Author's Notes

Here we go, another long and slightly different chapter. I have to say another thanks to you all, members and guests, for reviewing and sharing your thoughts on the story, I really love reading them. I never expected this.

(For "A Reader", thank you for your very generous compliments and for the in-depth review you wrote for chapter 14. It gave me a good idea about what things are working in my story and writing, and I appreciate that very much.)

Chapter 16

Smoke. There was nothing but thick, black smoke. No sun, no sky, no ground, only the sound of guns and canons, horses and men screaming. He stumbled through the dark fog, his feet constantly getting caught on God knows what and he was terrified of losing his balance completely—of ending up sprawled out down beside them—of being unable to find his way back up. Go, charge, forward, he thought. Or maybe he shouted it. His brain was trying to get his legs to move faster but everything seemed so slow, like he was running through water and the smoke was so huge, so stifling he didn't even know if his body was still in one piece because he could see absolutely nothing. The only feeling that existed was numbness.

God, he hated the smoke.

But there was one thing he hated even more, and that was the smell. It was a unique blend of black powder, iron and blood, an odor that burned his nostrils and made bile rise in his throat. When talking about war, most people shuddered at the thought of the grisly sights of the dead lying strewn about the battlefield or the sound of the screams coming from the suffering wounded, drifting up across the defeated grounds. But one thing that could never be imagined by those who hadn't been in battle, was the smell. The stench of war and of death.

It was just a dream, and he knew it. But there was no way out of it, it was impossible to wake up and he kept moving forwards, his feet stepping down onto soft, rolling lumps because by now, he'd given up on trying to avoid them—there were just too many. All of a sudden, a clearing appeared up ahead and there was the sound of a horse whinnying in panic. It came galloping into the clearing and he saw that something was badly wrong with it because the animal had no face. He looked up at the rider and knew who it was immediately, the blue eyes boring into him with the sharpness of a bayonet.

This was his chance. He wanted to say how sorry he was, but those blue eyes were cold and unforgiving, and he realized that words were useless now. It was too late. Everything burned; his eyes, his nose, his throat, it even felt like the smoky air was on fire when he sucked in a scorching mouthful. But the rider's eyes were merciless, and he couldn't look away from them. It was awful when the blue irises turned liquid and trickled down the rider's cheeks like tears, leaving behind only white around tiny black pupils. It was even worse when green replaced the blue, and when the blond locks turned chestnut brown.

He instinctively moved forward towards the familiar form atop the faceless horse. These eyes were so familiar, he could cry as he gazed into them. He'd known them since they first opened and he had been one of the very first things they'd ever seen in the world. But suddenly they stared at him with that same infinite sadness and blame as the blue ones had just seconds before and in his panicking mind, he knew that no amount of begging would ever earn him the forgiveness he didn't deserve. When the rider turned his horse around, a strangled shout escaped his mouth, but the rider ignored him and set off at a mad gallop back towards the gunfire and canons. He could only watch in complete horror as the beast's legs suddenly broke all at once in grotesque angles and the rider went flying, landing somewhere in the fog with a dull thump. A howl of intense sorrow was caught in his lungs, and he ran, tumbled forward to where the horse lay on its side. He stared down at the rider, the neck twisted horribly, those green eyes glazed over and dead to the world, the unruly locks tangled and messy with blood. The worst thing about the sight though, was the slow smile spreading across the white lips.

"You hear what I said? . . . Adam?"

Hoss put a careful hand on his brother's shoulder and Adam immediately jumped, dropping the rope he was holding.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle ya none . . ."

"It's okay Hoss. I just wasn't paying attention."

With a tired sigh, Adam bent down to pick up the rope and placed it on the table by the chuckwagon. Wiping the sweat off his brow with his forearm, he turned to his sibling.

"What were you saying?"

"It weren't important, I just can't wait for this chore to be over." Hoss squinted up at the sun, his face flushed and glistening. "I swear, it's too dang warm to be working with them tenacious horses. And with Joe being so hot under the collar all the time . . . that sure ain't helpin' matters."

"Yea, I know," Adam said, reaching for his canteen on the table. "That's why I sent him back to the house to pick up some supplies, I thought a little break would do him some good."

"Well, he got back a little while ago, but he seemed just as cranky." Frowning, Hoss studied his older brother, not liking what he was seeing. "I came over here to see if ya needed some help checkin' out them strays we found."

"You mean you came over to check up on me."

