NOW:

"But why do I have to stay here?" Jamie asked. Crossing his arms indignantly, he frowned, his eyes darting between the entry to the Virginia City hotel and Ben's stern expression. "I'm not a little kid. I don't need to be watched every second of the day."

"You're not an adult," Ben said. "You're not nearly as old or as wise as you think you are. You are the one who wanted to accompany me into town, then that means listening when I tell you what to do."

"I only wanted to come because I had things I wanted to do. If I would have known you were gonna make me sit out here while you met with the town council then I wouldn't have come. Do you have any idea what my friends are gonna say if word gets around that I had to sit out here and wait for you?"

At his age, Ben hardly cared about such a thing. There were worse things in life to endure than the whispering of others. As for the boy's so-called "friends", he was grateful for Sheriff Coffee's previous warning. He had shown up to the schoolhouse and found his young son absent only to eventually locate him and three boys on the outskirts of town. The other boys he did not recognize, but the chewing tobacco, rolling papers and bottle of contraband amber liquor, he did. It was a shocking scene to come upon at first. That was not to say it was one he had not come upon before. Of course, that had been a long time ago, and the years that had passed since his three older sons were adolescents had left him oddly disconnected from such specific growing pains. Foolishly, he had not realized Jamie was at the age where his curiosity would demand he seek out such destructive substances—and friends.

The boys Jamie had befriended were trouble. That much was obvious from the moment Ben had seen them. They were a rough and sundry group; not a single one of them had a respectful tongue in their mouth. Judging by appearances, one boy was decidedly older than Jamie, one was younger, and the other seemed to be the same age. Together they were a small collection of boys who had decided upon masquerading as men, though if this was a decision that had come from the influence of inadequate parents or none at all, Ben was not certain. He was determined to keep Jamie as far away from them as he possibly could. The boy already experienced enough generalized unrest; nothing good would come from allowing him to run in a crowd like that.

"Do you have any idea what I'm going to say if you don't remain where I expect you to?" Ben warned. He pointed his index finger at a bench near the front entrance of the hotel. "Sit," he instructed. "Don't wander. When I emerge from the inside of this building, I expect to find you directly outside of it."

Standing silently, Jamie's arms remained crossed as he stared at Ben, his eyes sparkling belligerently. Forehead wrinkling, the freckles on his face contorted as his frown became impossibly deep, declaring his dissatisfaction with the arrangement to the world. He hesitated for a moment longer, then, taking great care in audibly dragging the bottoms of his feet against the boardwalk lining the building, he finally did what he was told.

Ben's eyes rolled skyward. He was entirely too old for this, he thought as he finally entered the hotel.

The place where Sheriff Roy Coffee was to give his formal resignation was a little-known room in the back of the building. A glorified secret to most, it was small, quiet, and private, making it the perfect place to conduct sensitive business. Not that the topic of the day's meeting was necessarily that. News of Coffee's impending resignation had spread around town quickly; there was not anyone who was unaware the guard of their city would soon change. However, who the job would go to was still somewhat of a mystery. There was plenty of speculation, of course. Nothing was confirmed. Coffee had been careful to safeguard the identity of his chosen successor.

Sitting in the small room in the company of the other town council members and Roy Coffee, Ben felt a hint of sadness begin to creep in. Out of all the people in the room he had known Coffee the longest. Today was a day to be both celebrated and mourned.

Being a sheriff was a dangerous endeavor. He was happy his friend had lived long enough to choose to concede his role rather than awaiting the year when such a decision was made for him. Being a lawman was a young man's game, dangerous, demanding and variable. While Ben respected the grit and courage of the men who possessed such a job, he would not deny he was grateful his adult sons had not chosen such a life. How many times had he said he had not raised his sons to live by a gun? It was a statement that could be interpreted in different ways. To most, it was a declaration of strength; a warning that he had raised his children to make good decisions unprompted by any written law. What was not known—what Ben was certain was never considered by others—was that it was an admission of weakness.

He had raised his sons to be strong, to not look upon the violence of others as something that could not be stopped. He had taught them to defend themselves and others, if need be. He had not taught them to go looking for trouble, to seek out dangerous people and situations, all requirements of a lawman's job. It was noble to be become a sheriff and fulfill such a hazardous role; still, Ben was eternally grateful none of his sons had. He could not tolerate the thought of burying them—any of them— before their time, regardless of how valiantly they had died.

Missing was not so different from dead, the odd thought sprung unwanted to his mind. But having a son who was absent without word for years was different from having one buried in the ground. With the latter at least one would know where their child was. There were too many unanswered questions with the other. Too many variables to consider, haunting and torturous, that lurked in the depths of one's mind only to spring forth during the most inopportune times.

No, Ben thought. This neither is the time nor place to be thinking about him. This day was not about Adam; it was about someone else.

Blinking, he returned his attention to the presentation at hand only to discover he had missed what Roy Coffee had said. Their attention set on the retiring sheriff who stood in front of where they were seated, the council members nodded in unison, agreeing to something Ben and not heard.

