BEFORE:

Adam stepped off the Carson City stage to find the platform empty.

He had been the sole traveler on the last leg of the trip, his impending arrival unexpected by anyone he knew. Like his departure, he had not announced his return, a decision that was as sudden as the one that had come before it.

Days had turned into weeks, weeks into months, in total three of them had passed and together they seemed to blur to form one mass of indistinguishable time. Adam had not intended to stay in San Francisco so long, rather he could not seem to decide what he wanted or needed to do. Born from conflict and confusion, it was this hesitance that grounded him in place in the city. His actions and choices, once so deliberate and purposeful, had become reflexive and unintentional as his daily life became little more than a series of moments, each one leading to the next as he, Peggy, Lil, and Eddie settled into an odd routine.

With his help, Lil had enrolled Peggy in school. It was an adjustment that did not come easily to the young girl. The building was much larger than what she was used to; the number of students it accommodated was staggering in comparison to the one room school house she had attended in Virginia City. Peggy had hated the arrangement at first, a feeling that, in the passing weeks, would only soften to overt dislike, a complication that would pale in comparison to another that became more and more glaring with time.

The only thing Peggy seemed more determined to cling to more than her dislike of her new educational establishment was Adam. Over time, he would come to realize her insecurity surrounding the latter had influenced the former. Having vowed early on he would not leave San Francisco without saying goodbye, it was their morning farewells which led to Peggy's overbearing apprehension. She was terrified she would return from school in the afternoon and find he had left.

"Don't leave, okay?" she would request each morning as the pair stood outside of the short, iron fencing which surrounded the monstrous school. "Promise me you'll still be here when the afternoon comes."

"I promise," he would say. It was a vow that never left his lips easily as he wondered if it was the right response. Surely, he could not stay in place forever; there would come a day when he would have to leave. If not to seek out a different path then at least to return to the one he had left.

It was not as though Lil had complained about his lingering presence. Consistently citing it was nice to have a man around the house, she had been quick to put him to work, assigning him a list of seemingly innumerable tasks around the house and yard that she deemed inappropriate for a woman to complete.

Strangely, the only person who was critical of his presence was Eddie.

"You think you're doing a kindness to Peggy by prolonging your stay, but you're not," she would eventually say, her blue eyes kind but appraising as they sat near one another in the parlor. "Your indecision, while it seems meritorious in the moment, is only going to make things more difficult in the end. That little girl adores you. In fact, I'm certain the love she has for you is mightier than her love for either Mommy or me will ever be. It isn't fair what you're doing. The longer you stay the more difficult it's going to be for her when you eventually find the courage to leave."

"Who says I want to leave?" Adam was indignant. The only thing more intolerable than Eddie being privy to his indecision was for her to believe Peggy was the only person he was hesitant to leave. "Who says it's fear that's keeping me here?"

For a man who believed himself so incapable of feeling true romantic love, he had fallen quick and hard for Eddie Manfred, proving her early claim undeniably true. She was not like any woman he had ever met or known before. She was smart, opinionated, and engaging; she knew things about the world that surrounded them and herself,

"It isn't as though you've made any arrangements to stay," Eddie said.

"What kind of arrangements would you suggest?"

"And you have the nerve to call me coy." Crossing her arms, Eddie was neither impressed nor upset. "No. You know it won't be that easy. You cannot escape your own indecision by allowing another to tell you what they would like you to do. If life were that simple then you would not have come here at all."

"I came here to do right by Peggy."

"Exactly. And why do you remain? Do you intend to be her father or her friend?"

"What?"

"A friend would have already left. A father never would."

"Well, I'm neither," Adam said. "Not really."

"Buddy, in the eyes of that little girl, you are both. The only stability she has ever known has always been provided by you."

They sat in silence for a moment, Eddie returning her attention to her book. and Adam knew she was right; there was an intensity to his bond with Peggy, a love and fondness that would never wane or conclude.

"Others are fond of you, too, you know," Eddie quietly added. "Peggy isn't the only one who will be affected by your decision to stay or leave. Mommy has grown accustomed to your help and presence, and I…" She hesitated, her expression stiffening with sudden apprehension. "I've grown quite fond of you," she admitted. "I don't want you to leave."

"Then tell me to stay."