There was neither humor nor annoyance in Adam's statement, and he took a swig of his canteen, working the water around his mouth before spitting it out onto the dusty ground.

"You sure you're all right?" Hoss asked, not bothering to hide his concern now. "You've earned yurself a break, there ain't no need to push on like this."

"For the twentieth time, I'm fine." Adam clapped him on the back, then quickly changed the subject. "How's it coming along with those horses?"

Hoss' frown grew and turned just a little exasperated. It didn't seem like Adam noticed it though because he was watching the herd of strays, his manner distracted again.

"It's lookin' just fine. Sammy got the first three of 'em broke and Joe is about to try that black stallion he caught out by Silver Creek. Little brother ain't hardly gonna be able to sit down for sup—"

"Did you say he's gonna ride the black one?"

Adam was already moving in the direction of the corral, his gait quickening when he spotted Joe talking to some cowhands in the distance.

"Uhm, Adam . . ." Hoss hurried after him. "Is somethin' wrong?"

No reply came. In fact, Adam hadn't even taken in the question. All he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears and he headed straight for Joe, feeling completely detached from everything and everyone else around him. He couldn't let this happen. Not again.

When he came to a stop beside his youngest brother and the hands, he licked his dry lips and then calmly interrupted Joe mid-sentence.

"We're waiting with the black one. You're not riding him today."

There were a number of reasons why things went as wrong as they did. Obviously, Adam's less than tactful way of approaching the matter would have rubbed his hot-tempered sibling the wrong way on any day, but on this particular one, Joe was exceptionally thin-skinned and touchy. Those two factors proved to be quite an explosive combination.

"Oh yea? I don't see what my horse has to do with you, Adam. I'm riding him."

The three cowhands glanced uncomfortably at each other and Hoss looked back and forth between his two siblings with a wrinkled forehead.

"I just told you that you're not riding him, he's too wild. That's the end of it," Adam said firmly. "Either come and help me or do some fence mending."

"Why don't you just stay out of my business?!" Joe turned his body fully towards his brother and his top lip curled up, revealing a glimmer of white teeth. "I caught him, he's my horse and I'll break him when I want to."

"I'm not interested in arguing with you, Joe. If you don't agree with my decision, go and take it up with Pa. But right now, out here—I am still the one in charge."

"You don't get to decide how I handle my own horse!"

Hoss visibly cringed at the crossed arms and indifferent pose Adam struck, knowing how much it triggered their younger brother and the three cowhands discreetly moved away from the escalating confrontation.

"I don't know what's bothering you lately, little brother but I'm tired of you acting like a baby. Maybe you need another ride back to the house to cool off."

Joe took a step closer to Adam, his voice coming out as an angry snarl. "You're the one who's always in a mood around here! You should be taking a ride back to the house, and you shouldn't come back until you're fit to be around other people again!"

Adam looked as if he'd been slapped in the face and his mouth slowly fell closed. A flicker of hesitation flashed in Joe's eyes because he hadn't actually meant the words in that way, but hearing them out loud outside of his own head—he was very aware of how bad they sounded. And of the deeper meaning Adam would be reading into them.

"You want us to bring him in, Joe?"

A cowhand who clearly had no idea what was transpiring had called out the question from where he stood with some other men by the bucking chute. Joe didn't want to hurt his brother, but he was angry and embarrassed over being talked to in such a demeaning way in front of the men, so he replied with a call over his shoulder.

"Yea, bring him in!"

He began to turn around and Adam finally shook himself from his stupor. Seeing the stallion kick and buck savagely as it was forced into the bucking chute sent a cold rush of fear running through him and the images from the sickening nightmare he'd had in the night replayed before his eyes. In something close to desperation, he reached for Joe's arm.

"Joe wait, you are NOT riding that horse, I'm ord—"

"You're what, Adam?!" Joe swung back to him. "You're ordering me?! Well, you're not in the army anymore, remember? You got no cause to order me or anyone else around! It's about time you got that through your thick granite head."

He shrugged Adam's hand away and stomped over to the bucking chute, leaving his oldest brother standing there speechless. For the second time within minutes, he startled when a cautious hand touched his back.

"Easy Adam, he knows what he's doing. Joe is the dadburned finest horse-breaker we got . . . let's you and me go and sit down in the shade for a while, okay?"

"No . . ."

