BEFORE:

Something about the journey back to the coast in Marshal Weston's custody was wrong from the start.

The trip should have only taken a handful of days. At the rate they had traveled, they would not arrive in over a week. The trip was different than what Adam expected. Although, he was not certain what he had been expecting. To be treated differently, perhaps? With more unkindness than Weston was. It was strange, the way the man looked at him, his gray eyes always seeming to search for verification of something other than what he was seeing. Weston did not speak much, and he was careful with his words when he did. His statements were evenly spoken and purposeful—even if that purpose was not always clear. Adam could not seem to form a firm opinion on the lawman. Will, conversely, had formed his early on, and he did not hesitate to voice it or an item on his seemingly ever-growing list of grievances.

Adam and Will rode side by side on their horses with Weston following closely behind. He had confiscated their sidearms, hiding them away in his saddlebags, and, strangely, he never bothered to tie them up. This was another detail Adam could not make sense of and tried not to think too much about. Having rode in many posses in the past, he did not like it; there had never been one where he had witnessed a lawman or otherwise not restrain the supposed criminals they had caught. Unless, they were itching for a hanging, or setting the found man up to flee and then be subsequently shot. No, Adam did not like that Weston had not bothered to tie them up. This was a detail Will seemed to be unbothered by.

"Boy," Will said, looking at Adam out of the corners of his eyes, "you sure picked a fine moment to remember who you really were. You picked the perfect time to start telling the truth."

"Shut up," Adam said, uttering the instruction for what felt like the hundredth time. He could not help absently wondering how many more times he would have to say it before it would finally be heeded.

"That's funny," Will remarked humorlessly, his tone decidedly bitter. Where was Will's irreverent outlook on life now? It had been chased away by the seriousness of current circumstances, it seemed—something he undoubtedly blamed Adam for. "I remember saying the very same thing to you. But, no, you just had to keep going, didn't you? What a fine mess you've gotten us into now."

"Shut up, Will."

Whatever temporary goodwill had existed between them had disappeared, leaving only anger and frustration behind. They had begun bickering like schoolboys. Fighting over everything and anything that came to mind. Adam did his best not to react, or respond to Will's repetitive quips and accusations. Sometimes, however, it simply could not be helped. He was no longer tolerant of people telling him what they believed he had done wrong.

"You just had to talk," Will said. "You had to keep digging us a bigger and bigger hole. Man, you act smart, but you are dumb as hell. I can't believe you actually thought that sharing the truth about that Pinkerton and your father was going to make our situation improve. You're the one that had to leave town early. You're the one that wanted to run away from something you didn't want to deal with. Je-sus," he swore, shaking his head in disgust. "Running away from your pa or any mention of him like a goddamn, spoiled child."

"Shut up," Adam said.

"How about you both shut up," Weston said lazily from behind them. It was obvious he was as sick of Will's comments as Adam was. What was not obvious was what the lawman thought of them—or what he planned to do with them once they arrived where they were going. How much of what was being said would the man remember? And how much of what he remembered would be used against them?

Adam was intent on not entertaining nervous feelings, but they were difficult to avoid. Why were they traveling at such a leisurely pace? Why hadn't they been tied up? And what exactly was the marshal leading them back to? The small seaside town could not have been accused of being welcoming the first time around, and Will and Adam had not been accused of anything then. Now they were suspected murderers; a local woman was dead.

Adam could not help thinking of Laura, how she had died and how she had been found. He had been the one to discover her body and someone else had discovered her diary—that goddamn, scandalous book. Just because he had been unfortunate enough to come upon the gruesome scene of where she lay in bed, bloodied and lifeless, her once pretty face horrifyingly disfigured by the bullet that had taken her life, that did not mean he had killed her. Just because Laura had written that she and Adam had engaged in a sordid, private affair during her marriage to Will did not make it true. Of course, neither of those details had stopped the townsfolk of Virginia City from forming their own opinions about what had happened, or what was true.

