NOW:

Adam was neither early nor late for dinner.

The sound of a knock at the front door came in unison with the grandfather clock chiming the eight o'clock hour. Sitting around the fireplace, Ben and his two older sons looked among themselves briefly, the contradiction of their respective expressions could not have been more glaring. Hoss and Joe could not hide their shared enthusiasm. Lips pressed into a firm, straight line, Ben could not deny his nervousness.

It was Jamie who moved first. Seemingly assuming the surrounding men were deferring the answering of the door to him, he sighed in an extravagant manner, then stood and strode to the door. Holding himself at his full height, his shoulders were squared awkwardly as he uttered his supposed grievance of the situation in a low mumble beneath his breath.

Ben could not make out what was being said—not that he cared to. There were more pressing things to be considered. Like whether he should remain seated or stand up. Or if he should be following Jamie to the front door to finally greet his oldest son properly. He was far too old to worry about such things; his very prominence in the territory seemed to proclaim that he should never experience such robust apprehension regardless of who had come to call. A man of his years should not feel daunted by anyone. It was he himself who should instill these feelings within others.

The front door was opened before Ben could decide what to do. Still, he stood out of habit, turned in unison with Hoss and Joe, and together the three of them cast their gazes upon what was bound to be a memorable introduction between two brothers.

Hand falling absently from the doorknob, Jamie's posture shifted as he took a stunned step backward. "It's you," he said dumbly.

Standing tall, Adam's face contorted with quick confusion; he was visibly taken aback as he stepped forward, closing the gap Jamie had created as he crossed over the threshold of the house. "Jamie Hunter," he said. His voice was steady and deep, sounding as strong and familiar as it ever had. "What on earth are you doing here? Where's your pa?"

In Adam's eyes lurked another question, one which, given the strange and awkward tone of the evening, seemed destined to never be voiced. What happened? The concern sparkling in those eyes asked. And who did it? Because something has obviously gone terribly wrong.

Crossing his arms, Jamie pressed his palms to his sides, enveloping himself in a tight hug. It was a strange yet telling action, one that seemed to highlight some unexposed pain, making the teen appear much smaller and younger than he was. "I guess we got the same pa now," he quietly said.

Cringing painfully, Adam took another step forward and extended his hands, resting them on Jamie's shoulders; it appeared momentarily that he was going to pull the boy in for a hug, then he squeezed instead. "I'm sorry," he said.

All at once, Jamie seemed to relax; squared shoulders softening, his posture sank, lowering him to a more accurate height as he stared up at Adam, appearing to take great comfort in this man who should have been a stranger but somehow was not.

Watching from afar, Ben wondered what had happened to forge such a bond. What Adam knew about Jamie and his father that he did not, and what Jamie knew about Adam that he would learn.

Clearing his throat, Hoss made the next move. Stepping toward his father, he cast him a warning glance. "Be nice," he whispered, the words almost too soft to be heard. Then eyes locked on Jamie and Adam, he moved away from his father with Joe following on his heels.

"Well, I see the two of you already know each other," Hoss said as he and Joe traded a glance. "Small world, I guess."

"Or one heck of a coincidence," Joe said.

"Yeah," Adam said, his hands finally falling from Jamie's shoulders.

Smiling, Jamie traded a look with Adam and shrugged. He had not taken to Hoss, Joe, or Ben that quickly. He had never looked at any of them the way he was staring at Adam, his eyes sparkling with something akin to comradery combined with slight relief. He and Adam were not just quick friends; they were old friends. People who had come upon each other in a different place, at a different time in their respective lives. Ben could not help wondering where this place was. What had happened there? What were the chances of his oldest son coming upon a boy who would eventually become his adopted brother? What did the apparent effortlessness of their bond mean?

"There's use in standing here with the door open all night," Hoss said. Moving forward, he motioned for Adam and Jamie to step aside, then closed the door and began ushering his brothers toward the fireplace. "Come in," he said, nudging Adam forward. "Take your hat off, stay awhile." He reached for Adam's hat, only to have his hand pushed away.

"I'll keep it, thanks," Adam said.

