BEFORE:

Adam found Eddie in their rented room.

Lying beneath the covers on the bed, she rolled over, closed her eyes, and feigned sleep until it claimed her. Temper still flaring, his heart aching with too many competing sentiments to truly identify a single one, Adam refused to crawl in next to her; he spent an uncomfortable, sleepless night on the floor, trying and failing to convince himself that when morning came the events of the afternoon would not change anything between them. When the sun eventually rose, it shined a light on the irrefutable truth he had tried so hard to dismiss during the night.

Everything had changed.

Despite the marriage vows they had finally traded and the depth of the unsolicited love they had always felt for each other, nothing would ever be the same again. They were completely different people now, him with his secrets and she with hers. Adam would have thought the situation poetic, the result of divine will of providence if he believed in such a thing. What was it Pa had said when his sons had been boys, you always reap what you sow? You can only expect to get back what you have given, and if Adam were honest, then he could admit a small part of him had expected his life with Eddie to go awry.

During their relationship, they had spent more time separate than together. It was with his actions that his true desires were declared: he did love the freedom of the open road more than he could ever love her. She knew that—all along she had—and yet she still loved him; she still built a life for him to sporadically return to. Had she always known what he refused to admit to even himself? That each time he had shown his face in her home he had just been passing through? Is that what led her to do what she had, whatever that truly was?

Did the specifics really matter, he wondered, when the result was the same? No, he decided. Specifics would do nothing to calm his anger, his building resentment, his bruised pride and heart.

What did it matter what Eddie had done, was it not enough that she had obviously spoken to Will in the first place? That she had believed him? And worse: that because of this belief she had led Adam blindly here? Well, maybe not quite so blindly; he had been unsettled by her chosen destination from the start. He had known something was wrong; he just had not known what.

Their return trip to San Francisco was quick, quiet, and tense. The enchantment that had existed between them on the first part of their journey disappeared in an instant, leaving a graceless fury and awkward frustration behind. After nearly six years together, it was the first time they had disagreed or fought; neither knew how to negotiate the intensity of this seemingly long brewing storm any more than the other.

"Adam," she tried one day as they rode. No longer clinging to each other, there was a slight distance between them now, a gap that seemed intent on widening a little more each day. "What is it that you are the most upset about? The fact that I took you to Ohio, or that I know about it at all?"

Grunting, Adam did not respond, the distinction seeming a little too important to consider aloud. He was angry about both; still, the trip to Ohio he had consented to, allowing Eddie to know whatever it was she now did about his childhood, however, he had not. If Will had told her about Ohio, then it begged the question of what else he had shared with her. What else did she know that Adam did not want her to?

Was she now privy to the details of his relationship with Laura? The lies the woman's diary had told after her untimely death? The anger and frustration that had divided Adam and his father long before he walked away from his family home? Pa had told him to stay away from Peggy, Will had known this because he himself had told Adam not to. How many of these details had been warped and skewed, to form an untruthful narrative that would serve Will best?

Alongside all these unanswerable questions a series of more menacing ones rose: why was Will back? What did he want? What did he need? Or worse: what did he intend to do?

The letters that Will had long written, the ones Eddie had given him in front of the lake felt heavy in his breast pocket, weighted by a cold, hard truth he did not want to speak of or think about. If Eddie had found these letters, then that meant she had found the one from his father, and if she had found that, then she had found Weston's unfinished list, and the grotesque picture of the deceased woman, too. Adam could not tolerate the trepidation and dread that seemed intent on swallowing him whole. He did not know what would happen once he and Eddie returned to San Francisco, what either of them would eventually say or do. In the interim he sought respite in his extended, steely silence, the one thing he still felt he could control.

Eddie, it seemed, intended to strip that from him as well. "I don't understand," she said sadly. "I don't understand what is so wrong with letting people know you, or letting them love you in spite of your faults or scars?"

"Who said anything about having scars?" he asked gruffly.

