BEFORE:

Eddie was a vision in the darkness.

Her long, blonde hair was thick and flowing, draping over her shoulders and down her back to hang nearly at her waist. Her light blue nightgown fit her body a little too tightly; its hem was too short, the bottom of it hitting her kneecaps instead of her ankles. The neckline was too low-cut to be deemed acceptable to be worn outside of the privacy of her bedroom. Of course, thanks to her mother, the kind yet capricious woman once known to Adam as Laura Dayton's Aunt Lil, Eddie's bedroom had become his own. He had not meant to take it from her; it was purely accidental that he had. Still, it was not something he regretted. Not on nights like this, with the moonlight trickling in through curtains that were only slightly pulled, allowing him full view of Eddie's nightgown as she slipped through the bedroom door and carefully approached the bed.

Lying down, Adam leaned slightly forward, supporting his weight on bent elbows and forearms to allow him a better view. Eddie was voluptuous, provocative, and arousing, and despite the thin blanket covering his lower half, it was obvious he had been roused.

Arriving at the side of the bed, she climbed first into it, and then onto him. Her weight resting on his firm, lower stomach, she ran her fingers over his naked chest, eliciting a pattern of anticipatory gooseflesh. He reached for her, his arms wrapping around her ribcage to pull her closer to him, their faces only inches away, and she placed a warning finger over his lips.

"Shhh," she reminded, her voice nearly too soft to be heard. "We have to be quiet. We don't want to wake Peggy, or Mom—"

Palming the back of her neck, Adam pulled her face to his, her hand fell away from his lips, and he silenced her with a deep, passionate kiss. The last thing he wanted to talk about were old women or little girls. The last thing he wanted to think about was family of any kind as his hands roamed her body, his fingertips gently stroking the bare skin of her thighs, her nightgown hiked up to leave them on full display. He had long become accustomed to sleeping naked, and if history was indicative of habitual behavior, then that would mean she was without knickers. The only material separating them was the blanket, and that would be discarded soon enough.

Their kiss deepened, Eddie's hands resting on the sides of his neck, her fingers becoming embedded into his thick hair. If the fullness of his beard tickled or irritated the fair skin on her face, she made no indication. She did not pull back as his hands grasped her bosom, tugging the material of her nightgown in effort to release her breasts. He wanted to touch her everywhere, a trail of kisses following every move of his hands. He wanted to get her good and worked up, then he wanted to discard the blanket so she could take hold of and guide him inside of her and then shift her weight, her tempo increasing steadily until they both reached satisfaction.

"Oh, buddy," Adam groaned quietly as she batted his hands away from her bosom and guided them beneath the hem of her nightgown. She clawed at the blanket covering him. Tonight, things were moving particularly fast. Claiming her mouth once more, he could not say he was disappointed.

"I thought I taught you to learn from your mistakes," a deep voice suddenly boomed.

Eyes widening, Adam pulled out of the kiss, pushed Eddie back, and cast a startled gaze upon the room. It was difficult to see anything in the corners as they existed beyond the sparse light provided by the moon, but squinting through the darkness, he was able to detect a familiar form.

"Pa?" he asked.

Stepping out of the shadows and into the moonlight, Ben looked upon his son in a condemning manner. His dark eyes shone with disappointment; his frown was so deep it etched lines into his forehead. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Have you learned nothing from the past? The last time you laid with a woman who wasn't your wife, you brought shame to our family and yourself."

Though Adam wanted to refute the statements, he looked at Eddie instead. She did not seem particularly bothered by the interloper, or scandalized by being caught in a compromising position and apparel. Sitting tall, she placed her palms on Adam's chest, the weight of her body still resting on his lower stomach, as she looked between father and son.

"So, this is him, huh?" she asked Adam.

"What?" Adam asked her.

"The man whose cruel words substantiated your worst fears, and drove you away from me?"

"Open your eyes, Adam," Ben urged seriously. "Take a good look at what kind of man you are."

Eddie looked at Adam, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. "What kind of man are you, Adam?" she echoed.

"I don't know," he admitted, the words fighting to emerge from his constricting throat. Suddenly, the weight of her body felt like it was enough to crush him, the doubt shining in her blue eyes filling him with trepidation. He loved her, of that he was sure; it was everything else he seemed so uncertain of. What kind of man was he, exactly? What kind of person did the things he had done, disappointing the people he loved the most?

"Come back to me, buddy," Eddie whispered, her voice sounding close to his ear. "Come back to us. We can make our home wherever you want; all you have to do is come back."

Looking at the space where she had sat upon him, Adam found she had disappeared. He looked at his father, who refused to look at him as he began walking backwards, his body disappearing into the shadows once more. "Open your eyes, son," Ben urged again, his voice softening with sorrow. "Take a good look at the life you chose. Be honest with yourself: is it better or worse than the one I gave you?"

