BEFORE:

Adam stared at the ocean waters.

In the company of the Morgan Ranch's other hired drovers, he and Will's journey had come to an end. Or at least this one had. Their responsibilities to the herd of cattle they had been entrusted to shepherd from the middle of Montana to the very northwest tip of Washington had ended when the land finally met the ocean. Soon they would begin their trek back to the Morgan Ranch, but not that night. This night was meant for relaxing and celebrating another successful drive, for back patting and the trading of accolades that their boss, Morgan, would neither utter nor condone.

Still, there was a reason to feel accomplished, proud. Six men total had guided a herd of nearly two hundred head of cattle across varying landscapes and territorial lines and had only lost two. It was quite the achievement, the story of which Adam would have not have believed had he not been a part of the team himself, and had his pocket not been subsequently filled with the reward of such success. Morgan may not believe in verbal praises, but he did pay gratuities. An additional three dollars per head successfully led from one point to another to be paid upon the livestock's delivery, not the drover's return to his ranch.

With their wallets and stomachs full of the local dinner fare, the team of drovers had scattered for the evening. After sharing a few drinks at a particularly drab saloon, Will had employed one of the local working women and taken her back to the room he and Adam were sharing; Adam had taken the rest of the bottle of whiskey his cousin bought and the evening air.

"I'm paying this gal for the whole night. You sure you don't want to join in?" Will had asked, a hint of glee in his voice and evil in his eyes. "Damn fine cure for the dreams you've been having, and it ain't like we haven't shared a woman before."

No, Adam most emphatically did not want to join the two for anything. Will's chuckles gave the question away for what it was: a joke. But to Adam it felt more like a rebuke; the ease in which his cousin had so loosely likened the past to the present was a little too jolting for his liking. Still, he had no interest in such activities, at least not with strange women who required payment for the deeds that would take place behind closed doors, and certainly not with one who would lay with his cousin first. And besides, he had a girl. He had Eddie, even if he didn't know when he would see her again.

The waters beneath the wharf were calm. There was a slight mist in the air, embedding the surroundings with the smell of salt and fish. It wasn't a cold night, or a hot one. Or maybe it was the alcohol he was steadily consuming that was disguising the temperature of the night. Dressed in his jacket, elbows planted on the railing meant to keep folks from falling into the waters below, Adam leaned over slightly, and lazily sipped at the bottle in his hand.

Oceans were a lot like mountains, he absently thought. It was funny how different and similar they were. The body of water in front of him looked a lot like the one he had become familiar with back East, but the docks, the wharf, and the small town just inland were all very different from those he had known during his college years. The landscape surrounding him now was much different than that; it was more rugged, less touched by society and the kind of folks that came with it, those who valued appearance over all else.

There was toughness to this tiny town, a roughness to those who chose to dwell in it. It reminded him of how Virginia City had once been when his family had come to settle there, how it could still sometimes be if a man did something the general population disagreed with. All at once, he was thinking of Laura again, that damn diary, and the mess it had made out things. Then he thought about the way he had thought he loved her, and then later knew he didn't. How he had left her, and how she had married Will. How she had died and he had been the one to find her, a voice of something calling him closer and closer to where she lay. Then he thought about Peggy, how he had found her that day in the barn, and what he had done for her—for himself, really. And then, inevitably, he was thinking about his father again, his thoughts having come full circle.

The whiskey bottle slipped from his hand and fell into the ocean with a splash.

"Shit," he muttered deeply, casting a disappointed gaze at the situation below. Though the bottle did not sink, it would not be retrieved as it floated far from reach, bobbing slightly as if to taunt him. He would have liked to drink more of it, if not the rest of it, a highly effective albeit poorly chosen method to cope with his thoughts. He didn't want to think of Laura, his father, or home. He didn't even want to think of Peggy, or Eddie. He would much rather think of nothing at all. The bottle could have helped with that, and now it wouldn't. It was just as well; he knew better than to allow himself to become the kind of a man that soothed away troubling thoughts with alcohol.

Huffing a disappointed breath, Adam turned around, leaned his back against the railing, and extended his arms, his hands coming to rest upon the wood preventing him from the same fate as the whiskey. He cast his eyes upon the small town in the slight distance, then noticed something a bit closer and gasped.

There was a man standing no more than a stone's throw away from him. Dressed in all black, he was difficult to see in the darkness, but he was there.

"Do you see me?" the man asked, seemingly noting Adam's prolonged stare.

