Amelia stormed into the saloon and flung herself against the counter. "Whiskey, Sam," she said abruptly. "And leave the bottle."

Sam put down the glass he was polishing and eyed her riding habit consideringly. "You off duty, 'Melia?"

"Yes, if it's any of your business," she snapped in return.

Sam shrugged. "Just thought I saw you go upstairs with that Cartwright boy. Didn't expect you back so soon."

Amelia flushed. Surely she wasn't the last person seen with Adam? David was supposed to come back downstairs dressed in Adam's clothes so witnesses would think he had left! Those brothers of hers were worthless - couldn't seem to follow a plan without messing it up! "He had to leave," she answered abruptly. "You know Adam Cartwright - business before pleasure. Had to meet his old man or something."

"Yeah," Sam grinned knowingly. "Guess I must have missed him leaving. You drowning your sorrows?"

Amelia scorched him with a look and, snatching up her bottle and glass, threw herself into a nearby chair and downed a shot. She ignored Sam's chuckle in response.

Halfway down the bottle she still had no word from Deputy Clem and was running out of ideas. What could she do now? She couldn't possibly move Adam herself and he wasn't going to stay drugged forever, either. When he came to and figured out what she had done…she shuddered at the possibilities and downed another shot. If he woke up and started to make noise it would ruin everything - almost before they got started. A burned barn was the worst they would be able to inflict on old man Cartwright then and she had counted on more…she remembered Adam's recumbent form and sighed deeply. So much more. No. She would NOT lose - would not give up so easily! Not after she had waited so long.

She jumped to her feet, hardly noticing that she knocked over the chair. She would check on Adam and see that he stayed unconscious, then she would go and MAKE the Sheriff let her see her brother! She pushed through the batwing doors and almost ran down a figure hovering on the other side of them. She was about to tell him to watch where he was going when she noticed he was waving a piece of paper at her. It puzzled her, until she realized that it was the same boy she had sent to fetch David. She snatched the paper from his hand.

"Hey!" he said indignantly. "You promised me another half dollar!"

Mumbling to herself, Amelia fumbled through her pockets and thrust the coin at him, carrying the note over to the lantern lighting the doorway of the Bucket of Blood and trying to read. "Dear Amelia," it read. "Following this kid with a wagon. Meet me behind the Bucket of Blood and we'll transport our goods as planned."

Amelia gasped in relief. She hurried down the alley and around the back of the building, peering into the shadows. The rear entrance was mostly planned for quick escapes by guilty husbands and was never well lit. "David?" she called softly. She almost screamed when a hand came out of the darkness and clasped her arm. "Don't do that!" she hissed, when she recognized the body at the other end of the arm. She could see the flash of his teeth in the darkness.

"'Fraidy cat. Where is he?"

"Upstairs - my room. I have the key, so we should be all right." She lead the way up the rickety back staircase, ignoring the sounds of revelry that filtered faintly from the rooms along the way. She paused outside her door to listen, but no sounds came from inside. After a minute she turned the key in the lock and pushed the door inward. In the faint glow of the moon she could see that Adam lay just as she had left him, still and unmoving under the quilt, his breathing heavy from the drug, his face upturned and bathed in moonlight. She couldn't resist the urge to twine her fingers in the tumbled black curls on his forehead and smooth them back, lingering around the soft curve of one ear. She might have done more, but David's snort of amusement stopped her.

"Save it," he grunted, pushing past her into the room. "You get those drifter's clothes on him?" He pulled the quilt down to see for himself, nodding in satisfaction when he saw that she had. He studied the way she had tied the rope to one of Adam's wrists, drawn the rope under the bed and then tied it to the other, leaving him confined, but not visibly so. "Neat," he drawled. "Do this often in your line o' work?"

Amelia made a face at him and he chuckled. Deftly, he slipped a knife under the rope that tied one wrist and cut him free, pulling the rest of the rope from under the bed and leaving it tied to the other wrist. He tied the two wrists together in front instead.

"Not so tight!" Amelia protested. "You'll cut off his circulation."

"He won't be needing it." He bent down and hefted the long body over his shoulders, standing carefully. "Damn, he's heavy. Get the door." They made slow progress down the narrow, winding stairs.

"David!" Amelia winced as she heard David stumble and slam Adam into the wall. "Would you be careful?"

