BEFORE:

Adam and Peggy's race took them to Leopard's Pond.

Peggy won the race. She always did because Adam made sure of it. This was a fact that was never commented upon. However, as they dismounted, Peggy looked between Sport and Traveler, her brows furrowing with thought. Adam wondered if she was noting the size discrepancy between her pony and his horse and questioning if he could be fairly beat.

"He never lets me win," Peggy whispered, giving an answer to his thought. "Because he won't even race."

"Who?"

"Will. He says it isn't good for little girls to act like little boys. He said I need to start acting differently." She looked at the worn material of her pants. "He wants me to wear dresses. Mommy wants that too."

"Is that what you fought about today?" Adam asked.

Shaking her head, Peggy did not elaborate further.

Adam did not press for more information. This was not a topic he was prepared or willing to discuss. He was not her father; it was not seemly for him to get involved. And besides, what was the point of speaking an opinion that would only cause more discontent?

Though he understood Peggy's frustration, he could not fault her parents for what they were trying to do. Will and Laura were not wrong in guiding their daughter toward a more feminine garb. They could not be faulted for doing so, because she was getting older. She would soon reach an age when society would cease looking upon her with the kindness it currently did. The allotments that had been made for rough and tumble proclivities and her boyish apparel would expire and real complications would begin. There was no fighting or stopping it. She would not have to abandon all of her tomboyish ways, donning new clothes would be enough for now. In the upcoming years other things would follow, and Adam knew they would be equally as hard. For a little girl who had once worshiped her father and now found herself withdrawing from her capricious mother, being forced to emulate the latter would be challenging at best.

It was not that Laura was altogether a bad mother; it was that she was not necessarily a good one. She could be both loving and kind, and malicious and harsh. She was young and flighty; the things that would make her pleased or discontent seemed endlessly variable. She was a difficult woman to predict, always happy until the moment she was not. Always firm in what she desired until the second she no longer wanted it. There was rarely a satisfying explanation for these sudden changes in her mood or the expectations of those around her, because she very rarely shared her true thoughts or feelings. She hid them behind a protective crust of passive aggression.

Their marriage would have been a disaster, Adam thought. Everything that had happened was ultimately for the best. Still, it was a shame how things were unfolding between Will and Peggy. It was disappointing Laura seemed to be unaffected by the growing tension between her daughter and husband. It was saddening Peggy would rather spend an afternoon wandering alone over seeking the love and guidance of those who should have loved her most.

Had she sought him? Adam's stomach turned at the thought. She had come upon him on the side of a road that would lead her in only two directions: Virginia City and his home. She had already said she was not going to town. Then where was she going? What was she seeking before she had found him and what was she in need of now?

This isn't a good thing, a voice in the depths of his mind whispered. Peggy shouldn't be running to you. Maybe at one time that was appropriate; it isn't now. You're not her father. You almost were but you're not. Someone else is.

This was a voice he knew he should have heeded. But he did not.

Peggy and Adam did not speak much for the rest of the day; they were content to sit with one another on the shore, tossing pebbles which quickly disappeared beneath the cloudy surface of the tiny waters. The afternoon slipped by quickly. Neither of them took note of the time or the sun as it began to slip in the horizon. It was a foolish thing to do, negligent and juvenile in hindsight. Wasting the afternoon at a pond would have been a fine thing for Adam to do without repercussions or remorse had he been alone. But he was not alone. He was in the company of an errant child.

Though Peggy was safe in his company, the discrepancy between their respective ages should have dictated he make a different decision than the one he had. He should have accompanied her to school or taken her home. He should not have taken her where he did, or allowed them to linger for as long as they had. These were all thoughts that occurred to him whilst sitting beside Peggy on the bank. None of them were enough to make him do anything other than what he was.

Sending her home meant returning home himself. To the frustration and disappointment of his father. To the argument that seemed to have no foreseeable end—or at least no satisfying one. So focused on the thought, Adam was left with little attention to note much else. It was not until the forthcoming rider halted his horse directly behind where they sat that Adam realized they were being approached at all. It was foolish in hindsight, so negligent and juvenile.