She did not immediately answer. "Not you, that's for sure," she whispered, her soft voice becoming lost in the breeze around them. "I said I love you," she added, a little louder this time. "What does any of this matter in comparison to that? So, I talked to your brother, or your cousin, or whatever the hell he actually is, what does that matter in comparison to my feelings for you?"

Minutes passed with no forthcoming reply from Adam. Eddie looked at the landscape surrounding them, her expression etched with conflict.

"What did you think?" she quietly asked. "What did you really think when you arrived on my mother's doorstep years ago with Peggy in tow? Did you truly believe that I knew nothing of your past, who you are and the family you came from, or the relationship you and Laura shared? Did you truly believe that the knowledge I would obtain about these things could only come from you? Laura was my cousin; she and I may have been allotted completely different paths and circumstances in life, but that did not negate our closeness. We wrote to each other, with great frequency, we did. She shared things with me and I with her, and through this I knew who you were, long before we met or you eventually became mine. She wrote to me about your cousin, Will, too, and through this I began to know him as well."

"Not well enough to identify him in person it would seem," Adam grumbled, his aggravation getting the best of him.

"No," she agreed. "Not enough to identify him when he stood in front of me and called himself your brother. You resemble each other, you know. Both of you are tall, dark, handsome…" she trailed off momentarily, adjusting her grip on the reigns clenched in her glove-covered hand. "Before the two of you were betrothed, in her letters, Laura was careful to distinguish you from Frank. She said you were dependable, sturdy, and kind. Although she feared you cared more for Peggy than you ever would about her, she said that if that was the case then she would accept it, because the future you would provide would be worth much more than any rising complication. Being a Cartwright meant something, she said, like long term stability and strength in numbers; she knew that no matter what, she and Peggy would always be taken care of. It wasn't until after the two of you were betrothed that her tone began to shift and the feelings in her heart began to change. She had met Will by then; I don't think she intended to feel anything for him, but the heart wants what it wants; the spirit needs what it needs. That was when her doubt and fear emerged, and, knowing you now, I think yours did as well. Laura couldn't understand you the way that I do, because you were never going to allow her to. She didn't know about how the wilderness calls to you, or how stagnate and claustrophobic remaining in place makes you feel. She didn't know you the way I do, but she had known someone else. Toward the end of your engagement, she began to liken you to Frank. She said your penchant for wandering made her nervous; she worried the only stability your last name would provide her and Peggy would come from your father and not you. When you fell and hurt your back, she wrote that she felt terrible but a part of her was relieved. If you were bound to a limited life because of your injury and she was bound to life beside you, then at least she would never have to wonder where you were."

"Is there a point to this diatribe?" Adam injected, anger simmering in the pit of his stomach.

"Yes. The point is, I know everything, and you pretend like I know nothing. You look at me with fear in your eyes, so threatened by the very notion that I could know anything you don't want me to. You think there are things about the past that will invalidate my feelings for you, but they can't. Because I love you; I have always loved you. People believe that unconditional love doesn't exist between a husband and wife, that it's only something that can be shared by parents and their children. I know that's not true, because that's how I feel about you. I am returning to San Francisco, to our life and children, knowing that neither my feelings for nor my intentions toward you have changed, but I fear something far more important has."

"And what is that?"

"Your perception of me. You want to control what people know about you; I don't know why that's so important to you, but it is. It isn't this trip to Ohio, or Will that is going to change things between us. It's the fact that I know things about you that you don't want me to. You're very good at a great many things, buddy, but being vulnerable, or allowing yourself to truly need anyone is beyond your capabilities. You need to control how people need and love you, because you're afraid of needing and loving them back."

Pressing his lips firmly together, Adam did not confirm or deny the accusation. He held tight to his silence. It was the only steady thing he had left to hold on to as he felt the life he had known begin to slowly slip away from him. It would not be the same now. It simply could not be, too much had happened, too much had changed; he had known that then. It was not until he and Eddie finally returned to the Manfred home in San Francisco that he truly understood why.