"We appreciate you taking the time to formally announce your resignation," the blond haired, mustachioed man seated at Ben's right replied. "As well as the fondness for this town you expressed."

Except for Ben and one other longtime member, the council board was made up of veritable newcomers, men who had settled in Virginia City by themselves or with their families within the past few years. There was once a time when the men seated on either side of him had been different; Ben had known more about them then and they about him. They had been a collection of friends, old and new, and one had been his son. Adam was once a member of this council, consistently occupying the seat on his father's right. Now Ben did not know much about the man seated at his right, this blond man who had taken hold of the meeting early on, and he knew even less about the others. They were nothing more than a collection of business associates. Men he had not taken the time to get to know further. This was an odd thing to think about or admit, seeming so uncharacteristic of the man Ben was.

He needed to get to know them, he realized. He would need to become familiar with the new sheriff, too. It was unwise not to know the people who held prominent roles in the town in which he lived; it was reckless to remain ignorant of the character of the man who would be tasked with protecting it. Ben's prominence in the territory demanded he become acquainted with such people and things.

"You have selected a man who you wish to replace you as sheriff of this town," the blond man said to Coffee.

Coffee nodded. "I have."

"You're certain your man is up to the task?" the blond man pressed.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," Coffee said. "He's more than up to it. Protecting people and standing tall in the face of wrongdoing is what this man was born to do. He's firm in his convictions, steadfast in what he knows is wrong and right. You won't find a better candidate to take my place. He's a good lawman, and a better man. He cares about this town, and the people in it. He'll look after it as carefully as I did. Heck, he'll probably look after it more carefully than I did. Like I said, he cares about it. The kind of love this man has for this town is special. It can't be acquired or taught."

"You speak fondly of him," Ben noted.

Coffee smiled. "I suppose, I do. It's hard to know someone as long as I've known this man and not become somewhat invested in who they become. I've known him since he was a boy. I ain't his Pa, but I suppose that don't mean I can't be proud of his accomplishments."

"From what I understand, he is quite accomplished," the blond man said.

Brows furrowing, Ben looked at his peers as they mumbled and nodded. He had no reference of the information they were agreeing with. He had no recollection of being told anything about the man being discussed. So taken by his own thoughts at the beginning of the meeting, he had forgotten to listen to what Coffee had said. Foolishly, he had believed his friend was only speaking about himself; the notion that Coffee could have been speaking about someone else had not occurred to him.

"He is." Casting Ben a look that could only be described as obscure, Coffee's eyes flashed with a combination of displeasure and sadness. It was as though he knew Ben had not paid attention to his summary of the man who would take his place. It was as though he knew something Ben did not. Taking a deep breath, Coffee dropped his gaze and looked briefly at the floor, then, exhaling, he looked at the council members once more. "I asked him to attend this meeting," he said. "Just in case you had any questions you'd like to ask him yourself."

The blond man shrugged. "I don't," he said. "Though I can't speak for my peers." He turned his attention toward the line of councilmen. "Gentlemen, do we have further questions for the man Sheriff Coffee has chosen? Or shall we move forward with the vote?"

"I'd like to meet him," Ben said. "It isn't that I don't trust Roy's judgement on the matter," he qualified. "I do. Still, I would like to see the man for myself."

Turning in their seats, all the councilmen looked at him, their expressions reflecting varying levels of surprise.

"Alright," the blond man said, his brows furrowing with confusion as he looked Ben in the eye. "Forgive me for asking, but I would have thought that, out of all of us, you would have been the last one to request such a thing. It isn't like you haven't seen him before."

Feeling oddly on display, Ben shook his head. "I don't think we'd be doing our due diligence if we blindly voted for a man to fulfill the rest of Sheriff Coffee's term. Roy can speak to the man's merits all he wants. While I trust his opinion, I do believe it's important to at least look at if not talk to this new man Roy speaks so highly of."

"But you know him," a councilman sitting at Ben's left chimed in.

The man's disbelief was obvious. Ben only wished he understood what prompted it. He looked at Coffee, searching for verification of something he could not identify. Something about this meeting suddenly felt wrong. Something about the mysterious man who his friends had chosen felt worse. Coffee held his gaze, his eyes glistening with obvious nervousness and regret. There was something lingering in the depth of those eyes, a hint of the direct apology and allusive explanation that had been previously offered.

I'm sorry, Coffee's earlier words circled in Ben's mind. I do hope when my chosen man stands before you, you don't allow your own personal desires to discolor what you will come to realize is right for this town. This memory gave birth to another. The bottle was meant as a celebratory kind of thing. I was hoping the three of us would share it as we closed the door on the past and set our sights on the future. This recollection led to a third, another implication made on a different day that Ben had foolishly dismissed. I saw an opportunity to make something that had been broken whole again and I took it.

"Well, then," the man at Ben's left said. "Sheriff Coffee, bring the man in."

Suddenly, Ben was thinking of Adam again. The timing of his arrival was impeccable. He had not written to Ben; he had not bothered to remain in contact with family. But someone else had known where to find him. It was Roy Coffee who had known in what circles to look. It can't be, Ben thought.