Hands falling from the railing, Adam neither recognized the man's voice nor his frame. Right hand finding his gun, he gripped it tightly but did not pull it from the holster. "Yes," he said. There was little point in not answering.

"Took you long enough."

"Are you watching me?"

"Ye-ah," the man said as he began to step forward. "For a while now."

"How long is that?"

"Oh," the man said, the word leaving his mouth with a lazy exhale. "Not long after you and your group left the Morgan Ranch with that herd. I kept back; I was careful, you see. Careful to cover my tracks, careful not to be seen. Still, I cannot say I am not disappointed. After all, I was told you were a hard man to follow, the experienced-type with tracking and such; though, now I do wonder how much of what I heard about you is true. It's funny the things a man doesn't see when he's determined not to look at what he's leaving behind."

Adam's stomach turned with a sickening mixture of skepticism and nerves as the man stepped closer, finally bringing his features into full view. Judging by looks, he wasn't much older than Adam was, nothing about him was memorable or noteworthy, save for the scar etched into his skin beneath his left eye. His appearance matched the surroundings; he was rugged and hard, a formidable opponent in a fight.

Standing tall, Adam wondered if he was in for one. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Nothing, really."

"Then why are you here?"

Shrugging, the man's expression was decidedly indifferent. "I think the real question is: why are you?"

"That's none of your business."

"Maybe not. Or maybe the question you should be asking is what does my business have to do with you?"

"Who are you?" Adam demanded. "What do you want?"

"Me? Nothing." The man tiled his head. "Your father on the other hand, well, let's just say he was the one who facilitated our little soiree."

"My father hired you to find me?" Adam asked flatly.

"No. He hired the firm I work for, Pinkerton Detective Agency by means of Chicago. I just happen to be one of their finest detectives, the man who drew the shortest matchstick for this job, you could say. Like I said, I've been watching you for a while. Waiting for just the right moment to make my approach."

"My father hired a Pinkerton man to find me?"

Adam would have been disgusted had he not been so taken aback. The idea was nearly too ludicrous to believe. His father didn't care that he had left. Why would he hire someone to find him? While his mind raced with a handful of questions, each more maddening and unanswerable as the first, he couldn't help feeling slightly relieved. Pa did care that he was gone; apparently, he cared a great deal. Enough to hire someone to search for him. Enough to pay the staggering fee for a Pinkerton man.

This relief was short-lived. If Pa had hired this man to find him, what else had he asked him to do? What was the purpose of locating him? Did this man intend to leave him be? Or force him back to Nevada? Or worse: tell his father where he was so he could come for Adam himself? It wouldn't bode well for the future if Pa suddenly turned up at the Morgan Ranch, and it wouldn't ease the pain of the past. No, if Pa wanted to talk, if he wanted to say something, well, then he had already had his chance. Another conversation was simply out of the question.

"I was under the impression finding you was going to be a challenge," the Pinkerton said. "It was not."

"Because of what my father told you about me," Adam provided.

"Because of what your father told my employer, the information that was consequently passed on to me."

"What kind of information?"

"He said you were intelligent, cunning. That you knew how to cover your tracks, avoiding being followed or found. He expected the job to be difficult; I must say it was not. Please allow me to extend to you a bit of advice, if you don't want to be found so easily, again, then you best find other circles to spend your time in. Establishing a new life that is so similar to the one you left behind accomplishes nothing."

"What do you know about what I'm trying to accomplish?"

"Like I said, I watched you for a while."

Suddenly, Adam was aggrieved, angry. What gave Pa the right to send someone after him like this? To hire a Pinkerton to locate him as though he was a criminal or missing. He was hardly missing; wounded by his father's accusations, he had left by his own freewill. He had chosen to leave, and he would choose what happened next. His father simply had no say in the matter, the man standing in front of him had even less power over him than that.

Back and shoulders rigid, Adam's eyes flickered with fury as he cast the man a stubborn gaze. "Now what?" he asked, his voice deep and dangerous as he fingered the gun on his hip. "You've found, watched, and stood in front of me. What happens now?"

Noting Adam's attention to his sidearm, the Pinkerton chuckled. "What?" he asked facetiously. "You gonna take a shot at me because you don't like what I have to say. Boy, if you do that, you're gonna be in a world of hurt. A bonafide lawman coming after you is going to be the least of your troubles. You'll have a whole gaggle of Pinkerton men after you with the intent of hanging you from a tree. You take a shot at one of us, then you take a shot at all of us."