Looking unwell and unkept, Lil met them on the porch, her eyes were full of tears and pain as she opened her mouth and said the words that would destroy her daughter and son-in-law both. On the day when Eddie and Adam had stood in front of each other, finally repeating their official marriage vows, there had been a terrible accident.

Charlie was gone; their beloved, beautiful boy was dead.

Falling to rest in a clump on the ground, Eddie's sobs were immediate, her screams guttural, wailing, and desperate. Although he did not react in any outward manner, something inside of Adam changed; he felt his heart crumble and break, leaving a hole in chest so immediately vast and gaping that it promised never to be filled. Neither he nor the life as he had known it and the way he had come to expect it to be would ever be the same. He did not want it to be. How could he?

His son was dead.

He was tortured by the memory of the last time he had returned home. How Charlie had rushed to greet him, his hazel eyes gleaming with excitement, his lips curled into a wide, exuberant smile. Racing through the rain and into his father's orbit, he had nearly fallen. Adam had been there to catch him, saving him from whatever calamitous consequences fate had planned. He had been there to save him, but when his son had needed him the most he had not.

Adam had not been there to catch Charlie again when his son tripped and fell to his death, because he had been somewhere else. Somewhere he had not even wanted to go, someplace he could have gone the rest of his life without visiting again. Logically, he knew the two events were not directly correlated; still, it was a difficult distinction for his heart to make. He had dared return to Ohio and his son had died; Charlie's life had been torn away, a macabre consequence for daring to value the past over the present and the future.

Standing next to his fallen wife on the porch, his eardrums assaulted by the sheer volume of her shrill, tortured screams, Adam was overcome by anger and resentment, hatred toward his cousin—and his wife.

In the days that followed this one, there was little to do. They all did their best to avoid drawing attention to Charlie's glaring absence, something only Peggy and Adam seemed able to do. She threw herself into her studies, declaring to the family a goal of attending a women's college the following year. It was a distraction Adam was thankful for, the sheer monetary cost of such a thing providing ample reason for him to return to the trail. He still had Weston's unfinished list, and he was making a new one that was his own. There was only one name on it and when he found the person to whom it belonged, he would have no need to add another.

If things between Eddie and Adam could have been described as tense prior to their return, then after they were downright strained. Captive to grief and pain, they could have clung to each other, but they pushed one another a way instead, each blaming the other for a tragedy neither could have prevented or controlled. Eddie was vocal with her accusations; she said all manner of horrible things. Adam said nothing at all. And when she finally walked away from him, he did not go after her. Shamefully, he was glad she had left; he was happy she was gone.

Thoughts of finding Will consumed him; his only concern was finding his cousin, making him pay for his sins and lies.

It was a dark and stormy night that found Adam sitting at the kitchen table, his plans illuminated by the dim light cast by an oil lamp burning faithfully, just beyond the documents scattered before him: Weston's list and his own, the photographs of his wife and children, the image of the deceased woman he had been accused of killing back east, and a trio of unopened letters. Two of the letters were intended for him; one was for Peggy. One had been written by his father; the others had been written by Will. Ignoring the former, he reached for the latter, and resigned himself to finally reading what he had avoided for years. There had seemed little point in reading it before, anything his cousin could have written had seemed so irrelevant to the future or his life. Now it seemed much too important to continue ignoring.

Breaking the seal, Adam unfolded the worn paper, cast his gaze upon the faded ink, and began to read. To my brother, Will had penned, please don't hate me for what I am, rather choose to love me for the life I saw fit to give to you. I trust you will take care of Peggy, and that someday, together the two of you will learn to leave the memory of who I was and who I could have been behind. I pray you set yourself free of your father's expectations and your own.

Shaking his head and huffing a deep, furious breath, Adam could not bear to read more. He could barely endure the thought that Will had dared call him his brother, the memory of Eddie's explanation rising from his memory full force: he said he was your brother.

And you believed him, Adam thought disgustedly. And, like a fool, I once believed him, too. Or maybe he had believed in him, rather, as he swiftly cast everything he had once suspected and believed about his cousin aside to follow him around the countryside. So quick to assume his innocence and intending to advocate for his rights, Adam had followed Will's trail in the company of Marshal Weston. He had almost found death at the end of that particular trail; he could not help wondering what he would find at the end of this one.