"Do you have any idea how worried we've been?"

It was the firmness of the man's voice that prompted both Peggy and Adam to suddenly turn around. They looked up in unison, their expressions contorting with twin shock.

Will Cartwright did not bother to dismount. His disappointment and anger were palpable."It's nearly dark," he added strictly. "You've been missing all day. You best get home. Now." Though the instruction was clearly meant for Peggy, Will was looking at Adam when he said it. "I'm disappointed," he added as he looked at Peggy. "I expected more out of you than this."

"Don't be too angry," Adam said. "It's really more my fault than hers."

Looking at him again, Will frowned. "I may be upset with her, but she's not the one I'm disappointed in."

Scoffing, Adam wondered if he should care about such a thing. Or why he suddenly seemed to. Maybe it was the lingering argument between him and his father, his own residual anger and frustration making him particularly susceptible to his cousin's words. He was not hurt or intimidated by them, rather furious they had been said. There were so many things he could have said in response; so many carefully crafted statements that would be enough to knock Will off his high horse. But, taking a deep, calming breath, Adam looked at Peggy and said nothing. There was no point in making Will angrier than he already was. It would not make the ride home easier for the child beside him; it would make things more difficult than they already were.

Peggy's fearful expression was devastating. Adam wanted to reach out and reassure her. He wanted to pull her into his arms and soothe away her worries and fears. He did not move as Peggy began to walk away from him. He did not say a word as she mounted Traveler and began to follow Will back home.

Adam sat at the bank of the pond long after night began to fall around him. It was not until stars began to sparkle in the sky above that he finally decided to return home. He did not want to go back. But there was no point in delaying the inevitable any longer.

Hoss was in the barn when he finally arrived. If his younger brother had been in the building because he was awaiting his arrival or because he had tasks to attend to, Adam was not sure.

Backlit by the sparse candlelight from the few mounted sconces, Hoss was unphased by his sudden appearance. "Heya, brother," he said.

Guiding Sport into his stall, Adam nodded in return. He took his time bedding the animal down for the night. He was hesitant to return to the inside of the house, hoping if he delayed the action for long enough then maybe his father would retire to bed and they would not have to see each other again. It was a foolish hope, futile and fleeting.

"I'm gonna pack it in for the night," Hoss said. "I think you oughta know Pa is still up. He's been waiting for you all day, something that has not helped his mood."

"Pa's angry," Adam scoffed. "What else is new?"

"I ain't interested in picking a side in this ongoing discussion between the two of you. I'm just lettin' you know what you're walking into. He's mad, Adam. I know you are too, but I'm kinda hopin' that maybe one of you can start givin' a little in how you're feeling and put an end to what's been going on here as of late. It's miserable enough livin' with one of you when you're in a dark mood. It's dang near impossible being around when you're both bein' angry cusses. Neither of you are innocent in this particular disagreement; I hope both of you realize that sooner rather than later."

Hoss left him then, his words resonating in the air of the barn. Adam knew his brother was right; someone needed to put an end to the tension. But Hoss was wrong too; ending the conflict was not simple. Not when disagreements were born from such irreconcilable differences. Adam and his father were different men; they had always known this. In the past they had always been able to coexist despite their differences. It was difficult to think the future would allow such a thing.

Adam avoided entering the house for as long as he could. He felt a combination of trepidation and frustration begin to build in the pit of his stomach as he finally opened the door and walked inside. Pa was waiting, just as Hoss warned he would be. Sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace, he sipped his brandy and looked between the crackling fire and his son.

Removing his hat, jacket, and gun belt, Adam felt oddly on display—a feeling that only intensified as his father began to speak.