But it was.

Holding his shoulders and chin squared, Adam stood tall next to his predecessor. He was quick to greet the men in the room and slow to look in his father's direction. When he finally looked at Ben, he briefly held his father's gaze, and in his son's eyes Ben saw what he had previously missed. What he had been so careful not to see or acknowledge when walking passed his son at the party. He had been so distracted by his own feelings and anger that he had not had the time to think of anyone else's.

Lurking in his son's eyes, he saw evidence of Adam's anger, the stubborn frustration that had endured despite the passing years. Don't expect things to have changed, those eyes seemed to declare. I hate you now as much as I did back then. What went wrong between us can never be fixed.

"Ben," the blond man said, "go ahead and ask your questions."

Ben shook his head. He did not have any. Not anymore. Everything was now so abundantly clear. His eldest son had come back for a job and nothing more.

"Shall we vote then?" the man at Ben's left asked.

"Yes," Ben said firmly. "All those in favor of Adam Cartwright assuming the role of sheriff of Virginia City for the remaining duration of Roy Coffee's term say "I"." Closing his mouth, he pressed his lips firmly together as the responses of all surrounding councilmen echoed around the room. "All those who are not in favor say "Nay"." He looked between Coffee and Adam. "Nay," he said.

Though his vote seemed to send a shockwave through the line of councilmen, neither Coffee nor Adam appeared surprised.

"Congratulations," Ben said flatly to Adam. "You're officially the sheriff. I hope you will serve this town well and that you are as capable as Roy seems to think you are."

Pushing back his chair, he stood and strode purposefully from the room. He could not believe the events that had just taken place. They were nearly as impossible to consider as the emotions turning in the pit of his stomach. He felt sick with frustration, sadness, and very real fear. He could not tolerate the thought of any of his sons fulfilling such a dangerous role. He could not stand the way things were unfolding. He had once thought that having Adam absent without word was the most terrible thing to endure as a father. He had been wrong. This was infinitely worse.

Exiting the hotel, his eyes scanned the boardwalk lining the exterior before his gaze shifted to the thoroughfare. His frown deepened; he had traded one wayward son for another. Jamie was nowhere to be seen.

Oh, lord, when I get my hands on that boy, he thought. Fury overwhelming him, he no longer knew who he was the most upset with, Adam or Jamie. Or both. Or neither. Maybe the person he was most angry with was himself. None of this boded well for the future. It promised more complications than he wanted to admit.

How could this happen? How could Adam become the Sheriff of Virginia City? How could he return home, not to ask for forgiveness or make amends, but for a job? And how could Ben himself vote against his own son?

Sighing heartily, he looked at the thoroughfare, the old, familiar dusty road that led its travelers through the small town and out of it. If he followed its path he had a chance of finding his missing youngest son, but doing so meant abandoning further conversation with his first. He did not want to talk to Adam; he could not begin to conceive of how their conversation would unfold. There was so much to say and nowhere to properly begin, no words that could change what happened or the years that had passed between them.

There was nothing to say, Ben knew that. Even so, he could not move away from the building. Leaving was an admission of something. Disappointment, guilt, anger, culpability, or maybe all of the above. Leaving meant repeating old mistakes for the second time. He could not spend the rest of his life avoiding his son, leaving a room moments after Adam had entered it. It was neither seemly or viable to continue such behavior.

Striding toward the bench where he had told Jamie to remain, he planted his hands on his hips, his brows furrowing with deep thought. He turned in place when he reached the bench, his gaze absently focusing on the doorway of the hotel and the grouping of his councilmen who were trickling through it. A few of them acknowledged him with a nod and most remained silent as they entered the street and quickly dispersed, each intent on finishing their respective day.

They had sworn Adam in as new sheriff quickly, Ben mused as he took one step after another, his feet taking him back to the other side of the boardwalk. As his peers scattered, he wondered why he was remaining behind. What was the purpose of holding on to his anger in the face of his sudden fear?

Adam was now the sheriff. It was a prominent position that came with danger and complications; it invited violence and trouble. There were so many things that could happen to him now. He should speak to his son while he still could. He should take advantage of the opportunity that had been presented to him. Reaching the door of the hotel once more, he prepared to turn around and continue his absent pacing, then came to an abrupt halt as he stared at Coffee and Adam, a duo who appeared as taken aback by Ben's unexpected presence as he was of theirs.

For one long horrendous moment, nobody said a word, then raising his index finger and pointing it at his son, Ben opened his mouth. "Eight o'clock," he demanded.

"Eight o'clock," Adam carefully repeated as though struggling to deduct why the purpose of such a statement was not easily discernible.

"On Sundays we eat dinner at eight o'clock," Ben said. "That is something that has changed since you've been gone. With things as busy as they often are, it's become our time together as a family. So," he punctuated his words with a nod, "dinner tomorrow is at eight o'clock. I expect to see you then." He looked at Coffee's whose lips had curled into a wide grin. "He's invited," he added gruffly. "You are not."

Ben did not wait for an answer. Entering the thoroughfare, he shifted his attention to finding his youngest son.

TBC