"You're up awfully late," Lil stated from behind him. Her voice was quiet, calm, and oddly comforting in the face of his thoughts, her sudden presence burning like a beacon of light against the darkness that suddenly surrounded him. "Or awfully early," she added. "Depending on how you want to perceive it, I suppose."

"How do you perceive it?" he asked, watching as she shuffled with slipper-covered feet toward the cabinet to rifle through its contents. Her nightdress was modestly hidden away beneath her matronly robe, her hair pulled up beneath the brim of her sleeping cap.

"I suspect it does not make much difference either way."

Adam suspected she was right.

"The only thing the hour dictates is the type of drink one should consume," Lil continued. "Coffee would reinforce the earliness of the day." Emancipating a bottle of whiskey from the back of the cabinet, she obtained two short glasses, placing all the items on the table before settling into the chair opposite him. "This is going to declare its lateness," she said as she poured them both a hearty amount.

"I don't know if I want that." Adam eyed the glass uneasily. After learning of the death of his son, he had unconsciously avoided engaging himself with such liquids; it was only now that he realized why. "With the way things have been, I'm afraid if I allow myself to begin drinking I may never stop."

"Oh, honey, I wouldn't worry. Stopping has never been a problem of yours, at least not with things like this. It's quitting other things that you struggle with."

"What kind of things?"

"Oh, I'm sure you don't want me to say."

"Yes, I do."

"Okay, then I don't want to say. Let it be, Adam. Please? Everything feels so terrible right now; I'm sure anything I could possibly tell you will only be perceived as a criticism of your character."

The response within itself was an admission, of sorts, as thinly veiled as it was. His inability to deny or shift culpability for any and every bad thing that happened in life was one of the things he could not quit doing; he had always been a little too eager to take responsibility for everything. Holding himself accountable when bad things happened to the people he loved was another behavior he could not relinquish. Even if he never voiced his guilt, it was eternally there.

"You're a good man, Adam," Lil added, refilling her empty glass. "You always have been and you always will be, recent events have not changed that, and nothing that the future can bring will change it either."

"Are you talking about Eddie leaving, or…?"

Mouth closing, he found he could not finish the question. He had trouble finding the strength to say his deceased son's name. Captive to the numbness that accompanied the loss, an odd notion had overcome him, the idea that if he never spoke of his son then he could pretend he was still here. If he left this house, as his wife had, then he would not have to admit he was really gone. If he set his attention on finding and exposing the faults of his cousin then he would never have to sit with or think of his own.

Running, he thought, almost absently. That was another thing to add to the list of things he could not seem to quit.

"I'm talking about Eddie," Lil said. "Lord knows, somebody has to. Peggy won't speak her name and Noah can't. Your reasoning for remaining silent is a bit more obscure; it's difficult to discern whether you can't or won't talk about what she did or why; that is, if you even know why."

"She left because she couldn't remain here anymore," Adam said. "It was too painful for her."

"I'm not talking about that."

"Then what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the reason she took you to Ohio. The reasons she hid Will's presence in San Francisco from you."

"Will was here?" Adam asked. He knew it was a foolish question; of course, Will had been here. How else would Eddie have met him? There was a distinction to be made between where such a thing had actually happened, though. Was here, here? The house where Adam's children resided. Or was here somewhere outside of this house and its walls?

Lil understood what was being asked, though this understanding did not lend to an easily accepted answer. "I don't know," she admitted. "I wasn't there when it happened; I didn't see them meet."

"Then how did you find out?"

"Because Peggy did see them."

"No," he whispered, raising his hands to run them over his face and through his hair. His stomach turned with fury and a swift sickness.