Head resting heavily on the pillow, Adam stared at the darkened ceiling. He closed his eyes, and opened them again. The bed was gone in an instant; the ground where he lay was hard beneath his back. The morning air was frigid and biting, the blanket covering him and his clothes beneath not quite heavy or bulky enough to protect him from the cold. But there was beauty to the sky above, clusters of billowing clouds briefly colored pink, orange, and red from the rays of the ascending sun. There was a friendliness to the snow capped mountains in the distance. It was not the landscape he had grown up surrounded by; still, it was not terribly different either.

Passing over a few territorial lines, it was interesting the ways the landscape had changed, and the ways in which it seemed to remain the same. Though they varied in vastness and sizes, the mountains were steadfast, and while the type of cattle and the brand marking them were different than that of his own family, the animals grazing in the surrounding clearing were familiar. The job he had been hired to do was comforting somehow.

Sitting up, he carefully pulled back his blanket, just to ensure his dream of Eddie had not left any lingering complications. It had not; whatever unconscious reactions his body had experienced had been chased away by the vision of his father. It was not the first time he had dreamed of Eddie, or his father, or both at the same time, and he knew it would not be the last. There were just too many things left unsettled between him and them to hope otherwise.

"You're fortunate we camp alone."

Adam looked at the small campfire a few paces away, his eyes meeting those of his cousin, Will, who was crouched down in front of it, making the morning coffee.

"You were moaning again," Will added, his lips curling into a wry, knowing smile.

"Shut up," Adam said tiredly.

"I'd like to, but, boy, things like that are awfully hard to ignore and impossible not to draw attention to after the fact. Seems to me, if you don't want to have dreams like that, then what you oughta do is spend a night in the company of a saloon gal when we finally get this herd where it needs to go and find ourselves in more civilized surroundings. Some extended private time spent with a pretty gal would be enough to cure you, at least for a while."

"I never said I didn't want the dreams," Adam said smartly. "Just for you to shut your damn mouth about them."

Will grinned evilly, his joy regarding the torture was obvious. "Like I said, they're hard to ignore. You're lucky we camp on our own."

Rising finally, Adam packed his bedroll, then joined Will by the fire. The coffee was hot and the breakfast was cold, but both filled his stomach just fine, preparing him for yet another long day of keeping the oversized herd of cattle in line. The work was as easy to complete as it had been to come by—at least for Adam. Having been raised in a dramatically different setting, Will was as unaccustomed to droving as he had been ranch work. Still, with Adam's covert direction and quiet assistance he did a passable job.

Leaving his father's home nearly three months ago, the last thing Adam had thought he would do was find himself employed by a ranch. Of course, he had not thought he would have sought the company of his cousin either.

With his father's vile accusations echoing in his mind, giving rise to his long-held fears, Adam had not felt comfortable returning to San Francisco, to Peggy and Aunt Lil, or Eddie. He needed time to sort himself out, space to examine and heal his wounds in private. He had meant to return to them. From Carson City, he had sent a telegraph that promised as much; it was a vow that he still intended to keep; though, he still was not certain when. He had stayed in Carson for two nights; it was enough time to send the telegraph to Eddie and receive a reply. Enough time to allow his father to come after him and apologize. The telegraph from Eddie arrived early the second morning; his father never did.

In her correspondence, Eddie had told Adam she loved him; she had said she understood why he was not immediately returning. Take as much time as you need, she had written, but don't forget we're eager for you to return home. Bolstered by her assurances, Adam had mounted his new appaloosa and left Carson City behind. He did not know where he was headed, or where he would eventually end up.

Looking back, maybe secretly he had believed the horse would lead him home—wherever that truly was now: the Ponderosa alongside his father and brothers, or a small house in San Francisco and the company of a little girl he cared for like a daughter, the woman he loved, and her mother, yet another woman he had grown quite fond of. It was such an odd thing to think about, painful somehow. He had not returned to his father to stay by his side. He had done so with the intention of leaving and going back to the girls; they were his home now, he had known that from the start, but the conversation with his father had shaken his confidence, leaving him tortured with doubt.

After everything that had happened with Laura, how could he ever be a good husband to Eddie? How could he be the right man to raise Peggy? He knew how to fight, how to stick up for the underdog, and advocate for what was right. But he struggled with long term follow through where people were concerned. He did not know how to need them properly; he did not know how to incorporate them into his life; and he did not know how to love. It was a secret he had guarded carefully, silently holding it close to his heart. He did not think anyone else knew it, and if it was something his father had observed and noted, he had never anticipated he would dare voice it, or use it to befoul him in such a disfiguring way. If his father was privy to it, then it begged the question of who else was, and who else could be.

And alongside these thoughts lingered another, freshly awoken by the last conversation he had at the Running D with his cousin Will. The mystery of Ohio was too alluring to ignore or forget. Maybe he had been eager for a distraction, or maybe it was something else, because leaving Carson City, he did not return to San Francisco; he went after Will instead.