"Why?" Hoss grinned. "I don't think you have much use for it indoors."

Hands lingering on his hips, his thumbs pressed in between the top of his gun belt and the waist of his pants, Adam shook his head. "I can't stay."

"You came all the way out here to say you weren't staying?" Jamie asked, his expression and posture deflating.

"I did," Adam said.

"Excuse me for sayin' so, brother," Hoss said, "but that seems like a waste of a trip."

"Sure is," Adam said evenly. "I wasn't given the opportunity to decline the invitation when it was extended, and it would have been rude not to come without saying anything at all. It isn't a complete loss. It's a nice evening for a quiet ride. Besides, it was nice to see the landscape in the daylight again; I missed it the first time around."

It was not lost on Ben that Adam had yet to look at or speak to him directly. He was unsure if this was because his son could not think of what to say or if there was nothing he wanted to. It was just as well, because, eyes locked on the holster buckled around his son's waist, Ben could think of little else. The holster was different than the one his son had left home with. It stood to reason that the gun it safely held in its tight confines would be too. In fact, there were a whole group of things that seemed to be different about Adam now that he had the opportunity to look.

Adam's beard was the same as it had been days ago, although, perhaps it was ever so slightly better kept. From what could be seen beneath his hat, his hair was longer than he had kept it years before. Though his clothes had changed, he still favored dark colors. His shirt was a dark gray, his pants and boots black, offsetting the almost startling lightness of his hat, gun belt and vest. These items were all tan; and to Ben, they seemed as wildly out of place as the silver star pinned prominently on his son's breast. At one time it had been Roy Coffee's star; now it was Adam's. There was a time when Ben would not have thought of Coffee stepping away from his role as sheriff; there was a time when he could not have dreamt of Adam returning home to stand where he currently was, the tenseness of an argument that should have ended years ago still lingering between them. It did not seem right that with all the things that had changed, this would be the one that had remained the same.

"I don't allow weapons to be worn inside the house," Ben said. He had not intended for the statement to sound harsh, but it did.

Pulling his hands off his waist, Adam crossed his arms and finally looked at Ben. "That's not a problem," he said, the firmness of his tone mirroring that of his father. "Because I'm not staying."

"You can't stay?" Ben pressed. "Or you won't stay?"

"Can't, won't." Adam shrugged indifferently. "What difference does it make to you?"

Ben could not conceive of a reply. Oh, he knew the answer, the difference between what it meant if Adam wanted to stay but could not, or if he had no interest in staying in the company of his family at all. The former meant there was a chance for reconciliation; it meant Adam was willing to put the past aside to forge a future alongside them. The latter meant there was no chance of this. It would not be permitted.

Everything, it seemed, suddenly hinged on how he replied to Adam's question. There seemed to be too much to talk about and no way in which to properly proceed. Taking a deep breath, he walked toward Adam and allowed his heart to guide his words.

"I hate that you're wearing that badge," he said, nodding at the silver star pinned prominently to the breast of Adam's vest as he drew attention to the most volatile unspoken truth. "But I am happy to see you again."

"You didn't look particularly happy before," Adam said.

"I wasn't," Ben said. "I was surprised."

"Both times?" Adam challenged. "I understand the shock of the first occasion but the second?"

"The second time I saw you was significantly more shocking than the first. When Roy spoke of his replacement, I didn't think the person he was speaking about was you."

"Why not?" Adam asked indignantly. "So few things in life correlate as well as his abrupt resignation and my sudden appearance. With the way that man talks about closing the door on the past and passing duties on to new generations, I would have thought his intentions would have been immediately obvious."

"It wasn't that obvious," Ben said. The words were harsher than he wanted them to be, his tone a little too sharp. Adam always did have a way of igniting his temper, then masterfully tending to it, feeding the flames as it grew larger and larger until it was nearly impossible to contain. "It isn't as though your past education prepared you for such a volatile future. It isn't as though you ever spoke of having such a career. And with the events leading up to your sudden departure remaining as stagnant as they ever were, I think even you can understand why seeing you in a role of authority would seem like a stretch of the imagination for some."