"I can't." She looked at him, her face etched with sadness. "But you don't know how much I want to. A man cannot commit to the future while denying the past. Whatever led you here can lead you away again. Adam, you arrived here months ago without any pretense or warning, in the company of your former fiancée's daughter. It is obvious that was a credulous decision; you acted because those around you refused to, but even you know it was a decision that did not come without consequences, and it is the threat of those consequences that are keeping you here."

"Maybe it's my fondness for you that is keeping me here."

"Could be, but it's not. If it were then you would have already made your choice. You would have gone home and dealt with what was waiting for you there, or you would have decided not to. You haven't decided to do anything."

"I have," Adam insisted stubbornly. "Eddie, I may not know what the future will hold, but I have decided that no matter what it brings I want to spend it with you."

Eddie's expression shifted, her face contorting with slight hope. "Then commit to a path," she softly urged. "Either choose to liberate yourself from your paralyzing indecision by ceasing to look back at what you walked away from. Or return to the life you left behind so that you can walk away from it without a conflicted heart."

It was then, while he looked into the eyes of a woman who suddenly seemed to understand his internal conflict better than he understood it himself, Adam knew it was time to go home.

Visiting the Carson City livery, he found both Sport and Traveler gone; they had been collected by his family, it seemed. It was a development he was neither upset nor surprised by.

He rented a horse, a young Appaloosa whose temperament was more reminiscent of Traveler than Sport and began to span the distance between Carson City and the Ponderosa. It was a quick journey this time around. He had no reason to prolong the trip, making it longer than it needed to be. He had come to speak to his father with the sole purpose of leaving again. The sooner he saw his family, the sooner he could leave them behind. Still, coming upon the road that would lead him home, Adam found himself hesitating. The conversation he would share with his father was bound to be difficult—there was no way around it. One simply could not disappear the way he had without inviting criticism, or unfavorable opinions.

Returning to the territory, he had avoided Virginia City altogether, and, stomach turning, he found himself wanting to avoid the Ponderosa too. He could not evade the conversation with his father forever, he knew that, but he could circumvent it for the time being. He directed his horse toward the Running D on a whim.

The ranch was in better repair than it had been the last time he had seen it, and so was Will. Sitting on the porch steps, he appraised Adam thoughtfully.

"Howdy, stranger," he said as he watched his cousin tie his unfamiliar horse to the hitching post next to his own. He seemed neither surprised nor troubled by Adam's sudden appearance. In fact, he did not seem overly concerned with anything at all. He was sober, the clearness of his eyes, the cleanliness of his appearance declared that, but there was something different about him.

Leaning against the porch railing, Adam followed his cousin's gaze and stared into the broadness of the horizon as they settled into an amicable silence.

"You look better," Adam said eventually.

"I feel better," Will said. He looked at his cousin's beard. "You look different."

"I feel different."

They shared a smile, hints of everything they would not dare say sparkling in their eyes. The time that had passed had shifted things between them. They were no longer enemies or allies, each struggling for power over lives that had begun to spiral out of control. There was nothing left to argue or disagree about, leaving little else for them to discuss. Or so Adam thought.

"How's Peggy?" Will asked.

"She's doing real well," Adam said.

"Good. You see your pa yet?"

Adam shook his head.

"Hmm," Will hummed thoughtfully as though he understood. "That's a visit I'd avoid if I were you. He's still pretty riled up."

"Because I left."

"Because you took Peggy with you."

"He's just going to have to get over that."

"Alongside other things."

Adam looked at his cousin curiously. "What does that mean?"

"It's funny you would come back today. I mean, out of all the days you could have chosen to come back, this is the one you picked." Leaning forward, Will reached into the back pocket of his pants and procured three pieces of paper that had been neatly folded. "I'm leaving. I wrote these letters to leave behind, but now that you're here I think I'll give them to you instead."

"Why would you give them to me?"

"So that you can give them to the people they're intended for, of course. One of them is for Peggy, one is for your pa, and the other one is for you." Will nodded at the land in front of them. "In the letter to your pa, I'm asking him to look after this place until Peggy is old enough to decide what she wants to do with it, and in yours, I'm asking you to make sure it's a choice she gets to make."

"And in Peggy's?" Adam pressed, wondering what words his cousin could possibly offer the girl. An apology would be a good start. A confession of wrongdoing for holding her hostage to witness his poor behavior after her mother had died.

Will shook his head, his lips curling into a small, sad smile. "Why don't you let Peggy read it first? Then she can decide whether she wants to share."

