NOW:

Peggy was crying.

No, not just crying, Ben thought. Sobbing. Legs pulled up on her chair, she hugged her knees close to her chest, her breaths coming in sputtering, sporadic gasps. She was inconsolable. It was heart wrenching to listen to. Still, no one tried to hush or comfort her; they could no more ease her worry than they could their own.

Collecting in the small sitting room in front of Doc Martin's office, Ben Cartwright and his three sons had gathered alongside Lil, Peggy, and Noah to sit and wait. Wait to hear that everything was going to be alright, or that nothing would be quite okay ever again. Wait to hear if Adam was going to live, or wait to hear he was going to die.

"He won't die," Jamie said, his voice soft but firm as he stood in front of the group and voiced his unyielding belief. "He didn't die before. He's not going to die now. Nobody can kill a hero. He's gonna live, because a hero is never supposed to die."

But sometimes they do, Ben thought sorrowfully. He could not challenge his son's claim, or shake his conviction. Not when it was one he desperately wanted to believe in himself.

"W-will you s-shut up with t-that?" Peggy sobbed. Through her tears she cast Jamie a look of rebuke.

"I'm just trying to help," Jamie said somberly.

Standing, Ben extended his hand, grasped Jamie's arm, and pulled him to sit beside him. "We know," he whispered as he settled his arm around the boy's shoulders and held him close. Deep down they all knew which scenario was the most likely, he thought. It was why they were so worried about the injured man in the other room, and the small-town doctor's abilities to save his life.

"This shouldn't have happened," Joe said to no one in particular. "Things never should have been allowed to get this bad."

"Come on, Joe," Hoss said gravely. "You know Adam has never been one to talk about his problems."

"Is that supposed to make it better?" Joe scoffed.

"No," Hoss said. "It's just supposed to be true."

"Gentleman," Lil interjected. Cradling Noah close to her chest, she looked between the pair with pleading eyes. "Can we not debate how things should have been, when we are not yet sure how they currently are?"

Hoss and Joe closed their mouths, their gazes falling helplessly upon the floorboards. Ben wanted to add to what Lil had said. He wanted to say something that would be perceived as wise enough to comfort the group, but he could not think of anything. He could not conceive of uttering so much as a word.

Joe was right: what happened should not have been allowed to. Hoss was right too: Adam never had been one to talk about his problems—as much as sometimes he needed to. And just who exactly do you think he should have spoken to about this? a voice in Ben's mind whispered. You?

The truth that followed was no less grieving than the harsh inquiry.

No, Adam would not have spoken to him about the complications he was experiencing with the Virginia City townsfolk. He would not have gone to him for help or advice, because Ben had not supported him when Adam had become sheriff of the town. In fact, Ben had made his position on the matter quite clear. The day Adam stood in front of the town council as Roy Coffee's chosen man, he voted against Adam becoming sheriff; he had gone out of his way to make things more difficult for Adam than they ever needed to be. As time passed, he had no inclination that he was not the only one who was making things difficult for Adam.

There had always been whispers about Ben Cartwright's oldest son. Beginning the day Laura Dayton and Will Cartwright had become engaged, they endured throughout everything that followed, escalating in popularity and seriousness. People said the nastiest things when they thought their words could not be overheard by an unfriendly ear. They were downright cruel when they believed the people they were gossiping about would never become privy to what they were saying. They rarely thought about the consequences of their statements. What an ignorant auditor could or would do if the confabulations were mistakenly believed.

Well, Ben thought bitterly, now they knew. Now, they all knew.

It was Billy Buckley who had come to the Ponderosa that evening, leaping from the back of his horse, he had run to the door of the house, pounded on it, and bellowed for someone to answer. The family had been in the middle of dinner; Ben and his three sons had looked among themselves, their faces etched with confusion and alarm, as they rose from their seats.

Opening the front door, they had found Billy standing on the other side, his breath coming in quick, exhausted gasps. "You're here," he had said, casting Ben a panicked look. "You have to come into town. Oh, God, you have to come right now."

"What's wrong, Billy?" Ben had asked, though somewhere deep inside of his heart he knew. Something bad had happened. Why else would the man in front of him have come? There was dried blood smeared on Billy's hands, wet blood clinging to his shirtsleeves, neither of which had come from his own body.

"Someone shot the sheriff," Billy had said. "Oh, God, Mister Cartwright, I'm so sorry. Someone shot Adam."

"How bad is it?" Ben had asked insistently, fear clenching his heart.

"Bad," Billy had said. "Really bad."

