Disclaimer: If Lancer was mine, you'd all know about it by now.
Wes: "I'm just gonna go out and catch hold of somethin' and go wherever it takes me. You know what I mean, Johnny? Just kinda go out and ride free."
Catching Hold of Something (Tag for CAWH)
"It's a fine bunch. Really fine." Murdoch leaned on the top of the corral railing and let out an audible grunt.
They were fine, especially the flashy sorrel with the white blaze. As Johnny watched the horse trot in a tight circle, bumping up against the others, there was something about him that didn't sit right. Maybe it was how the horse shied at the littlest thing. High strung, yet nothing to show for it.
Murdoch shifted one foot then the other to the bottom railing, trying to get comfortable. Too much riding yesterday, although he had to give the old man credit for sticking to the saddle—it was rough country. There'd been a lot of give and take on the ride, his father wanting to go one on way and Johnny another. In the end it all came together in this one herd.
It was a different type of ride for sure. It would've been all jokes and hard riding with Wes. Maybe a sip or two or three from Wes' flask that his friend had kept hidden in his saddlebags, away from the prying eyes of Cipriano. For as long as Johnny had known him, Wes was all flash like that sorrel. And like the horse, nothing to show for it.
"Which one are you going to work first, Johnny?"
"I don't really…"
Teresa came out to the porch with a large brown bag in her hand, apron strings flying and interrupted the rest of his answer. "Where's Scott?"
Murdoch shielded his eyes against the morning sun. "He left early to finish the surveying project."
She patted her hand against the bag and shook her head, looking towards the white arch as if she would find Scott trotting back to the ranch. She turned and walked back into the hacienda.
Johnny studied the closed door for a moment.
Murdoch moved beside him. "So, which of these will you work first?"
He tapped the railing. "Well, I haven't got that figured out just yet. But…" He looked to the hacienda door.
"But what?"
"I'm sorry, Murdoch, I've got to do something."
He found Teresa in the foyer, reaching for her hat. "You figuring on going somewhere?"
She pointed to the bag. "It's Scott's lunch, he left without it."
Johnny lifted it and let out a whistle. "You trying to put some meat on his bones?"
She shrugged.
"I tell you what, let me ride it out to him."
"What about your horses?"
"They waited all this time to be caught, they can wait for a few more hours."
"If you're sure…" She tapped his forearm and hmm'ed. "Wait here, I've got something to give you."
She went to the hallway cabinet and pulled out a slick, blue-painted jar. On her way back, she unscrewed the lid and stuck two fingers into the opening.
"Here. This is yours."
"I gave you that money for a new dress."
"I don't want a new dress. My jeans are perfectly fine. Take it back."
"No, you keep it."
She shoved the money into his hand. "No. I don't need…"
Something tightened in his belly. "What? My money no good?"
She stared up at him, hurt visible in those big brown eyes. "Do you know what I need, Johnny Lancer?"
It was his time to shrug.
She poked a long finger at his chest. "I need you to stay. That's all. Just stay. I don't need your money."
His breath left him.
She turned pale and spent some time smoothing her shirt, maybe realizing what she'd said. She turned away from him. "Thanks for taking Scott his lunch," she said hastily to prevent him from speaking. "I'm sure he'll appreciate it."
Johnny crumpled the bills in his hand and pushed them into his pocket after she left. Badgered by a kid. Huh. It was suffocating almost. But it left him feeling like the sun had just come out on a cold winter's day.
L
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Johnny reined Barranca to a stop on a small crest and looked own. He spotted Scott below him. In the distance, his brother looked a bit like Wes with that yellow hair and rangy, lean build. That was where the similarities ended. Wes would've been under a tree, hat pulled low over his eyes catching a siesta. He shook his head and urged his horse forward.
Scott caught a flash of light on the hill and was two steps to where Finn was staked, and his holster wrapped around the saddle horn, before he figured out it was Johnny and Barranca. The Strykers had left an indelible mark.
"Johnny? What are you doing here? I thought you and Murdoch would be working that bunch you both brought in yesterday."
"You think the old man could throw a leg over one of those wild horses?"
"I think he may try, but I can't see it going too well. He's certainly not a man to back down." Scott pointed at his brother. "Much like you."
"Oh, I've done my fair share of backing down, when it needed to be done."
Scott cocked his head. "You did come back to Lancer at that, although I wouldn't call that backing down." He grinned. "Maybe coming to your senses is a better phrase. Even though there are bound to be more deadlines ahead."
"Sucker bet on those deadlines. Even money." Johnny turned and got something out of his saddlebag. "Here, I brought your lunch. Teresa figured you forgot it."
Scott hefted the bag in one hand. "Actually, I wanted to save my horse from buckling under the extra weight." He peeked inside. "Just as I suspected. She put half the larder in here. Stay and I'll treat you to lunch."
He corralled his working tools into one large bunch then he and Johnny sat under a lone poplar tree.
Scott separated out two beef sandwiches, a couple of apples and several cookies.
"Why do you do it?" Johnny asked.
"Do what?"
"You took a bullet and you're out here doing the surveying. It could've waited."
"It was a graze, not a bullet. As I've been shot before, I have cause to know the difference."
Johnny's eyebrows quirked together.
"Surprised? Well so was I at the time. That's a story for a different day." Scott put down his uneaten sandwich. "Honestly, I don't mind it. It's so much different than what I was doing in Boston."
"Taking orders like a good soldier."
Scott looked up sharply. "I had my times, Johnny. I was more—how you say—subtle in my rebelliousness." He sighed. "Murdoch and my grandfather appear to be cut from the same cloth, so there's bound to be some friction in the future there for me. I think, however, you softened up our father a bit."
He remembered how Murdoch had looked after Johnny left. Angry and disappointed, yes, yet there was something else in his eyes that Scott could only describe as lost.
He looked to where he'd dropped the surveying tools. "And I know what it cost, with Wes dying."
Johnny shook his head. "Wes was Wes. Sometimes he was a fool."
He'd heard bits and pieces about Wes's death and how it tied into the watch Murdoch had given Johnny. He didn't know all of the story and probably wouldn't.
When Scott turned to Johnny, he saw a bit of exhaustion, the same kind of sagging surrender his brother had displayed in the saloon when the riff with Murdoch had used him up.
"He was a friend though, right?"
Johnny smiled slightly and nodded.
Years ago, after he first returned from the war, his grandfather had tried to prod Scott into talking. If he talked, Grandfather thought, it would mean his grandson was all right. That he didn't need to worry about him. Silence was a problem and words would mean everything was going to be fine.
They were wrong.
Scott knew a thing or two about losing friends. It made his chest hurt a little, knowing that things would have been different if he and Johnny had been raised together.
He'd meant what he'd said in the saloon. For however short they'd known each other, it had mattered that Johnny wanted to leave Lancer. Half of him wondered what would have happened if Wes had lived.
Sometimes, silence was just the thing.
He turned back around. The green pasture was brightly lit from the noonday sun and that was a comfort of sorts. No one saw Scott shape his lips around the words Glad you stayed, brother. He picked up his sandwich and started eating.
~End~
4/10/2021
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