"It isn't bad, is it?"

"It ain't exactly good." Will snorted humorlessly. "God-damn, doesn't that just about sum it all up? This whole mess between you and Laura and then Laura and me, none of it was bad, at least not at first; then again, it was never really all that good either." He cast Adam a serious look. "I'd avoid town completely if I were you. As nasty as talk was before you took Peggy away, it's even worse now. That's something your pa hasn't helped, I'm afraid."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think, Adam?" Will asked as he avoided the question. "How many years are gonna have to pass before the gossip about you and me and Laura become ancient history in these parts?"

Shaking his head, Adam did not know.

"Ah, well," Will said as he finally stood. "I don't intend to hang around to find out. If you were smart, and I know you are, you wouldn't either. I want you to promise me something. No matter what happens, no matter where you find yourself, or what you eventually decide to do, don't ever bring Peggy back here. She's a good kid. She deserves so much more out of life than what her mother and father left behind."

"What if she wants to come back?" Adam asked.

Will looked at him doubtfully. "Do you?"

No, Adam thought immediately, something he deemed much better left unsaid. "I'm in love," he said quietly. "For real this time." The admission came quick and easy, despite it being the first time he dared to speak the development aloud. "I met a woman in San Francisco, and I intend to make her my wife."

"Congratulations." Will's lips curled into a grin so wide that it seemed to elongate his face. "So, that's why you came back," he said. "You came to share the news with your pa and your brothers, and instead you came here and told me."

"I came to make peace with my family," Adam corrected. "Even after everything, you and I will always be that."

"Oh." Smile faltering, Will stared at him for a moment. "Well, then, I suppose I would like to admit something to you."

"What's that?"

"During the last conversation we shared I was not in good form. I want you to know that after, when it became obvious that you and Peggy were gone, I defended you. I never once faulted you for what you did, because it needed to be done. A lot of people don't see it that way, though, your father included. Someday he may, but right now he doesn't. The conversation you came to have with him, it isn't going to go the way you want it to."

"I know," Adam said. There were some things time could soothe and others it was destined to make so much worse.

"I defended you," Will repeated.

"To the people in town?"

"To your father." Tilting his head, Will's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You don't remember what happened when you lived with us in Ohio, do you?"

"No."

"I used to think you did. That's why I was giving you so much shit that morning in Carson City. I thought you remembered and you were deliberately acting as though you didn't. It pissed me off. Now I know you don't remember, but that doesn't change the fact that your father still thinks you do."

"I don't."

"Maybe someday you will, and then you'll finally understand why we all are the way we are, me, your pa, and you. Then maybe you'll find the right words to calm the storm that was always destined to rage between you and your father, and you'll understand why, even with all the shit that lingered between us after Laura's death, I felt the need to defend you against him while you were gone."

"Or you could just tell me why now."

"No. I'm not interested in making you remember if you were lucky enough to forget. We could have been brothers, you know. Can you imagine that? You as my little brother, me as your older one? Then it would have been you and me against the world instead of each other." Will cast Adam a mournful gaze. "I wonder how different things could have been if we both knew the scars we bear from our time in Ohio. My pa was a good man, but he had his own scars of a different time and different place, and your pa, he has those scars, too. Why is it that little brothers are always destined to be stronger than their older ones? You should be grateful that he kept you after your mother died. As difficult and overbearing as he can be, you should be thankful he learned to walk away or avoid you when his fury overtakes him. My father never did. Neither did I, for that matter. Maybe someday Peggy will share that with you and then you'll know, if you don't already, that you did right by taking her away from me."

"Will—?"

"I never was meant to be a father. Whatever it is that makes a man good, I don't have it in me. Laura, she knew that after a while. That's why she regretted picking me over you. That's why she wrote that damn diary; that's why she… well, she did what she did." He looked at Adam, his eyes glistening with a hint of something left unsaid. "Maybe someday Peggy will want to talk to you about that too." He glanced at the house behind them. "Don't ever bring her back here, Adam. No matter what you decide is right for you to do; you let that little girl leave the darkness of this place behind. Your father, he won't understand it, because he doesn't want to. Sometimes it's hard for people to see the truth of what the future holds, because suddenly the present seems a little too similar to a past they thought they left behind. It's not loyalty that demands he pick me over you in this fight, I want you to know that. It's guilt. You may have forgotten what happened in Ohio, but your father never will, and, because of that, I hope you remember to take it easy on him when it seems like he's determined to be nothing but hard on you."