It had not taken long to find him, and when he had, Will was neither surprised by nor put out by his presence. He accepted it without comment or complaint, and the two of them became traveling companions, neither man bothering to anticipate their next stop or move. It was an interesting way to live; Adam found himself embracing it despite his better judgement, and though he asked about Ohio, the family secrets that lurked in the distant past, Will remained tightlipped on the matters. Who he was really protecting by doing so was anyone's guess. In the passing weeks, they wandered, camped, drank, and won the odd bar-fight together. And when their money eventually ran out, they looked for work together.

They had been taken on by a man named J.D. Morgan, head of the Morgan Ranch in the Montana territory. Morgan was a gruff, craggy man, not much older than Adam's own father; he was a difficult man to work for and impossible to truly please. In Morgan's eyes, a man either failed at a job, or skidded by enough to have his work be called passible. There was no such thing as succeeding or excelling. It simply was not allowed. Still, despite the man's hardness and absurdly high expectations, Adam fell into line easily, his work ethic quickly deemed by the older man as the "passable" sort. It was Will who would continue to struggle beneath his expectations; it was merely their shared last name that kept him on Morgan's payroll.

Upon meeting them, Morgan had immediately made the connection between their last name and that of Ben, asking them if they were any relation to the Ponderosa Cartwrights of Nevada. They were not, Adam had said; it was merely a coincidence. It was the first time he would deny relation to his family, but it would not be the last.

Both he and Will had allowed Morgan to draw his own conclusion regarding their relation to each other; the man had assumed they were brothers. It was a belief neither of them had bothered to correct. And suddenly there they were: Will and Adam Cartwright, brothers who were a package team, hired hands of the Morgan Ranch, a pair of men who would often be tasked with droving—the only job, that beneath Adam's watchful eye, Will was able to complete in a "passable" manner.

As time moved forward, Adam began to feel an odd kind of responsibility for Will, a loyalty of some strange sort. He did not feel sorry for Will—although, that was a sentiment that was never far from his mind. It was obvious the man needed help, a friend or family member to stand next to and by him, to teach and defend him if needed. Adam found himself defending Will a lot. Even if better judgement would dictate he remain silent. Even if by speaking up he was inviting attention to and trouble for himself. Strangely, he would often wonder if the responsibility he felt for Will were the same feelings his father had felt; if their allegiance with Will was something they now shared. It was a shame the distance between them would prevent them from ever speaking about such a thing; it was aggrieving to know that the two of them may never speak of anything ever again.

Adam did his best not to think about his father, for fear that the pain he felt in connection to their last conversation would overcome him. And in the moments when the unfavorable feelings snuck up on him, he would place his hand on his chest, his palm resting over his beating heart as it ached. He told himself things would improve. That eventually a day would come when what had happened would not hurt so much.

His father had been his greatest supporter, his best friend the entirety of his life, and now he was neither. He was nothing. It was a development that hurt, leaving Adam deeply impaired and wounded. Maybe that was why he held on to Will. Or maybe it was something else entirely.

"We better get at it," Will said as he tossed what was left of his coffee on the ground. "Before someone decides we're having too leisurely of a morning."

"Alright," Adam agreed as he drank what was left of his.

They packed up their camp, loaded their small collection of supplies into their saddlebags and mounted their horses. And so, another morning came and went, the day that followed unfolding just as quickly.

They kept a wide berth from the four other men who had been tasked with guiding the herd, speaking to them only when necessary and as little as possible. It was not as though they had intended to segregate themselves; it was just something that had happened over time. They camped alone, packed and cooked their own meals; the less they spoke to their peers, the less they had to speak about themselves—their respective pasts, or seemingly shared future—the easier things seemed. In the company of each other they were never truly alone. This was a quiet fact that was never verbally noted, or commented upon, as dumbfounding as it was comforting as they dodged and ignored any questions, posed by each other or otherwise, they did not want to provide an answer to.

They did not talk about the past, or think about the future. Their focus was on the day ahead, and tomorrow it would remain focused on the same. It was not a bad way to live; although, it was not necessarily good either, rather just something in between. It was a span of time that had come to serve as a bridge, leading them away from the men they had once been and toward the ones they would eventually become. It was impossible to remain on this bridge forever—Adam knew that—eventually, he would have to cross it and take the first solid step into the rest of his life. A future that no longer included his father or brothers, rather a little girl fate had demanded he assume responsibility for, a woman he had promised to marry, and another who would become his mother-in-law. At the heart of it all lurked yet another doubt: as a man who had spent the entirety of his life surrounded by predominantly men, he was unsure of his ability and desire to permanently dwell in a house full of women. And in the midst of every dark night when he could not fall asleep, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered that, despite how poorly-timed and savage the words had been, his father had been right to say the things he did.

His father had been right about him.

TBC