They had turned on him so fast, friends, neighbors, business associates, and his father, too; they all had their firmly held beliefs about what had happened between him and Laura and not one of them could be rivaled by the truth. And that had been a group of people who had known him. What chance did he and Will have against one that did not? One that was already rough and rowdy, seemingly eternally anxious for a vicious fight. What was going to become of this? What was going to become of them?

"Some piece of work you are," Will grumbled.

"What's that?" Weston asked.

Will glanced back at the marshal. "Nothing," he said.

"Sounded like something," Weston said.

"It was nothing," Adam said as he cast Will a firm look. "Shut. Up," he whispered for only the two of them to hear. "We already have enough troubles without you adding to them." Besides, they didn't need to turn on each other now, he thought. Not in front of an audience, at least. If they were going to fight, something that seemed inevitable now, then that was something better done in private—if only they were given the chance.

"You sure talk a lot," Weston said indifferently. Directing his horse to step in time beside Will's, he cast him a guarded glance, his bottom lip protruding from the line of tobacco shoved between it and his gums. "With all the things that seem to slip off your tongue so easily, it would lead a man to think that eventually you'd start spilling the truth. I'd be careful if I were you. The person who spends the most time blaming other people is usually the one who has the most to hide. When a man talks as much as you do, it's only a matter of time before he confuses his lies and slips up with the truth."

"And what truth is that?" Will asked.

Chuckling, Weston seemed genuinely amused, eternally one step ahead of both men in his custody. "I do not think I have to tell you that," he said knowingly. "I think you are fully aware of what you're trying to hide." He nodded at Adam. "Your so-called-brother over there isn't though, which is reason enough for you to heed his advice about shutting your mouth."

Will opened his mouth to respond, only to have Adam reach out and grasp his forearm.

"Quiet," Adam warned. Didn't Will understand what was going on? The lawman was trying to get under his skin, make him say or do something wrong, a mistake that had the potential to come at a staggering cost. They had no sidearms. No one to witness and later challenge untrue versions of events. They had nothing but each other—if they even had ever had that.

"You better listen this time and do what you're told," Weston said to Will. "You'll be better off that way, trust me."

Shutting his mouth abruptly, Will's lips formed a sullen line and he fell quiet. The extended silence bothered Adam more than Will's disgruntlement had. Without the distraction, all he was left with were his own thoughts and doubts that were aplenty. He did not trust Weston, and he had begun to question his faith in his cousin, too. Riding in the company of both under such circumstances was sobering; it was like waking from a bad dream only to find oneself trapped in a strange, extended hallucination. How could this be his life? How could he have ended up here?

He knew who he was, what he wanted, and what he did not. He was more intelligent than this. He knew better than to chase around with his frivolous and occasionally delinquent cousin; he knew nothing good ever came from avoiding a decision one had to make. He tried hard not to think about his father and brothers, Eddie and Peggy, and even Aunt Lil, how things had been left between all of them; it was a difficult thing to avoid.

When the sun began to set, they made camp a few hours from the seaside town that was their destination. They could have ridden through, arrived that evening rather than the next morning, but they did not. It was yet another dirty detail that filled Adam with unease. What was the purpose of this? Of Weston keeping them in his private company for yet another night? For not tying them up when they rode or slept. What was he trying to do? What was he trying to implore them to do? What was Weston waiting for? And what was waiting for them when they finally reentered the town they were headed to?

Adam slept fitfully beneath a blanket of stars. When he finally fell into slumber, he was quick to dream. The beginning felt like more of a nightmare, a series of jumbled up visions and words, and then he fell into something that felt like a memory he had forgotten, or one his subconscious had decided to make up. He dreamed he was a very young boy, standing next to his father in the foyer of a house he did not recognize. Everything about it was foreign and wrong. It was too large and too clean. Too perfect for a child of his age to be welcome in it. The man speaking to his father was one Adam had never met; still, something about him was familiar. He looked like his father, and his voice sounded eerily similar, even though Adam could not seem to make out anything being said.