Rising from the steps, Will stood in front of Adam, clasped his upper arm, and then squeezed.

"You see those letters get where they need to go," he said. "You take care of yourself and our girl, and enjoy the new life you've found. And when you speak to your father, don't you dare believe a word out of his mouth. Remember I defended you. I'm sorry I can't find the nerve to stick around to do it again. I guess I never was meant to be as strong or brave as you."

Will let go of Adam abruptly, then he walked away, leaving him alone and reeling over all that had been alluded to and everything that had been left unsaid.

XxX

It was dusk when Adam finally tethered the reins of his horse to the hitching post outside the Ponderosa's ranch house.

The home looked the same as it always had; once so familiar and inviting, now it appeared ambiguous and repellent. The house had not changed; it was his perception that shifted. After speaking with Will, a conversation with his father seemed so unimportant. So strangely ephemeral in contrast to the things his cousin had said.

Approaching the front door, he lingered outside of it, a series of unanswerable questions racing through his mind. There was so much he did not know. About Peggy and Laura, about Will and Ohio, about his father and his uncle—and his paternal grandfather, it seemed.

What did Will know about their family history that Ben Cartwright's sons did not? What information would Ben share with his nephew that he would not with his own sons? What happened in Ohio? What didn't Adam remember that his father would never forget?

The door opened suddenly. Hoss stepped outside only to hesitate in place, his face contorting with shock. "Adam?" he asked, looking upon his brother as though he could not believe his eyes.

Opening his mouth to reply, Adam quickly found himself trapped in a tight embrace, his words silenced by the ferocity of his brother's emotion.

"You don't know how happy I am to see you," Hoss said. "I'm so happy you came back."

"Well, I'm not really—"

"Joe!" Hoss shouted, stepping out of the embrace.

"I don't really think you should—"

"Pa!"

Joe emerged from the house first, his worried expression quickly transforming into joy. "Adam!" he said exuberantly as he unconsciously mirrored Hoss's previous reaction and pulled his oldest brother into a brief hug. Then, pulling from the embrace, he looked sheepishly between his older brothers, seemingly slightly mortified over the ferocity of his greeting. The awkwardness of such a display was palpable, leaving both brothers clearing their throats and extending their hands for a handshake.

"It's good to see you again," Joe said. "I'm glad you're back."

"It's good to see you, too," Adam said as he pulled his hand away from his brother's. "Although, I wouldn't really say I'm back."

"Then what exactly would you say?" Though quiet, it was Ben's question that dissolved the euphoric moment. The indecipherability of his indistinct expression was telling, as was the stillness of his tone of voice. He was angry. Though he appeared calm, it was only a matter of time before his fury was unleashed.

Adam knew he was not undeserving of judgement or anger. Though he would never apologize for taking Peggy, he knew he should have said something before doing so, sent a telegraph or left a letter, at least. He glanced at the trio of letters shoved in the breast pocket of his shirt; they were nearly hidden by the material of his jacket, but they were there. Even Will had the wherewithal—the decency and respect—to leave an explanation behind.

"Hi, Pa," Adam whispered.

"Hi, Pa," Ben repeated, punctuating the words with a nod as he lifted his arm and waved his hand, an undeclinable request for Adam to come closer to him than where he currently stood.

Letters were not all Will had left, Adam thought, his feet moving beneath him despite his determination not to adhere to his father's overbearing presence. Will had brought forth a spate of turbulent questions that had been left unanswered in the wake of his sudden escape. Adam did not know which to ask first, or if he should dare voice them at all.

Coming to stop in front of Ben, he cast his father a careful gaze and opened his mouth to speak. "Ohio," he said impetuously. If he had been vying for the upper hand in their impending discussion, he would have been pleased by the reaction the word provoked; instead, watching his father's silent reaction, he felt his apprehension grow.

Mouth hanging slightly agape, Ben's eyes widened with fear. "Ohio," he repeated, his voice softened by his visible shock. He stared at Adam for a moment, then cleared his throat and transferred his attention to his younger sons. "Hoss, Joe, leave us be. I need to speak to your brother alone."

Hoss and Joe both cast Adam condoling looks, then adhered to their father's order and strode in tandem toward the barn. Adam wished he could have followed them, but he followed his father into the house instead.