"There you are, my wayward son," Ben said quietly. Though decidedly tired and slightly annoyed, his voice held no malice. "I didn't think I'd be seeing you tonight, given how you left so early and remained away for so long. Joe said you had errands in town. It's difficult to believe they would have detained you for this long. I don't want to think you were avoiding coming back here, but it's a difficult suspicion to avoid, considering the lateness of the hour."

"I was hung up," Adam said. It was as reasonable an explanation as any, and all the information he would volunteer. He was not a child; he did not need to recount the details of his day to his father for sanction or disapproval.

Ben's expression shifted, his dissatisfaction becoming clear. "Peggy went missing today," he said. He appraised Adam for a moment, his dark eyes carefully looking him up and down. "Of course, that's not something I need to tell you, is it?"

It was more of an accusation than a question. A suspicion Adam knew he did not have to confirm or deny in order for his father to glean the truth. If he had spent the night in town, as Pa had previously voiced, then his continued absence would have served as a declaration of his innocence. As it stood, his late reappearance was a declaration of his guilt. Not that he was guilty of anything. Not anything unlawful or clandestine, at least.

"Will was worried when Peggy didn't return home after school," Ben said. "Laura was incredibly distraught."

"Laura's always distraught about something," Adam grunted.

"You think that justifies it? It doesn't. You aren't Peggy's father, Adam. You have no right to take her anywhere without consulting her parents."

"I know that."

"Do you? I know you knew it before but do you know it now? What on earth is wrong with you? You are a grown man; you come upon a child that isn't where she needs to be when she's meant to be there, you put her back on the right path. You don't follow her off into the unknown."

It was then Adam knew the continuation of their previous argument had been put on hold to make room for this new one. He could not help thinking about how his father could have known Peggy had been found in his company. The answer was obvious: Will must have told him.

After shepherding Peggy home, Will must have come to the Ponderosa and spoken to his uncle about the events of the afternoon. The prospect was infuriating and demeaning. Adma was not a child; it was not for Will or his father to judge his behavior and actions. Peggy had needed someone and Adam had been there. It could have been so much worse than it was. A stranger could have stumbled upon her, someone with cruel and vile intentions who could have done her incredible harm.

"At least I was there," Adam said. He knew he had not done wrong or right either, but he had taken care of Peggy. Ensuring her safety, he had listened to her in a way that no one else had or would.

"I know you love Peggy," Ben said, his voice softening. "I know she adores you. The two of you have a unique understanding and an incredible friendship. At one time this was something to be celebrated and embraced, because it was going to make for a smooth transition once you and Laura were married. But what was once appropriate is no longer so, because you didn't marry Laura. Will did. You have to respect his role in that little girl's life. The longer you allow her to seek comfort in you over them the harder the future is going to be."

"I know," Adam said, his voice maintaining its edge. It was not often he was receptive to unsolicited advice on sensitive issues. It was a glaring fault; one he was neither proud nor ashamed of.

"You could have had that life," Ben reminded him. "You said you didn't want it. You chose to let Laura and Peggy go. You were at peace walking away and allowing Will to take on a role you had become so accustomed to filling."

"I was. I am."

"Then why are you so upset that he did?"

"I'm not upset."

The expression on Ben's face was proof the statement had not been believed. "I think it's best if you keep away from Peggy for a while. You of all people know how difficult transitions can be when a child is adamantly against accepting the person their parent has married. Given your own past, the difficult feelings you never were able to overcome while Joe's mother was alive, I'm sure even you can understand why your influence and opinions might not be entirely helpful. You think you're acting as a friend to that little girl, but you're not. You tell yourself you're comforting her, when, in fact, the only person you're comforting is yourself. You made the choice not to be Peggy's father, Adam. You have to stand by it."

Though it was not anything Adam did not already know, the words still stung. Chasing away his anger, they awoke an ache in his heart; a pain so profound he could not begin to describe how or why it was being felt. He did not want to describe it; he did not want to acknowledge it at all.

Unable and unwilling to continue speaking, he turned his back on his father and the conversation, ascended the staircase, and retired to bed.

TBC