"I don't think Eddie or Will knew they were being overheard. Peggy and Eddie fought bitterly about it afterward. That was how I discovered what had happened and found myself wrapped up in the argument. Peggy was adamant that everything Will had said was a lie; so was I, but Eddie was so overcome, I don't think she knew which one of us to believe. I think she wanted to believe you. You must understand, Adam, Will came here nearly two months before you returned home, and the time that passed in between did what it always does, it filled her full of fear and doubt. You weren't here to explain any of the things he had said. You weren't here at all."

"That's why she asked me to take her to Ohio," Adam deduced. "She wanted me to tell her the truth."

"And did you?"

"No. I was too angry; I was too afraid. I couldn't tell her something I was still trying to hide from myself."

"What was that?"

"That I'm a coward. That I run from things the way my father did."

"I never took your father for a coward."

Adam smiled sadly. "I never said he was. No, that is a distinction that belongs solely to me, or at least I hope it does."

"I never took you for a coward either," Lil said. "A little too righteous at times, a little too stuck in his ways and stubborn, maybe, but not a coward. Never that. No, Adam, you're a hero. You were before and you are now. That's what instills within you a need to run, because your heart is embedded with a somber truth that only heroes know. Running puts distance between danger and the ones that you love. Heroes aren't provided the things allotted to everyone else, simple luxuries like always being with their families and the people they love; the things they are tasked with are often too dangerous to allow such things to be safe. I've known that all along, Adam; I think deep down you've known it, too. You've never run from your life here. Keeping the people you love at a distance isn't running, it's being cautious until you're completely certain that coming back to them is safe. Even if you never understood that, I always did. That's why fairy godmothers are so important; they can easily see what one can't always discern."

"And what is that?" Adam asked, his chest painfully tight with emotion he could not repress. Everything seemed to hinge on the answer to the question, whether he would be forgiven for the past or the present, whether anything in his life would resemble something he wanted ever again. "What can you see that I can't?"

"The people who truly love you always will, no matter the circumstances that tore you apart or the amount of time that passed in between. No matter what happens between you and Eddie, no matter what the future brings, I will always love you. I will always look at you as my son."

Extending her hand, she took hold of one of the photographs on the table. Adam felt a rush of horror as she studied its gruesome details, the realization of what she was seeing making him feel suddenly on unsteady ground. How could he have been so foolish? So easily distracted by the conversation that he forgot to hide something that never should have been allowed to remain on display. Reaching for his glass of whiskey, he drank its contents in one large gulp, then took a deep breath, held it, and awaited condemnation.

It never came.

Turning the photograph over, Lil returned it to the tabletop, and cast him a serious look. "Go after him, Adam," she implored. He did not need to ask who she was referring to. "I know you were already planning to, but I want you to know you have my blessing while you do. You find Will, and you make him pay for everything he did to Laura and Peggy; you make him pay for everything he's done to you."

Adam left Lil in possession of the letter Will had written Peggy, asking her to present it to the teen whenever she saw fit. He gathered the rest of his letters and pictures, and finalized his plans to leave. It was not until he was bidding Peggy farewell that his certainty regarding his intentions began to shift.

"You're not going after Will, are you?" she asked, clinging to him desperately as though she might never let go. "Oh, god, Pa, please tell me you're going after Eddie, instead."

"Where I'm going and what I'm doing when I get there is of no concern to you."

"That's not true. It all concerns me, everything about what's happening is concerning. Eddie is gone and now you're leaving, too."

"I'll be back," Adam assured.

"When?"

"When I've done what I need to do."

"And what exactly is that?"

Adam shook his head. "Don't you worry about it. Do something for me?"

"What?"

"Mind Lil and your grades and look after Noah while I'm gone, and when I get back the three of us will take a trip."

"To where?"

"To that college you want so badly to attend."

"I don't want to go, not anymore."

"I don't believe that."

"Promise that wherever you're going you'll leave Will and the past alone. Promise you won't try to fix anything you didn't have a hand in breaking. Going after him isn't going to make anything better; it's just going to make you worse."

"Peggy—"

"Promise!"

"I promise."

In the moment, he knew he had no intention of adhering to the vow; he wondered if she knew it, too.