There was another little boy, lingering on the other side of the foyer, watching him from afar. Adam hadn't seen this boy before; still, something about him was familiar, too. He was older, a bit taller; his hair was the same color and as unruly as Adam's own, and there was a kindness in his eyes, a glint of something that made Adam feel at ease. The boy waved at him, and he waved back, taking an impulsive step forward before hesitating, his father and the man still behind him. He did not want to wander off; it was not good to stray too far from his father's side, lest he wander too far and become lost. He waved at the boy again before turning back around. His father was gone, but the other man remained, his eyes stern and cold as he peered down at him in an unkindly way.

"Papa?" Adam whispered, his heart clenching with sudden fear as he tilted his head back, looking up to cast a troubled gaze upon the stranger who had taken his father's place. The man frightened him; he had no other choice but to look away and around, his eyes searching for someone who was no longer there. This was not right. Where was his father? Where had he gone? Why would he leave without saying goodbye?

"It's okay," the other boy said as he approached and stood next to him. "Come on." He extended a hand that Adam was quick to grasp. "Stay with me and you'll be okay. I'll take care of you. I always wanted a little brother."

Gasping, Adam awoke to find the morning sun rising and the toe of someone's boot nudging him in the chest. Saddlebag slung over his shoulder, Weston peered down at him as he pulled his foot back. "Wake up," he said. "It's time for you and I to talk."

Blinking blearily, Adam stared up at the marshal, trying to reconcile his dream with his surrounding reality. "What?"

"Your brother's gone—'

"What?"

"He cut out, ran sometime during the night."

Tossing his thin blanket back, Adam sprung to his feet and assessed their surroundings, searching for anything to disprove the claim. This was not right. It had to be another bad dream. It was not, though, because Weston was right: Will was gone. Packing up his meager gear, he had taken his horse and fled in the night.

"Shit," Adam swore.

This was bad. No, this was worse than bad. In the eyes of the law, it was a glaring declaration of guilt. He knew what would happen now, and he was sure Will did, too. The marshal—with, or without the company of other men to witness—would give chase, the ending of such a thing seeming all but certain to be violent. The lawman wouldn't be bringing Will back to stand trial; he would be bringing his body back to be buried.

"Yep," Weston agreed. "Like I said, we need to talk."

The statement was as unnerving as the calm way in which it had been said. "What do we have to talk about?" Adam asked.

"The truth you do not seem to be appraised of, the dirty details your so-called-brother took off without sharing with you."

Adam was skeptical. "And what do those happen to be?"

"The story behind the Pinkerton you said approached you, the man you paid off so your pa wouldn't know where you were."

Adam tilted his head. "I never said I paid him."

"Doesn't change the fact that you did."

"Is there a purpose to this conversation?" Adam asked, his voice carrying a slight edge. He did not like Weston knowing things he himself had not shared. It was unnerving, making him feel without firm footing in the approaching fight. Not that he had any to begin with. He looked absently at his waist, his eyes searching for the weapon that had been stripped from him. He felt naked without it, unprepared for the moment he was in. Still, there was suddenly a glimmer of hope as he finally registered what the lawman had said. "You know about the Pinkerton?" he asked.

Weston shook his head. "That man was not a Pinkerton, and your father did not hire him." He paused, seemingly waiting for Adam to express shock in one way or another.

Adam was not shocked, not really. If anything, he was oddly disappointed. If his father had not hired that man then that meant he was not looking for him; it meant Adam had been foolish, a little too eager to believe the tale of a stranger. Too eager to believe his father cared about finding him and apologizing for what he had said. In his heart, Adam had wanted to believe it. He had wanted to think he was missed. That he was not the only one angry and hurting over all that had been said. Shamefully, he realized he had wanted somebody to blame.

It was so much easier to blame his father rather than himself. To be furious and frustrated, stuck in a cycle of useless emotions instead of having to sit with the real ones. He did not want to hate his father; he did not want his father to hate him. He did not want to leave things between them the way that they were, but he knew he could no longer be the one to bend, or concede. He could no longer tolerate his father treating him like a wayward child, shouting at him and then appeasing him with a fraction of what was really needed.

