying too hard to be coy, flirtatious and provocative but to Adam, it was jarring; she wasn't the type.
"I find that hard to believe," Adam replied, "but come sit on the porch for a bit. Or would you prefer a cup of coffee inside."
"Why not a cup of coffee on the porch?" Cammie said, delighted.
Adam agreed and led her to the house, stopping to pick up his dishes. "My breakfast," he explained.
"Oh, you cook. You are a Renaissance man, aren't you?"
"No, not at all. Just a hungry man. Please," he said, stepping back, "go in.""
Cammie stepped into the house and stood in true admiration. "Oh, Adam, this is wonderful house. It's so, so…masculine."
He chuckled. "I'm not quite sure what you mean by that, but considering five men live here, I guess it is."
Cammie's face was lit with enthusiasm. "No, I mean, in my mind, a house is either feminine or masculine. This one is decidedly masculine. There's no delicate, porcelain statues or doilies lying about. No fancy sheers or rugs…why these Indian rugs are just wonderful and perfect here!" She placed one hand on the back of the closest leather chair. "And these chairs are so wonderful-and that blue wingback is the prefect contrast to the colors in the settee!" She spun about. "Oh, I could live in this house forever and not want to change a thing!"
Adam didn't know what to say; Cammie was making him uncomfortable; he wondered if she was hinting at a possible marriage with him. Her comments could have no underlying motive, but what would become of her after her father's wealth and land was confiscated, that is, if the acreage was bought with stolen Confederate gold as it was beginning to look? Where would she go? Was he responsible for her in any way? Adam examined his feelings, something he rarely did anymore as he found they were best left dormant. The army had taught him to kill, something his sense of self had always rebelled against. And using people was also against his morals. But then, as he had reconciled himself with the many lives he had taken on the battlefield, reconciled with the few feelings he had leaving Carmelita and her boys, he also considered that Cammie was just another person involved in this scenario and pity for her could cause him to make a mistake, one that could cost him his life.
"Glad you like it so much. It's gone through transitions over the years, but we're comfortable with it."
"You studied to be an architect, correct?" Cammie noticed Adam's change in expression; he was surprised. "That was in Costello's report as well," she added and watched him relax.
"Yes, I studied back east. Why?"
"I just wondered if you had a hand in the design. I mean it looks so rugged and strong—like you." Cammie smiled.
Adam felt the need to change the subject. "A bit of a hand. Sit down, please, and I'll bring out the coffee and we can sit on the porch as you wanted." He walked into the kitchen and placed his dishes in the sink, pumping water over them. Reaching for a cup and saucer on the shelf, he realized Cammie had come into the kitchen.
"This is a big kitchen. I guess your Chinese cook likes working here."
"He must—he's been with us long enough. But he also has quite a few perks like bonuses on all Chinese holidays and there seem to be a lot of them although I've suspected on occasion, the holiday is a particularly bad night at the mahjong table."
"Mahjong? I don't believe I…let me pour the coffee, Adam. That's women's work." Cammie came over and stood far too close. Adam was considering how he would respond if Cammie asked for a kiss—not that he would be averse; he had kissed so many girls in the past that they blurred in his memory, but she might interpret it as something other than he intended. And what if she wanted him to go further, to carry her upstairs to his bedroom? That wouldn't be fair to Cammie, for her to surrender her virginity to him, no matter how desperate she was to be free of it.
Cammie, touched Adam's chest, her fingers resting lightly on his shirt, and was about to say something when the jangling sound of wagon traces and male voices floated in on the breeze through the half-open Dutch door.
"My family's home," Adam said. "C'mon, I'll introduce you." He took Cammie's elbow and steered her toward the kitchen door; her crestfallen face revealed everything to Adam. He had been correct—she had wanted more from him that he could give. And Adam found himself particularly devoid of compassion for the lanky, ungainly woman.