It took him three weeks to locate Will; when he finally did, he was as surprised by his cousin's whereabouts as Will was nonplussed by his sudden presence. He found Will in Nevada, of all places, enjoying a casual breakfast in the first-floor dining room of the Carson City hotel. Sinking into the chair on the other side of the small table, Adam cast his gaze upon a man whom he had not seen in years.

While Will looked older, he had not aged terribly. His hair had begun to gray, slight wrinkles had taken up residence around his eyes, and he finally decided to shave the god-awful mustache he had favored years before. The years had been kind to him; he was handsome, exuding a self-assurance and charisma that had proven toxic to so many women who had surrounded him.

"Howdy stranger," Will said companionably, nodding at the plate in front of him. "Are you in the mood for breakfast?"

"No," Adam said gruffly.

"How about a cup of coffee?"

"No."

"Then what are you in the mood for?"

"The truth," Adam said. "What did you tell her?"

"Who?"

"My wife."

"Oh." Chuckling, Will shoved a forkful of egg into his mouth and chased it with a sip of coffee. "I just told her about us, how the two of us were supposed to come up together in Ohio, but then didn't."

"That's it?"

"Of course, that's not it, but I reckon if you want to know the rest then maybe you oughta ask her."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because she's gone."

Fork suspended in the air in front of his mouth, Will stared at him dumbly. "What?" he asked as though the claim was the most unbelievable thing he had ever heard. "No. You're not serious. Man, she wouldn't just do that, not with the way she loves you. What did you do? I mean, you must have done something. Women like that don't just leave."

"It's over, Will," Adam said. He was not speaking of his marriage.

Abandoning his fork, Will reached for his coffee. "Why?" he asked. "Because you've suddenly decided you want it to be?"

"I know what you are," Adam said. "I know what you've done."

Will's casual and cool demeanor endured despite the threat lingering beneath the claim. "And what is that?"

"I know about your fondness for saloon girls."

"Who isn't?" Will asked.

"I know what you like to do to them."

Will smiled. "What? Pay them a fair wage for a few hours of their time?"

"I guess you and I have very different definitions of fair. You may pay them for their companionship, but an evening with you costs them everything."

"My, what a polite way of phrasing something that you find so inherently reprehensible."

"Then you admit to it."

"I admit to fucking them," Will said. Reaching for his fork, he waived it dismissively through the air. "Nothing more, or less. So, how about you admit it?"

"What?"

"The truth. You don't know anything, and you don't have anything. You're fishing for information, something to help you transform your suspicions into fact."

"You killed Marshal Weston, because he knew back then what I know now. And you tried to kill me because you knew he shared what he knew with me."

"Yeah, that's not how I remember that day going down. I mean, even you admit I was there, so it's your word against mine, and you don't have your daddy's shadow to stand in anymore. You don't have his successes to bolster your claims. You don't have the respect of the people in the small town you grew up in. You don't have anything, really. You see, I remember Marshal Weston shooting you. He tried to kill you because you were trying to kill him."

Shaking his head, Adam's patience was wearing thin. "I have no motive for doing that."

Will looked at the badge pinned to his cousin's chest. "Don't you?"

"What?"

"You wanted the badge, because you thought you were a better man than he was. You thought you were more fit for his job; after all, you are so smug and sanctimonious, that does sound like something you'd think."

"Weston thought I was the kind of man suited for this job. He wrote a letter…" Adam trailed off, his frustration transforming into something else as Will erupted into a fit of laughter.

"Man, for someone so smart you sure are stupid. Weston didn't write that letter. He didn't know you from, well, Adam, I guess. He sure as hell didn't pin that badge to your chest when you were unconscious and bleeding out."

No, Adam thought, feeling a rush of cold fear. If Weston did not write the letter or give him the badge then that would mean that he had been falsely appointed. That would mean he had never been a lawman at all; he had been impersonating one, rather. A very real crime that came with steep consequences if it could be proven.