Hoss looked on in worry as Adam walked with a bit of a stumble to the corral fence. He leaned on the top rail, staring at Joe and the black horse, a dazed expression stuck to his colorless face. Joe carefully lowered himself onto the horse's back and he pressed his lips together into a tight line before giving the hands a nod. When they opened the chute, the stallion leaped out and it was definitely one of Joe's wildest rides. The beast bucked, kicked and sprinted around—fighting with everything it had to remove the unfamiliar weight from its back. Joe moved his own body to balance out the animal's wild motions as the sweat poured down his temples and the cowhands gave shouts of encouragement, all of them filled with admiration for the young man's skill. Adam was gripping the top rail of the fence so tightly that Hoss half expected the wood to splinter into a hundred pieces. There were a few close calls where Joe only barely stayed on the horse, but he managed to curve his body and stayed in the saddle each time the stallion jumped. After a while, everyone could see that most of the fight was out of the animal and Joe began to relax as the bucking slowly ceased. When the horse finally stopped, there were cheers from the cowhands and Joe wore a broad smile as he stroked the horse's pulsing neck. Hoss didn't add his own applause to his younger brother's accomplishment—he was too caught up in trying to discern the odd look on his other sibling's face.

Adam stepped away from the fence. Even though Joe looked happy and proud and was—most importantly—unharmed, the only thing Adam could see was that vision of his baby brother lying on a bed of smoke, his neck broken, his eyes unseeing and that awful, twisted smile on his lips.

"Adam?"

"Just . . . give me a couple of minutes, Hoss."

He walked back towards the chuckwagon and gradually managed to regain some control over his thoughts, fragile as it was. After the night, and day he'd had so far, the last thing he'd needed was Joe's temper released onto him. He ended up by Sport where the big chestnut was standing in the shade of a tree. The white muzzle bumped his shoulder and he absentmindedly rubbed it, waiting for the gruesome images to return to their hiding place in the back of his mind. A while later, he heard someone approaching from behind him, but he couldn't really blame his brother—more than just a couple of minutes had definitely gone by. He spun around and spoke before Hoss had a chance to even open his mouth.

"I'm gonna head back to the house. Plenty of work to do there, a couple of things need fixing in the barn. It looks like you can handle everything here."

Walking around to Sport's left side, he mounted up and Hoss came closer.

"Adam, what Joe said . . . he didn't mean it the way it sounded, ya gotta know that."

"Didn't he, Hoss?"

The challenge in his voice made Hoss' head drop.

"I reckon he's just sore about things not goin' so well with Maisy and all. Ya know how he gets."

"It's not just that and you know it." Adam's sight drifted to the corral where Joe was getting ready to mount another bronco. "Anyway, that fight wasn't his fault. At least not entirely his fault. Maybe he's right. Maybe I'm not fit to be around regular folks anymore . . ."

That last sentence hung dangling between them, scraping against the boundaries of some forbidden ground. Hoss' eyes shot to him sharply. "What do ya mean by that, Adam?"

The time it took before Adam answered was unnervingly long. "Oh, nothing." He shook his head. "Just forget it."

He nudged Sport and moved out of the shade. "I'll see you later. Keep an eye on him, hmm?"

Hoss only nodded, and watched his brother ride off until the last bit of him had disappeared. The big man certainly wasn't pegged as being the smartest of the Cartwrights, but he was much more perceptive than people gave him credit for. He had an idea about the private struggle raging inside his older brother—on some level he had known about it for weeks. But he'd held out a hope that with time, Adam would settle back in his old life and he still longed for things to be the way they had been before the war. He still believed that Adam could be happy and find peace on the Ponderosa, but he feared that the thing which hindered that from happening was deeply embedded somewhere in his brother's own mind.

By the time he'd plodded back to the corral, Joe had finished breaking his second horse and was leaning back against the enclosure's fence, swallowing down a large gulp of water from his canteen.

"So, where did the captain go?"

His pronunciation of the military rank was underlined with sarcasm, but Hoss just responded in his usual calming manner.

"Back to the house. Don't ya think you were a mite hard on 'im?"

"Well he shouldn't have stuck his nose in where it doesn't belong!"

"You know Joe, the way I see it, older brother has missed out on four years of 'stickin' his nose in where it don't belong' and I reckon we can't hardly blame him for making up for that now."

It was simple and straight to the point like only Hoss could say it and Joe's attention turned to the canteen he was holding.

"Anyways, he wasn't just trying to rile you, seemed to me that he was real worried about ya, can't say that I know why. I guess he's just havin' one of them off-days again."

That information made Joe wince and he soon released a low mumble.

"I didn't mean what I said. At least not the way he probably took it . . ."