And what was it he really needed? What did he need to move on with his life?

"Then who was it?" Adam asked, surprising even himself with how normal he sounded. It was as though he was speaking of events that had nothing to do with him, and, in a strange way, maybe it didn't. Not really. Because he had made his choice; he had left. And Pa had made one of his own: he had let his son go.

Was that not what you wanted? a voice in the back of Adam's head whispered. What you were really wanting all along? Before Laura died, before you took Peggy to Eddie and Aunt Lil, you didn't want to be a grown man employed by your father, living beneath his roof. You wanted something else.

When a grown man lived in his father's house, he still had to adhere to his rules, no matter how few or numerous they were. When a grown man's successes were rooted to the business his father had built, then how could he ever know if he was capable of building something on his own? By his own merit. With his own name. Here he was closer to forty than he was thirty and he had never achieved anything his father had not allowed him to. He had never had anything that had not been given to him by his father or given because of who his father was. Who was he without his father? He was not sure he knew.

It was never his doubt about Eddie or Peggy, what happened in Ohio—this thing that Pa seemed so frightened to even speak of—or what he himself had done that had left Adam hesitant to decide what to do and where to go. It was fear. Every day of his life he had had his father's love and support, an elder to fall back on if need be. It had bolstered his confidence, made him certain and brave. It did not matter what he was facing because he knew that one thing in life would never change. Except for maybe now it had, and maybe now he did not have the one influence that might have made him him in the first place.

Who was he without his father's influence? Who was he without the man who had made him who he was? A man who now seemed to think so poorly of him. Who had cut him down with his horrendous accusations and words? Adam was too old to be allowing such things to affect him so much—he knew that—and perhaps they would not have to, if anyone else in the world had been the one to say them. Their final argument had cut him deeply, left him off kilter, reaching for whatever he could to stabilize himself again. Following Will, he had reached for the wrong thing; he was sure of that now.

"The Pinkerton," Weston began and then tilted his head, "or false Pinkerton, I suppose you could say, is a man by the name of Wallace Merrill. He's a bad dude, wanted in more than a handful of territories for things so terrible it wouldn't be right to speak of them."

"What does that have to do with me? Or Will?"

"You and Will, the two of you share the same last name and you call him your brother, but he's not really your brother. He's not even your friend, not really."

"Then what is he?"

Weston did not immediately reply. "To you, I do not know," he eventually said. "I've been watching the two of you, listening to what you did and did not say. I reckon you thought you were the one hiding behind him. What you do not know is that he was really the one hiding behind you. You shouldn't trust him, and the funny thing is, I don't think you really do."

Adam was not sure what to think about the way Weston was speaking to him, or the things he was saying about Will. He had always been a bit skeptical where his cousin was concerned. Still, he was not certain he wanted to think at great lengths about him. What he had done, or the things he was capable of. How Pa had protected him or why.

"You do not do what I do for a living without honing the ability to see right through people," Weston said. "You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can't lie to me. I see you for who you really are, and I see Will for who he really is, even if you do not want me to. He's not your brother, he can't be. The two of you could not be more different if you tried to be."

"Brothers can be different, not everyone has the same experiences, not everyone turns out the same."

"Maybe, but, generally, where blood is concerned there is a certain level of loyalty and consideration. A man doesn't do to his real brother what Will just did to you."

"And what exactly is that?" Adam asked, his throat constricting. He was neither angry nor upset; it was merely a physical reaction to the frigid and biting early morning air. "What did he do to me?"

"He ran. He abandoned you to face the consequences of his crimes alone."

"His crimes," Adam repeated flatly. "You say that like you're sure he killed that woman."

"I know he killed did, and I know something else that oughta be shared with you, if you think you're in a mind to hear it."

Adam nodded. There was no purpose in avoiding the truth—no matter how hard it may be to speak or hear—and there was no harm in being privy to Weston's suspicions where either Will or he were concerned. It was better to know what one was up against, rather than remaining purposefully blind.