"Then who did?" Lord knows, Adam did not want to ask the question. There was just no reason not to, no benefit in continuing to believe a lie. That was, if it was a lie. If it was or was not, how would he ever really know? And with no evidence to connect Will to any of his crimes, how would he ever be able to stop him?

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Will asked.

"You killed the woman back east," Adam said, not really knowing whether this claim was true, rather hoping instead. "The one in the photograph that I'm going to have to carry around with me for the rest of my life."

"I believe you were the one suspected of killing her," Will said. With his words he denied it, but there was something about the glint in his eyes, a mixture of gratification and pride, that all but confirmed the accusation.

"The only way you could have known about her death is if you were there," Adam said. "The local papers didn't report anything; the constables quietly let me go."

"Of course, I was there. Who do you think procured the room, or paid for that gal? It was your birthday. I wanted to do something nice for you."

"Nice? When have you ever wanted to do something nice for me?"

"I will tell you that neither of those details are going to matter much in a court of law, though. After all, you were the one who woke up next to her body; you were the one covered in her blood; and you were the one who screamed. It was a tragic event, one that in combination with the other two, creates a disturbing story, don't you think? I mean, there was that saloon gal out at the coast; I was there and I was accused, I can't really deny that, but I'm sure once the judge or jury or any lawman worth his salt hears about the woman in Boston, or Laura, they'll believe me over you. You're the one with tendencies, not me. I'm just your cousin. A man who loves you to death and would do damn near anything to protect you, because I didn't really have a family, you see. I was an orphan and my uncle, your father, took me in later in life. I feel a deep sense of loyalty to him because of that, and his deep love for you blinded him to the truth of what you are. He couldn't see you the way that I could. He came close and that's why the two of you had a falling out, and why I've spent the better part of nearly six years trying to find you, so that nobody else would have to get hurt, so that I could get my little girl back. The one that you took from me when you left."

"Is this what you told her?" Adam demanded. "You son of a bitch. You monster." His expression was thunderous, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Jesus Christ, is this the story you told my wife?"

"No," Will said. Pushing back his chair, he stood, and placed a couple of coins on the table to cover the cost of his morning meal. "That's the story I'm going to tell the rest of the world. Virginia City ain't so far from here, Adam. I reckon I'll make the ride and start spreading the word there. Sheriff Coffee never was that fond of me, but your father always was. I figure I'll tell him first, and then he'll sit in on the conversation with the Sheriff. If I were you, I'd start running; I'd stay as far away from this place as I could get."

"Sheriff Coffee won't believe you. Neither of them will."

"I would not be so sure of that if I were you. After all, time has a way of eroding details, but hurt feelings and anger never fade. You and your father fought about Peggy, and Virginia City remembers you as the man who murdered Laura. You're the one in possession of a teenage girl that you kidnapped and a badge that you stole."

Will walked away from him then; the soles of his boots seemed to echo across the floorboards as each step he took brought him closer and closer to the door. Turning in his seat, Adam watched him leave, a horrendous combination of fury and fear turning his stomach with sickness.

What was he going to do to stop Will from reaching his destination and following through with what he intended? Lawfully, what could he do? At that moment, he was painfully unsure, but later he would become certain of something. What he did next was neither lawful nor morally defensible. The fallout of the decision was rippling and far-reaching; it would affect everyone he cared for and come to influence and tarnish every aspect of his life. Looking back, he would not truly understand why he did it; the memory would exist to him as a series of strange, fragmentary images reminiscent of a dream.

Mounting his horse, he followed Will for the last time. When they were a comfortable distance away from Carson and still miles away from Virginia City, a place where the landscape became slightly less arid and barren, the road they were traveling becoming protected by familiar trees, he made his move. His actions concealed by a collection of thick, soaring pines, he pulled his gun and directed his cousin to toss away his side arm and dismount his horse.

Lips curling into a pleased smile, Will complied with the order a little too easily. "Well," he said, "looks like there might be a little bit of a monster lurking inside of you, too."

"Shut up," Adam snapped.

"Why? So you can kill me in silence?"