They paused by the side table, Ben turning to eye his son's hat, coat, and holster, a silent suggestion they be removed that Adam carefully ignored. He did not know how this conversation was going to unfold; he was not eager to remove items from his person that would only guarantee to slow down a hasty exit. He and Pa had not spoken in months, after all, and in his father's eyes, the rigidity of his back and shoulders, he saw the tension and frustration that his extended absence had denied expression—until now.

"I don't allow guns to be worn in the house," Ben said, his voice quiet but stern.

Adam frowned, taken aback by the new rule. "Since when?" he challenged, his voice deep as he absently shoved his thumbs in between the top of his holster and his pants, hanging his hands protectively over the leather cinched around his waist.

"I don't see how that's your concern."

"I don't see how it isn't."

"The only thing you need to be concerned with is doing as you're told."

Adam's temper flared. Sudden and overbearing, his anger superseded all apprehension. "I won't take kindly to being told what to do."

"That's assuming you'll take kindly to anything at all," Ben said, his voice deep and dangerous.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Your extended absence notwithstanding, you can't stand before me and pretend as though your recent behavior hasn't been childish, difficult to endure or deal with. You have fallen into the habit of doing what you want regardless of how it affects others. When faced with converse opinions or directions you don't want to adhere to, you pitch a fit and then run away."

"So that's it, huh?" Adam was tempted to bring up Ohio again, but his frustration would not allow him to direct the conversation away from where his father had guided it. "The truth of the matter according to Ben Cartwright. You think it was insolence that guided my actions? That I took Peggy away from Will for the sole purpose of going against your direction? That is the most ludicrous thing I have ever heard!"

Nodding, Ben's narrowed eyes sparkling arduously. "I thought so, too," he said. "Months ago, when it became clear you had taken Peggy without pretense or permission, the idea that you, Adam, my oldest most respected and responsible son, would dare do a thing like that was pretty ludicrous too. I didn't believe it at first. I didn't want to, but, in time, you played me for a fool!" He shook his head, his expression contorting with a horrifying mixture of fury and disappointment. "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Not anymore."

"I don't believe that, and neither should you. Take a look at yourself, a good, long hard one."

"You think I haven't? What do you think I've been doing all this time? What do you think has kept me away from here? I've changed, Pa. Why can't you allow yourself to see it?"

"Oh, I see how you've changed. I am acutely aware of the differences between who you were and who you are, and I'm not the only one. Your brothers, your cousin, the townsfolk, they can all see what you're determined not to."

"Which is what?"

"The accident changed you. Whether you want to admit it or not, the man you were before your fall is not the man you are now. It didn't just impact your body; it affected your mind and obstructed your thinking."

Adam scowled, his father's words hitting a deep nerve he had not realized had existed. How could Pa dare utter such damaging accusations? Insinuating that his judgement was impacted by something that had been so wounding?

"You're absolutely right!" Adam said bitterly. He was beyond anger now, the words slipping from his tongue beyond his control. "That fall did change me, but not in ways you'll ever allow yourself to understand. It did not obstruct my thinking, it cleared it. It left me unable to deny the truth! You're the one who sees what he wants to; you only admit the truth if it aligns with the story you want to tell, and the story you've been telling all these years is a good one. Ben Cartwright, a man who started from nothing and ended up with damn near everything he could ever want, three sons and an empire to lord over them, holding them captive for the rest of their lives. Oh, we can have your love, your land, and your money, and we can oversee the operations and reside in this house, but only if we act accordingly. Only if the way we present ourselves supports how you want us to be seen!"

Ben was disgusted. "That is not true."

"Isn't it? Admit it, Pa. It isn't my behavior that bothers you; it's the things people have to say about it, because suddenly there are cracks in the perfect facade you've crafted, hinting at all the things you were careful to hide beneath. You couldn't be mad at Will for marrying Laura because he loved her; although it did bother you that they were together, not because you thought she should have married me, but because that's what the townsfolk believed. You couldn't fault Will for being a bad husband or terrible step-father; you couldn't be angry at Laura for writing a diary that scandalized me and your last name. But you could always be angry at me. You could always make me responsible for the failures of someone else."

This conversation was going nowhere. It would get them nowhere, Adam knew that. But there was just no stopping now. No silencing the damaging words now that they had finally been awoken. No denying the truth that had lingered unsaid between them for so long.