"Merrill, the false Pinkerton," Weston continued, "he was hired by Will. I do not know the purpose of such a thing, but judging by what you said in combination with what Will did last night, then my guess would be he wanted you gone. He wanted to drop you, because you were beginning to get in the way."

"In the way of what?"

"I'm not sure."

"Then how can you say what you are?" Adam challenged. "Why should I believe you? For all I know, you're telling me lies, trying to get me to say or do something wrong so you can shoot me where I stand."

Weston chuckled. "You do not have a good reason to believe me, I know," he said. "That does not change the fact that, deep down, you do. I've been watching the two of you. I know more about you and him than you think. Will is a fraudulent man. I don't think you want to see that, but I think you do."

"Will's freewheeling, occasionally morally bankrupt, that doesn't make him dangerous. It doesn't make him a criminal or a murderer." Adam suppressed a frown; he was not certain why he was defending Will. Maybe it was the threat of the lawman standing in front of him. Maybe it was because Will had run and running never fixed anything; all it ever did was make a terrible situation worse. His cousin was alone now, and because of that so was he.

"He's a dangerous man," Weston said. "He is troubled, that is just a damn fact. He's your adversary, not an ally. The only thing that remains to be seen is what you're going to be to him now that he left you high and dry." Pausing, Weston reached beneath the flap of the saddlebag hung on his shoulder and pulled out Adam's rolled up holster. He held it for a moment, looking in between the gun and Adam, before extending it in offering. "What are you going to do now that I'm declaring you a free man?"

Staring at the gun, Adam was not sure he should take it. Was this a trap? With Will gone, was Weston setting him up now? "You can't just do that," he protested, and he was sure Weston could not. There was a legal process to uphold, a day to be had in court and an outcome for a judge or jury to determine. "That isn't for you to decide."

"Probably not, but I'm still going to."

"Why?"

"Because suddenly I'm not so interested in you."

"Why not?"

"Because you're the one who told the truth to your boss when it really mattered, even though it was bound to cost you everything; you're the one who did the least amount of talking on this trip; and, given ample opportunity, you're not the one that ran."

"You set Will up to run," Adam accused. "It wouldn't have happened if you wouldn't have allowed it."

"That's true. I did do that. So, tell me, what are you going to do? I'm offering you a second chance, you know. You and I both know what's gonna happen if you set foot in the place we were headed for. It's a tough little town, bloodthirsty as hell. They do not really care who killed that gal, they just want somebody to hang. If you do not take this chance, you will die. Will knew that and that's why he ran. So, tell me: what are you going to do?"

Adam stood in place, thinking about everything he was sure he knew and all that he was certain he did not. He had every reason not to care what happened to Will or why. He had every reason to take hold of this second chance and head back to San Francisco and make Eddie his wife—he would do that, eventually, he knew he would. Still, the decision before him was an easy one, because, recent events notwithstanding, he was who he was.

He was Adam Cartwright, determined and dependable, occasionally loyal to a fault, sometimes a little too willing to stick his neck out for the underdog, and a force to be reckoned with if he wanted to be. He did not need his father to make this choice. His father was not a part of this, not anymore, and with or without him, Adam knew there was not any other decision he could make. For the first time in a long time, he knew exactly what he needed to do.

"I'm coming with you," he said firmly. "We'll find him together, or not at all."

"For what purpose?" Weston asked. He did not seem surprised, rather genuinely interested.

"To find him."

"Yeah, for what purpose?"

"To make sure he gets justice." To make sure you stay in line, Adam thought. If Will was truly guilty then so be it, but there was a right way to go about holding a man responsible for his misdeeds and there was a wrong one. He was not certain which Marshal Weston was determined to employ.

"He's only concerned with himself," Weston warned. "History has already proven he isn't going to stick up for you. You sure you want to stick up for him?"

"I am."

Weston was quiet, his expression thoughtful as he looked Adam up and down, seemingly evaluating every detail of the man standing before him and the things he had said. Eventually, he nodded, silently accepting Adam's intentions.

TBC