Looking between his extended gun and his cousin's raised hands, Adam was not sure he knew what he was really intending to do with either. "I don't want to kill you," he said. "But even you know you must be stopped."

"From hurting you."

"From hurting anyone."

"So that's it, huh? You're going to shoot me where I stand and then bury me where someone isn't likely to discover my body? The ends justify the means, or some shit like that. Maybe right now it feels that way, Adam, but trust me, tomorrow it won't. You're too honorable for such a thing to ever sit right on your conscience."

"I said shut up."

"And yet, I'm still talking. You can kill me whenever you want, but you don't get to choose whether I go silently or not. No, if you're going to do this, then you're going to hear me. This isn't you. Think about what you're doing and why, and you'll see that. You're not the kind of man to ever find peace with a mistake like this."

"It isn't a mistake."

"It isn't a good choice, you know that. That's why you're hesitating. A sure man never hesitates, and you're not a sure man, never have been a day in your life. You masquerade around as one, but you and I both know the truth."

"I'm sure!"

"Then why haven't you shot me yet?"

Clenching his pistol tightly, Adam adjusted his aim, and hesitated once more. He simply could not pull the trigger. He could not shoot an unarmed man, taking his life just because he threatened to destroy his own. Expelling a frustrated groan, he hung his head and lowered his gun, shoving it safely back into his holster. Shame overcame him immediately, but as his cousin's laughter filled the air, it was quickly overcome by fury.

"You're such a fucking coward," Will chuckled. "Christ, I've never seen somebody so stupid in my entire—"

He was not given the opportunity to finish the sentence. Adam overtook him furiously, his firmly clenched fist making firm contact with Will's jaw. Will stumbled backwards, the force of the assault nearly knocking him off his feet. He was given no time to recover before Adam was advancing upon him again. Guns forgotten, the pair fought intensely and viciously, each hitting the other with enough force that their vision swam and their bodies swayed. Time seemed to cease to exist as years of pent-up frustration, anger, and hatred finally made themselves known, bloodying their fists and faces, leaving their lips busted and bodies bruised.

Eventually, Adam claimed the upper hand; knocking Will off his feet, he sat heavily on his cousin's chest and doled out one brutal punch after another. He was so outside of himself that he did not know when Will stopped fighting back. He did not know how long he continued before he finally realized what he was doing, and what he had done. Pulling back his bloodied hands, he looked down at his cousin in horror. Will had long become unconscious, his face battered and unrecognizable beneath all the wounds and blood.

No, Adam thought, his horror overwhelming him. What had he done? Will could not be dead; he did not want him to be dead. He had not wanted to kill him; he had only intended to prevent him from killing anyone else.

Crawling off his cousin, he stood up clumsily, lifted his hands, embedded his fingers into his hair, and expelled a deep-chested scream that seemed to continue indefinitely, its intensity and volume rising tandem with the pounding of his heart. When it finally ended, he stood immobile, unwanted tears gathering in his eyes as he choked on his gasping breaths.

"Adam Cartwright?"

Eyes widening, Adam was so taken aback by the familiar voice, so anxious to look upon the person it belonged to that he turned swiftly around, nearly lost his footing in the process as he found Sheriff Roy Coffee assessing him from a few paces away.

"Oh, my lord," Coffee said, clearly awestricken as he stepped closer. "Boy, it is you." He eyed the badge pinned to Adam's chest. "Well, look at you, a U.S. Marshal. Your Pa will be so pissed off, but I have to say I am downright pleased. You are suited for such a thing." He glanced at the unconscious, unrecognizable man on the ground. "Who's that?"

Shaking his head in an overwhelmed fashion, Adam did not answer the question. As his sobs overtook him, the only thing he was capable of was clinging to the sheriff as the elder man pulled him into his arms. He was not sure why he was crying or for who. Maybe his tears were for Charlie, Eddie, or himself. Maybe he was crying for all of them. Maybe he was crying because he no longer knew what else to do. His anger had left him; the only thing he had left to hold on to was pain.

TBC