"You try carrying him," he retorted snidely. "'Sides, he's out - what's the big deal?" He gave a gasp of relief as they finally exited into the alley, Amelia hovering nearby like a mother hen. "Pull that canvas back, will you?" He indicated the canvas draped over the wagon bed with a nod of his head. Amelia obediently dragged the canvas back and David dropped his burden none too gently into the back with a sigh. Adam moaned faintly and stirred. "Damn." Without missing a beat, David drew his fist back and slammed it into the underside of Adam's chin. Adam lay still again.

Amelia gave a muffled shriek. "Are you crazy? What did you do that for?"

David shrugged. "He was comin' round. 'Sides…" He contemplated the now quiet figure stretched before him with an expression Amelia couldn't quite read, but which made her uncomfortable. "Always wanted to do that. Owe him some."

Amelia reached into the wagon bed, running her fingertip lightly over Adam's lips, then along the edge of his lashes. "You leave him alone," she said sternly. "Don't mess him up. He's mine."

"Yeah, well, you didn't have to work for him, did you? Didn't have to hear him give orders like he was better than everybody else."

Amelia ran her hand down Adam's cheek to his neck and then let it rest on his chest, just where his collar opened. "He's mine," she repeated firmly. "Don't you go damaging him. I get him - it was part of the deal."

David pushed her firmly out of the way, pulling the canvas up over Adam's head. "Now, don't you worry, 'Melia - I won't ruin your fun. Just intend to make sure he knows his place. I'm due a little fun of my own, too, I reckon."

Amelia studied him uneasily, her eyes drifting back to the wagon bed. David took her decidedly by the hand and turned her toward the alley. "You go back and talk to Duncan. See what you can do to spring him. I'll take good care of Mr. High and Mighty."

"David - "

He shrugged her hand off. "Go on - before they get suspicious. I'll see you back at the ranch."

Joe slowed Cochise to a bright trot as he entered the outskirts of Virginia City. He wasn't really sure, upon reflection, exactly what he expected to do here - he only knew that he had to do something besides stay at the ranch and pace. Maybe he could find out a few things, anyway - that fire out at the ranch had been started by somebody, that was for sure, and for the price of a few drinks someone might be able to tell him something about that. There was David Fairchild in jail, too - maybe he wasn't personally guilty, but that didn't mean he hadn't hired someone to do his dirty work for him - talking to him might bear some fruit. And maybe he could find someone who had seen Adam and knew when he had left town so he could start to put the pieces together of what had happened. It just didn't make sense that Sport had gotten clear of the barn and Adam hadn't - not with horses reacting to fire the way they did - not unless there had been foul play of some kind. Why, Adam…a bubble of pain rose in his chest and he tried to swallow it down again. No. He wouldn't think of that right now. He couldn't. It was ridiculous - impossible to believe that…he pulled Cochise to in front of a saloon and swung hastily out of the saddle. Later. He'd think about that later.

Sam was wiping down the bar as he entered and Joe ordered a whiskey and leaned against the counter, his eyes glancing around the room. The whiskey warmed his insides somewhat and steadied his voice. "Hey, Sam. How are things?"

Sam obligingly refilled his glass. "'Bout the same, Joe. How are things with you? Busy I guess, huh?"

Joe was silent. "Yeah," he agreed quietly after a brief internal struggle.

"Your brother sure left here in a hurry. Business before pleasure is what 'Melia says."

Joe stiffened. "What?" he managed to ask at last.

"Your brother. Adam. Was with 'Melia Fairchild earlier, but she says he left in a hurry. Must have, since he left this behind. Maybe you can give it to him for me?" He pulled a velvet string bag from under the counter and placed it next to Joe's glass. Joe just stared at it, and Sam laughed self-consciously. "Oh, not the bag, o' course - I'm guessin' 'Melia left that behind…" he stretched open the neck of the bag and tumbled the contents on top of the bar, sorting through small change and handkerchiefs and a scent bottle and pushing a round object toward Joe. "I suppose it must have fell out of his pocket when he…" he cleared his throat delicately. "'Melia was probably keepin' it for him."

Joe stared at the small watch, his mind crowded with pictures of Adam pulling it out and checking it - on the trail, on the range, in a saloon - even fishing, though he and Hoss had teased him mercilessly about it. Always so conscious of all he the things wanted to do and accomplish running a breathless race against the swiftly fleeting time…

Joe's heart squeezed within him. It had seemed funny then, but who could have known how little time he really had to waste? He felt the moisture pool in his eyes and reached clumsily for the timepiece to cover it, popping the lid.

To my son Adam, on his sixteenth birthday, he read. That snapped the thin thread of his control, and this time the tears slid, unheeded, down his cheeks.