And it was bad, as evidenced by the entire extended family sitting vigil, anxiously waiting for news. News of something good. Of something worse. Of something other than what they currently knew. They did not know a lot about what had taken place; Adam had been in the sheriff's office alone, and Peggy had been the one to find him. Ben had his suspicions, however; he had his guilt. Adam had not been shot down in a fight—fair or otherwise. Someone had gone gunning for him. They had shot him and they had disappeared, leaving the Virginia City sheriff to die and a single word written on the wall behind the desk: murderer. The author had penned the accusation using Adam's blood which had pooled on the floor; though there had been enough blood to compose an entire paragraph, a single word was all the perpetrator had intended to say. It was more than enough.

"What if he does die?" Peggy whispered heartbrokenly. Her sobs had ebbed but her tears continued, streaming down her raw and reddened cheeks. The question seemed to be intended for no one and everyone at the same time.

Cringing, Ben shook his head, struggling to dismiss the horrific thought. Adam was not going to die. He simply could not. Not now. Not ever, if his father had anything to say about it. He looked at Peggy, his gaze trailing the distance between the blood staining the knees of her jeans and the front of her shirt. There was blood on her hands too, on her face, and in her hair. It seemed in her panic, she had unconsciously smeared it around. There would be no salvaging her outfit; there would have been no preventing her clothes from being stained anyway.

Kneeling on the floor next to your dying Pa was an automatic reaction; the last thing one ever thought about was saving their clothes, not when the thought of saving someone else was all that could be considered. Then after, when Peggy had run to Roy Coffee for help, she hadn't thought not to touch her face or hair. And now, caught up by the horror of the moment they were in, no one had thought to assist her in cleaning up.

Ben simply could not sit and look at the blood any longer. Hand falling from Jamie's shoulder, he stood.

The front door opened. Roy Coffee stepped inside, and nodded at Ben. His expression was solemn, but his eyes gave away his internal turmoil. He was as upset about Adam as any of them—maybe more, considering he was the one who had brought him back and handed him his post, entrusting him with the office in which he had been shot.

"Ben," Coffee said quietly. "Can you take a step outside, please?"

Looking at Hoss, Ben tilted his head at Peggy. "Son, will you please find some water and a towel to help her clean up? She shouldn't have to sit here like that."

"Sure, Pa," Hoss said.

Ben transferred his attention to Joe. "I'll be back shortly," he said. "You let me know if anything changes while I'm gone."

"Of course," Joe said.

Grasping Jamie's shoulder, Ben squeezed in what he hoped was a comforting manner, and then he followed his friend outside. They were quick to pull the door closed behind them, and then slow to speak. They looked at each other, both knowing there was so much they could say and nothing that would be of any real help.

"I'm so sorry, Ben," Coffee said. "I really am."

"Don't be sorry," Ben said. "Just tell me what happened."

"I can only tell you what I think happened, because I wasn't there."

Ben was beyond making such distinctions. He was certain that, given his friend's experience, if anyone could venture an educated guess about what happened to Adam or why, it was Roy Coffee. Of course, he could make a few educated guesses of his own, but that was beside the point right now, because right now all he wanted to know was what Coffee suspected and knew, and what he was going to do with such information.

"There's an ugliness to this town," Coffee said, interpreting Ben's silence as an invitation to continue. "It looks nice enough on the surface, but if anyone happens to look beneath that, or is unfortunate enough to have these folks turn on them, then they know the truth. Adam, he knew the truth, and that's why he did not want to come back here when I asked him to. I'm sorry, Ben. I know you said not to say that, but I can't help it, because what happened here tonight is ultimately my fault. I asked your son to come back; I gave him my badge, and by doing so, I put a target on his back. Adam was worried about the past coming back up. Of someone taking issue with it and him and doing something stupid. It wouldn't happen, I told him. There ain't no limit to the number of things people can forget over the course of six years. People move on, and their memories fade. Just because you remember something that does not mean those around you will. Just because you care about how something was said or done, that don't mean anyone else does. I said those things to him, because I suppose I thought they were true. Of course, now I know they ain't really true. Some do forget, but others always remember everything we don't want them to. Some people around here don't remember Adam at all, or they never really knew him to begin with. There are others that think with the way he left, so sudden like and taking Peggy with him, that he was running from something he did. They believe he never took kindly to Will stealing the life he was meant to have. They believe the story Laura Dayton wrote in her diary was true."

"They believe Adam killed Laura," Ben said flatly. There was no point in dancing around common knowledge where the gossip surrounding Adam was concerned. "Because she supposedly fell pregnant during their affair. They say he couldn't stand the thought of having his cousin raise his child, so he killed both Laura and their unborn baby."