"You chose Will over everyone else," Adam continued. "You chose protecting him over protecting Peggy. When Laura's diary was shared among the town, you made me stand alone in the face of those accusations. You chose standing next to Will over standing next to me. You chose to punish me for the sins of someone else!"

Ben's expression darkened. "Were they not your sins too? Are you so preoccupied with exposing the faults of others so you can ignore your own? You laid with that woman, Adam, and she wrote about in such disgusting detail that there is no way you can deny it!"

"We were engaged! You're acting as though I'm the first man to ever have—!"

"No," Ben said, his voice deep and cutting as he lifted and pointed an instructional index finger. "I am not. I know you aren't the first man to act in that manner and you are far from the last. Yes, I find fault in how you conducted yourself with that woman, but not for the reasons you think. From the very beginning of your friendship with Peggy Dayton you were always uncertain of your fondness for her mother, even though it was obvious to those around you that you were not fond of her at all. You never loved Laura; you certainly never wanted to marry her. Even so, you spent a great deal of time at her ranch. She was a widow and mother and you were a single man monopolizing her time. Even if you were determined to remain unclear on your intentions toward her, that didn't mean other people would. You knew how your actions were being interpreted, even if you wanted to pretend you did not. Laura Dayton became known as Adam Cartwright's girl months before the two of you were engaged. It was your enduring presence that deterred any other interested suitors. It was your indecision that laid the groundwork for tragedy to unfold."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I? You used that woman, Adam, as a distraction from the building discontent you felt with your own life. You led her on, knowing all along that you didn't want to marry her. You didn't want that life. Stop pretending you did."

"I asked her to marry me!"

"Yes, you did," Ben agreed darkly. "And then the second the two of you were officially engaged you abandoned her. You went on trips you didn't have to take. You left her alone to dream about arrangements for a wedding, the date of which you never intended to pick. You began building a house that you never intended to live in. Don't deny it. The only reason you found fault in her Aunt Lil for playing games with your life, was because they interfered with your own. You asked Laura to marry you and then you were trapped. Will was convenient, his feelings for the woman you were engaged to were almost more so, because after, when everything was all said and done, you were able to stand back, look at the situation and sit in judgement of his every action. Nothing he ever did was going to be good enough for Peggy, or for you, or for Laura, eventually, and you liked that because it fed into what you wanted to see."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is. Look at yourself, Adam. Take note of who you really are. At first glance you cast a very alluring shadow to the women that surround you. You're handsome, intelligent, and hardworking. That's what people think because that's all you allow them to see. You want to talk about denying the truth? Or the way we choose to see things? Or how important people's perceptions of us are? Fine, but you can't sit in judgement of others without allowing yourself to be judged. You cannot expose the faults of others while so carefully guarding your own. You're not a good choice for a husband. You're selfish, self-righteous, and judgmental. You don't know how to love people, because you will never allow yourself to need anyone. That's why Laura was convenient. She was so different from you, so naïve, flighty, and young. You didn't love her, and you knew you never would. You used her to distract from how you felt about yourself. Congratulations, now you've used her daughter for the same means."

The words hurt, cutting deeper than anything Adam had ever endured before. Never had he imagined his father could be so purposefully cruel, summarizing his past behavior and faults in a savage assessment that fed so directly into his deepest fears. He could not help thinking of Eddie. Did he really love her? Or was she just another distraction? With the way he had come upon her, how could he ever really know?

"Must be nice to look upon my shortcomings and behavior and pretend like it has nothing to do with you," Adam said. "If I don't know how to love, then you're the one to blame for that, because I am the man your decisions shaped me to be. You know, Pa, it really is too bad that you didn't leave me in Ohio when I was young. Maybe then I would have had a chance to become somebody you could be proud of."

The ladder part of his statement did what it was intended to. Watching his father's frustration transform to shock, Adam slipped his hand beneath his jacket, pulled out the letter Will had left, and tossed it on the floor between their feet.

"Will's gone," he added. "And just so you know, I didn't take Peggy away from him because I was having trouble admitting how I feel. I know exactly how I feel and why I wanted so badly to leave this place behind. I hate this life; I hate this land and this house; and I hate you. There is nothing in this world you could offer me that I would ever want."

Turning away, Adam took his leave, and this time, when he walked away from his family and the Ponderosa, he was careful not to look back.

He promised himself he would never look back.

TBC