"Is that so?"

"Sure is."

Adam's hand did not waver from his gun. "You didn't answer my question. What happens now?"

"I reckon that's up to you."

"And whether or not I decide to shoot you."

"No, what you decide given the options you haven't heard yet. The way I see it, you have two choices. I can go on my way, return to Nevada, and speak to your father. I'll let him know that I completed the job, found both you and your cousin working on the Morgan Ranch in Montana. It's information he can do what he wants with. Although, I'm sure I don't need to tell you how quickly things will be ruined for you if your father does show up."

Adam didn't. He had built his temporary life upon lies. He had told his boss he wasn't related to Ben Cartwright; he had said his cousin was his brother. They weren't harmful as far as deceptions could go, but they would declare him the untrustworthy sort, and if Pa did show up his sudden presence would declare something else. What kind of son rejected the success of his father? What kind of man needed his father to cast light on his deceits before he was compelled to tell the truth?

"Or," the Pinkerton added, "you can pay me off. I'll speak with your father and tell him you're long gone, bound for other countries or continents it would seem, as you were every bit as cunning and intelligent as he warned you'd be. You simply did not leave a trail to follow. I'd say it was impossible to know where you went, and inconceivable to think you'd ever be found. You could work at the Morgan Ranch for the rest of your life and nobody in your family would ever have to know. Although, like I said, if you want a new life, then you're better off finding one that isn't so similar to the one you left behind. J.D. Morgan may seem be uninterested in who you really are, but he's not stupid. He may not be as successful as your father, but he's far from unknown, and the circles in which he travels for business, San Francisco and the like, they're the same as your father's. Just because I don't tell him the truth of your whereabouts, that doesn't mean he can't accidently find out."

The Pinkerton wasn't sharing anything Adam hadn't already thought about himself. It was unlikely he could continue working as a hired hand at any ranch without his father eventually becoming privy to his whereabouts. If the seemingly coincidental nature of their shared last name wasn't enough to garner attention, then the fact that he was traveling with a "brother" who also shared the name was. How many Adam and Will Cartwrights could possibly exist? And how many of those were still living, and in the company of each other?

The problem with remaining at the Morgan Ranch was one that would follow him to San Francisco. He couldn't stay there forever, either. He was known by too many people—business associates and a few friends—he was bound to be recognized, eventually, and word of his whereabouts were bound to be shared with his father and brothers, as they traveled to the city frequently. Maybe that was why he was so hesitant to return to Eddie, Peggy, and Lil. To a home he knew he could have no permanent place in. To a future his past would never allow him to have.

Adam didn't think about the choices the Pinkerton had offered. He didn't need to. "How much money do you want to keep quiet?" He hated to ask the question; he loathed things had come to this. But the only thing more intolerable than paying the man off was having his father know where he was.

"How much do you have?"

"I'm not telling you that."

"A thousand then."

Adam shook his head. "I don't have that much."

"On you, or in general?" the Pinkerton probed.

"On me."

"Alright, how about half now? The other half when you get paid out in Montana?"

It was another answer Adam didn't think about. "Fine," he said, his anger towards his father feeling as though it was strong enough to burn a hole through his chest.

Who was Pa to say what he had during their last conversation, and then, when faced with the consequences of voicing such horrible things, hire a detective agency to track him down? It was none of his business or concern where Adam was. Maybe once it had been, but it wasn't now. Not anymore.

"I will be following you back there," the Pinkerton said. "I'm sure you understand. I'll keep a wide berth, and hold back so I'm not seen, but don't be forgetting I'm there. I wouldn't want you to think you can cut and run without ponying up the rest of what you owe."

"I'm trustworthy," Adam said as he questioned the reliability of the man in front of him and the deal they had just made.

"That's funny," the Pinkerton said flatly. "That's the opposite of what your father said."

Xx

"Will!" Adam said, the word a hissing, insistent whisper, as he lightly knocked on the door to the room they were sharing in the raggedy hotel.

He neither wanted to garner attention, nor be noticed; a futile wish, it would seem, as his cousin didn't seem interested in opening the door. He knocked again, and when the door remained unanswered, he reached for the knob that didn't protest when he turned it. The room hadn't been locked. It was an odd detail when thinking about the evening his cousin had planned. Who didn't lock the door when they were paying a woman for her time? Given the general peculiarity of the night, he wasn't eager to rank the oddness of one thing over another, and if he did bother with such a thing then the unlocked door would decidedly fall to the bottom of the list.