He paused, disgust overcoming him as he resigned himself not to give voice to more of the treacherous story. It was difficult to be privy to what people said. It was nearly impossible to repeat those same things aloud. They weren't true. Ben had known that back then, and he knew it now. No matter what had happened between him and his son, he would never accuse Adam of adultery, or murder. Of laying with a woman before marriage, yes. But what man or boy who had reached a certain age had not done that? At the time he had accused his son of such he had been furious, afraid, disappointed, and sad; he had wanted so much more for Adam than the road his son seemed intent on choosing.

"They think all those things," Coffee said, softly continuing the story Ben had begun. "Because of what Laura wrote about Adam in her diary. They think the so-called-truth contained inside of it was what led him to leave when and how he did."

"They think I made him leave," Ben corrected despite his determination otherwise. "That I disowned him, because I believed the same things they do." He paused, finding himself unwilling to continue once more. Wiping an exhausted hand over his face, he felt a surge of sick sadness, a wave of despair that could not be ignored.

From the evening Adam had reappeared, striding into the Cartwright home as though he had never left, Ben had known the truth: nothing Adam could say or do would ever be enough to make the past right. Not for his father, or his family, but for the community that surrounded them. The Virginia City townsfolk still had their opinions, the state of the sheriff's office, the bloodstained floorboards and the word written on the wall declared it to anyone who ventured a glance. It wasn't safe for Adam to be here. It wasn't wise for him to come home.

"It's a hell of a tale when you really think about it," Coffee said. "Don't matter how many times I hear it, the roles of the characters always seem so mismatched. Imagine it, Ben, a world in which your nephew, Will, is a hero and your oldest son is the villain, a world where Adam was actually responsible for such things."

Ben shook his head. He would not dare. He knew Coffee knew more about Will than he was saying, and he himself knew more than he wanted to share.

"Before he came back, Adam and I talked a lot about that diary," Coffee continued. "We talked a lot about the past too, what people thought years ago, the things some of them could still believe and how things like that can hurt a man if he's not careful with how he deals with them. Adam was nervous about coming back; he did not want to. He said it felt a little like courting trouble, in more ways than one. That boy had been a marshal for damn near six years, I told him that if a job like that wasn't courting trouble, then I didn't know what was."

He chortled cheerlessly as he appraised the buildings lining the quiet street.

"This was supposed to be safer than that. Everything was supposed to be so much easier than what it turned out to be, because looking at Adam before I convinced him to come back, I knew everything in his life was hard. I supposed it ain't no secret I've always had a certain level of fondness for that boy. I didn't have any children of my own. I didn't have a son to follow in my footsteps. But if I did, I would want my boy to be just like yours. You should have seen him, Ben. You should have seen your boy, Adam, the way I saw him. With his wife long gone and his oldest son just laid in the ground. He was a wreck, a shadow of the boy I'd watched grow into a man, so grief-stricken and lost. Months ago, I told you I'd asked him to come back here because I saw an opportunity to fix something that was broken. It wasn't your family I was talkin' about. It was your boy. It was Adam I was trying to fix. It was him I was trying to help, and now—"

Pausing, Coffee was visibly pained.

"And now," he repeated thickly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, "look at where my help has gotten him. This is my fault. Every last bit of it. I should have burned that damn diary the day he gave it back to me, but I didn't. With Adam being gone for so long, I didn't exactly look after it the way that I should have either. I had it in the drawer of my desk, hidden at the very bottom. I didn't think much of it being there. In fact, I didn't really think of it at all until this evening when I went looking for it and it wasn't where it should have been."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that the diary went missing. I'm saying that after speaking to some of the townsfolk, asking after Adam and such, I have reason to believe that it's been making rounds. I should have suspected it earlier, but I didn't. I didn't know, but now I think maybe Adam did. Remember the day you came into town before Noah and Peggy arrived? The one where you came upon Adam in the office; he was acting confused-like because he had the bottle broken over his head."

"He had broken up a saloon fight."