"For some?" Adam asked, his voice deep, gravelly, and slightly dangerous. "Or for you?"

"It might be more difficult for people to accept than you think."

"What you really mean is that it's difficult for you to accept."

"There are a lot of things about you and the past that are difficult for me to accept."

Shaking his head, Adam scoffed bitterly. "Lord, you never change, do you? Here I am, standing right in front of you, but you still can't see past what you think I am. What you think I did. You have your best friend in this territory singing my praises, recommending me to replace him and still you're so full of doubt."

"I see exactly what you are, Adam. I think we both know the only one who's ever struggled with accepting the reality of how things are is you."

"Oh, this is beginning to feel a little too familiar," Joe groaned, casting a nervous glance between his father and oldest brother. "Have we just somehow gone back in time?" he added, posing the quiet question to no one in particular.

"This is an old argument," Hoss was quick to remind as he stepped between Adam and his father, doing his best to prevent the moment from unraveling further. "One would think it was about time for both of you to finally let it go."

"Oh, I've let it go," Adam said, though the tenseness of his expression seemed to declare the opposite. He nodded at Ben. "He's the one still hanging on to it."

It was such an angry retort, so juvenile and vacuous and downright agonizing for Ben to hear. This is a mistake, he thought immediately. Though years had passed since they had spoken, the nature of their conversation had not changed. It was clear they were both still angry and frustrated with each other, each hurt by what the other had or had not said. Neither of them seemed capable of seeing things clearly or speaking truthfully to each other about past disagreements and mistakes.

Ben turned abruptly, intent on walking away. Then his gaze caught Jamie's and he stopped, taking a moment to note the confusion etched on his youngest son's face. How can you speak to each other like that? Jamie's eyes seemed to ask. The very notion seemingly incompatible with the interactions the boy had with both men.

He could not do this, Ben thought. Not again. Walking away was not going to solve anything. It was only going to prolong the inevitable and allow things to deteriorate further. Things had already deteriorated enough.

Clearing his throat, he turned around and held Adam's stubborn gaze with his own. "Roy Coffee was an excellent sheriff and one of the finest men I have ever known in my life," he said tightly. "His loyalty to this town and the strength of his integrity can be rivaled by very few, so you are going to have to excuse me for struggling to understand how the iniquitous path you chose to take years ago could ever lead you back here and into such a position."

The statements seemed to suck the air from the room as they stunned everyone into a silence that seemed to linger in a stiff cloud between Ben and the son who the words were intended for. Though his brothers were visibly dismayed, Adam did not appear surprised by what had been said. His expression softened, his anger shifting to an equally powerful yet less volatile emotion.

"Six years is a very long time," Adam said, disappointment etched in the slight lines upon his face. "It invites perspective, allowing a man to look upon the past and examine what went wrong and where, how things could have been different, or how they would have ended up the same with or without one's mistakes. I stand in front of you having thought a great deal about all those things, only to realize that you haven't. You still believe you did right and I did wrong. You still think it was me who hurt you. You haven't changed. You're the same man I remember you to be, always trying to control the tone or outcome of a conversation with the rigidness of your shoulders, and the sharpness of your words. You know, there was a time in my life when I thought you yelled because you had important things to say. Now I know it's because you must make your voice the loudest in the room, so that it's the only one that can be heard. You don't listen. You never listened."

"I tried to listen," Ben deflected. "You never talked."

"Because when I did talk, you refused to hear what I was trying to say."

"Oh, I heard you, Adam. Hearing your intentions was never what I refused to do. And when I wouldn't condone or accept them, that's when you decided to turn your back on your family and leave."

"I never turned my back on family," Adam bitterly disagreed. "You were the one who turned your back on me. I left, because it was the only way I could get far enough away from you to live my life."

"Adam," Hoss chastised, his voice a low whisper laced with shock. It was an interjection that was quickly dismissed, lost in the increasing intensity of the moment. This was not the reunion any of them had wanted, but there was just no stopping the inevitability of a disagreement that had been festering for years.

"No," Ben said. "That's not why. You left because it was the only way you could get away from yourself. It was the only way you could have a future that was never meant for you in the first place—."