"Will," he whispered again as he stepped into the darkened room.

"What?" Will whispered back finally, his annoyance made clear by his tone. "What do you want?"

"Pack up," Adam said. "It's time to get out of here."

"Now?"

"Yes, now."

Will sighed, then mumbled something beneath his breath. A few seconds passed as Adam heard him rustling around with something on the table next to his bed. A match was struck, the end of it igniting a flickering flame that was used to light the small lamp and then quickly blown out.

The glow of the lamp cast the room in an unsettling hue, yet another thing for Adam to add to his list of strange occurrences, along with the feeling building in his chest. It wasn't quite panic, but it wasn't far from it either.

Will was laying on the bed, his bottom half covered by pants that had only been unbuttoned, the respective sides of his belt hanging limply at each of his sides. Next to him, seemingly sleeping as she lay curled up beneath the blanket so not to be seen, was the woman he had paid for the evening.

"What a shit night this is turning out to be," Will groaned.

"Shh," Adam cautioned, nodding at the woman's form.

"Oh, don't worry about her." Will waived an indifferent hand in the woman's direction. "You could run goddamn stage through the room and she still wouldn't wake up. Too much boozen and loosen, you see. She's the one who drank all the booze, and I'm the one that lost out."

"I took that bottle of whiskey from you two," Adam said, not really understanding why.

"Yeah, and I bought another. She insisted." Will rolled his eyes. "Now, I guess I know why. I didn't even get my damn pants off before she passed out. I suppose, you ain't the only one who's gonna be suffering from dreams."

"Will you shut up and get your things together?" Adam snapped.

Will seemed to finally note his tumultuous mood. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing," Adam lied.

"Then why do you want to leave so badly, and suddenly, I might add."

"Because I just do."

Adam couldn't explain what he wasn't certain of himself. Surely it would matter if they waited until morning to depart the town with the rest of the crew as planned. It shouldn't have mattered, but somehow it did. He wanted nothing more than to put distance between them and this town, miles that would separate him from the conversation he had with the Pinkerton.

"Come on," Adam urged.

Blinking tiredly, Will rose from the bed, buttoned his pants, and then fastened his belt. "You're a strange man," he said as he reached for his discarded shirt. "Countless nights we just spent sleeping outside on the ground, and here you are, anxious and eager to do it again." He cast Adam a thoughtful gaze. "Are you in trouble?"

"No."

"Then what's the rush?"

"No rush."

Adam's demand was ridiculous and impulsive—he couldn't deny that any more than he could provide a reasonable explanation. He didn't want to, he realized. He didn't want his cousin to know he had been so easily threatened, coerced by a goddamn Pinkerton his father had employed. The brief meeting felt a little illusory. Had he really paid that man five hundred dollars and promised him another five hundred more to lie to his father? It didn't sound like something he would do. He wouldn't have believed such a thing possible if he hadn't been certain it had happened, the physical proof of most of his bonus money missing from his wallet.

"I just want to leave," Adam said. "I don't want to be here anymore."

Still appraising him, Will seemed to understand something that hadn't been shared. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I've been in that kind of rush before, too."

Adam had a fleeting notion he should have confided in his cousin the truth about the Pinkerton. Maybe if he would have shared what happened with Will, he would have realized that fear was what was motivating him to move quickly. Doubt in the Pinkerton's ability or desire to stick to the agreement they had made. What was stopping the man from taking the money he had just been given and not waiting for the rest, rather heading back to Nevada to tell the truth instead? What motivated a man like that to remain honest? And how much money did it really take for him to tell lies? Adam didn't know, because he didn't know him. All he knew is he could no longer remain where he was.

Gathering their things in their saddlebags, Will and Adam left the woman huddled beneath the blanket and unroused. Exiting the hotel, they collected their horses from livery, and departed the town under the cover of darkness.

They rode nonstop until the sun rose and then casually after that. They didn't want to overextend their horses or themselves. Adam kept a careful watch on the landscape behind them throughout, never once seeing the slightest hint of the Pinkerton who had promised to follow until he had been fully paid. And each time he cast a long look over his shoulder, or evaluated the horizon, his gaze endlessly nomadic as he found nothing awry or out of place, his fear intensified.

Where was the Pinkerton? Was he following through on the deal they had made? Or, heading back Nevada, had he decided to uphold his end of an agreement that had been made with his father instead?

TBC