"There wasn't a saloon fight," Coffee said grimly. "Although, the dudes that teamed up on him had been drinking their fair share of booze. Looking back, that was the first real hint that something nasty was afoot. That people were starting to remember what we all hoped they would forget. There's been other fights, the occasional snide comment whispered beneath somebody's breath, a person or two who don't want to take direction from Adam because of what they think happened, and a few others who think he shouldn't be allowed to be sheriff at all. I know Adam hasn't exactly been forthcoming with you, and I'd catch hell from him if he knew I was telling you this, but there don't seem to be much point in keeping it hidden now. It wasn't help with the kids he needed when he asked you to come sit with them. He needed you close; he needed that formidable shadow you cast to envelope him again, so that people would think twice about messing with him. No, sir, nothing about anything has been easy for Adam as of late, and now things are a whole lot worse. Forgive me, Ben, for what I did here, for what I didn't know before and what I don't know now. I don't know who shot Adam," he admitted. "I don't know who took his blood and wrote that word on the wall. I do know that Adam didn't draw against whoever shot him. His gun was still in his holster; he didn't even try to defend himself."

Ben was aghast. He could not comprehend Adam doing such a thing—or not doing such a thing, rather. Since the day he was old enough, he had always advocated for himself, and for others. Something inside of him had always given him the strength to stand tall and strong.

I'm not the man you once knew, Adam's previous words rose from Ben's memory to taunt him. Adam had said his current behavior could not be judged based on how he was in the past. He had said that coming back was not an act of bravery and that he was a runner just like his father. But if that was the case then what was he running from? And why would current circumstances be deemed better than San Francisco? His brow furrowed with intense thought as a new question awoke: was coming back better, or safer? If that was the case then safer for whom? For Adam? Or his children?

Adam wanted to see Peggy educated; he wanted her to go to school. What did he want for Noah? What was the future he saw for his son? Coffee had said Adam had been worried about the tone of the town he was walking back into. He had known the dangers of coming back to Virginia City. Still, he had come, and he brought his son with him. Peggy was an unforeseen complication; Adam had not sent for her. He had expected her to remain where she was until she went to school. But she had not done that.

And upon his return Adam had made no effort to pursue a relationship with his father; he had kept his brothers at arm's length. Still, he had invited Ben into his home to forge a relationship with his grandson. He had wanted Noah to become familiar with his grandfather.

I didn't want to come back here, Adam had said.

Then why did he? And why did he bring Noah with him? And why did Lil follow them?

Adam did not want to talk about the past, that much was clear, but he did not spend any time speaking about the future either.

We're not that different, you know, Adam had said, time and time again. Oh, God, Ben's mouth fell agape. Ohio, he thought.

Is that supposed to threaten me? The memory of Adam's curt response to the word circled in his head. Because it doesn't. Maybe at one time it might have, but it doesn't. Not anymore.

Then what does it do? Ben wondered, silently repeating a question he had already asked.

Nothing you want it to, I'm sure, Adam's words stood out in his mind, rising above everything else he had said. Turns out, I'm a runner just like you.

No, Ben thought immediately. It just could not be. It would not be. If Adam really knew the truth about what had taken place in Ohio, then he would not be allowed to become privy to his father's mistakes only to repeat them.

"Pa?" Joe asked from the doorway behind them. Coffee and Ben looked at him in unison, their expressions mirroring the seriousness etched on his face. "Doc just came out of the backroom. He needs to talk to you."

Laying eyes on Doc Martin, Ben found the man's expression grim. Cleaning his hands on a towel, he looked between the members of the family before eventually looking back at Ben. "The bullet entered near Adam's lower abdomen, exited near his spine," he said quietly. "I was able to close his wounds and hamper the bleeding," he said. "Even so, the situation remains very delicate. He's lost a lot of blood."

"But he's going to be okay," Jamie said. "Right?"

Tilting his head, Martin looked at the boy regretfully. "I don't know," he admitted. He cast Ben a serious look. "Though I would not advocate moving him, given what happened, I do not think it's safe for him to remain here. Someone wanted the sheriff dead enough to shoot him once; once word gets out that he's still alive, I would not be surprised if someone emerges to finish the job, and given the weight rumor holds in this town, I would expect the folks around here to get riled. Given the past, I'm not sure what side they will stand on, what, or who they'll decide to protect. Trust me when I say moving him is a risk, but keeping him here is a much bigger one."

It was an impossible decision, each choice promising complications and heartache. Even so, there was no question in Ben's mind of what should be done.

"Hoss, Joe," he instructed, "head back to the ranch and bring the buckboard—"

"But, Ben," Lil helplessly tried as Peggy's sobbing was renewed. "You heard the doctor, moving him—"

"We're getting your brother out of this town. We're taking him home where he can be safe," Ben finished firmly. He was going to do what he had failed to do six years ago when the very first whispers about Adam, Laura, and Will began to emerge. He was going to do whatever was required to protect his oldest son from anyone and anything—including himself.

TBC