"I didn't do anything wrong!"

"You sure didn't do anything right!"

Six years, Ben thought, his anger consuming him. Six long years had passed, and while he and Adam both appeared older, neither one of them had truly changed. Their disagreement had remained the same as it was before. They were still too different—and too much alike.

Either too stung by his father's statement or too frustrated with the conversation to continue it, Adam took a step back. Clearing his throat, he looked upon the room, seemingly noting everything and nothing at the same time.

"Coming back here was a horrible idea," he said. "Nothing has changed. You will never understand what happened back then because you're still too busy lying to cover up the truth, and what you foolishly believe to be the worst choice I ever made in my life, is the best one I've ever made. I am exactly the man you raised me to be. Maybe someday you'll finally find the courage to ask yourself why such a thing makes you so upset, because you and I both know that how you feel about what happened has very little to do with me."

"Adam," Joe tried. "Please, can you just—"

"Coming out here was a mistake," Adam said firmly. "One I do not intend to repeat." He looked among his brothers. "You boys know where to find me if you want to." He pointed his index finger between himself and his father. "It seems you and I have nothing left to talk about. I'm a little too old to take kindly to your misplaced criticisms. I will no longer tolerate you yelling your opinions at me. You do not have to like that I came back or that I'm the sheriff, but you do have to respect my presence and authority while I serve the town in Roy's place."

"And what happens after that?" Jamie asked worriedly. "You ain't gonna up and leave, are you?"

"I don't know," Adam said. Maybe I'll run for sheriff again." He forced a sardonic smile. "And give my father the pleasure of denying my professional accomplishments as he votes against me for the second time."

And then, as quickly as he had arrived, Adam was gone, leaving his family to stare at the back of the door he had firmly closed behind him.

"Well," Joe said, voicing the word with a long exhale. "That could have gone worse, I think."

"Brother," Hoss said, glancing at Joe out of the corners of his eyes. "It could have gone a whole lot better than that."

"How well did you really expect it to go?" Joe asked. "Judging by the way their last argument went, I think the years really have calmed them both down."

Tilting his head, Hoss considered the statement. "That's true," he finally agreed.

"Will you two please be quiet," Ben whispered angrily. "If you wish to comment on things you know nothing about then at least have the decency to do it in private!"

"What do you mean, Pa?" Joe asked innocently. "Hoss and I were there back then. It's not like we didn't see or hear things. Lord knows the two of you were loud enough."

Tearing his attention away from the closed door, Ben was forced to ignore one son's response as another demanded to be heard.

"You're mean!" Jamie erupted. Clenching his hands in tight fists at his sides, he turned and cast Ben a furious look. "Do you even know who that man is?" he demanded, extending an accusing finger toward the door. "I don't think you do, because if you did, then you would know you can't speak to him like that. I knew you were loud and particular, but I never knew you were so, so, so—!"

"You best not finish that sentence!" Ben firmly warned. "If you can't keep a civil tongue in your mouth, then go to your room. You speak kindly to others, or you don't speak at all."

"You can send me to my room for being rude if you want. But where are you going to send yourself? That man is a hero. You can't talk to him like that!"

"I am your father, and you cannot speak to me like this. Get to your room. Now."

Frowning, Jamie's cheeks began to redden with fury as he trudged toward the staircase. "You're not my father," he said, his tone as forceful as the soles of his boots as he slammed his feet down step after step. "And I'm glad you're not, because you're not a good one. You're not even close!"

Ben knew he should have followed Jamie and done something to correct his intolerable behavior. But he did not. He was too taken by the power of a moment that had already passed. He was too consumed by worry, his sudden overwhelming fear and doubt.

How did Jamie and Adam know each other? What was it that bound them together with such ferocity that Jamie did not fear the repercussions of acting how he was? And what complications did this blind loyalty promise now that they were both in the same place?

Adam could avoid taking responsibility for the past all he wanted but there was one truth that would never change based on his ability to see it. He was a poor influence on insolent children; the events leading up to his departure would always serve as a testament of that.

Peggy, Ben thought mournfully, a thought and name he was quick to ignore.

TBC