"I know that, shortshanks. Told him so too. But I think he has gotta hear it from you."

Joe was quiet, wishing he had cooled off enough to say the things that needed saying before Adam had ridden away.

"You okay, Joe? Ya seem like there's a lot goin' on in that mind of yours lately. Things ain't working out so well with Maisy, huh?"

Massaging the back of his neck, Joe gave into his brother's gentle questioning, knowing he had been a bit of a bear to be around for the last couple of days.

"No, I guess not. She's been talking about marriage and those kind of things. It's just that the more I've gotten to know her . . . now it's like I'm not so sure anymore that I love her that way . . ."

"Well, if you ain't sure, I reckon you got your answer right there."

A faint smile made it to Joe's face. "You're getting pretty wise in your old age, you know that, you big galoot?"

"You just watch who you're callin' old." Hoss grinned and smacked Joe on the shoulder with exaggerated force. "Now, are you gonna do some more work, or are we gonna stand here yabbin all day?"

Hours later in the afternoon, Madeline was wandering along the riverbank at Silver Creek. It had become a somewhat regular engagement on Fridays, she would ride out in a surrey to the Ponderosa and when Adam finished his work they would head out together, often ending up at Silver Creek since she held a special fondness for the place.

She peered over at the still, black-clad form, but he lay exactly as she'd left him—resting back against the tree they always sat by, his hands folded across his stomach. A sound from behind brought a smile to her lips and although she anticipated the soft bump against her back, it still elicited a little giggle. She turned around and began caressing Sport's chin, whispering her private thoughts to the big horse who seemed to understand every word.

When she'd gotten up to stroll along the creekbank, he'd followed her around, and she found it heartwarming to see that he kept making little trips back to his master, as if to check that his human was all right and resting peacefully. It seemed appropriate somehow, that the quiet words she spoke at this intimate moment were all about Adam. The man who meant so much to both of them—the common link between her and the beautiful horse. There was something oddly satisfying about being able to talk openly about the ever-growing affection, admiration and yes, love, she felt for the dark Cartwright, and who better to share those things with than the creature whose whole life revolved around the very person who was becoming the center of hers? Talking to Sport gave her a way of feeling closer to Adam, especially at the times when he was being distant like he was today.

Since they'd ridden out, he had been quieter than usual and even though she had learned that he was susceptible to those brooding moods, this was the first time she'd been unsuccessful in drawing him out of it. It was during one of those long silences between them, that his eyelids had fallen closed while she was once again marveling at the beauty and tranquility surrounding her. When she had looked back at him, she'd just watched him quietly for several minutes, hoping that he would get some of the rest he so clearly needed.

The little stroll along the creek had been pleasant, but her thoughts were still on him. With a last affectionate pat to Sport's neck, she glanced over at the tree again and a strong urge to go back to Adam suddenly overcame her. Even if just to sit and watch him sleep—she needed to be close to him. Sport sensed that their walk had come to an end and moseyed over to the grey mare that Madeline had ridden sidesaddle out to the creek.

Her steps were practically soundless as she approached Adam, but when she was just a few feet away, his hand lifted from his stomach and stretched out in her direction, his eyes still closed.

"I thought you had fallen asleep . . ."

Her cheeks dimpled slightly as she linked her hand with his and sat down on her knees on the checkered blanket.

"Mmm, not really, I just didn't want to interrupt Sport's bonding time with you." One hazel orb peeked out from beneath a black lash. "What were you two talking about anyway?"

She smiled. "You."

"Of course, you were. And I'll bet he had plenty of complaints to make about me. Too many days spent rounding up stubborn steers, not enough treats, barn stall too small . . ."

He stroked a thumb across her knuckles and she watched him thoughtfully.

"Actually, neither of us were complaining about you. Besides, he seems much too pleased with the company you picked out for him to be grumpy."

She looked over at the two horses and saw how Sport was shaking his head wildly, trying to get the filly's attention as she continued to graze, clearly playing hard to get.

Facing Adam again, the delight in Madeline's expression faded. He was staring at the same sight as her but seeing something entirely different. Picking at the ruffles of her flounced skirt, she considered the best way to handle the situation.

"Adam?"

"Yea."

"You seem . . . distracted today . . ."

His thumb stopped the stroking motion and she heard him expel a slow breath.

"I don't mean to be, Madeline."

"I know that. Perhaps I can help?"

The only sound that followed her question was the faint chirping from the Mountain Bluebird on a branch somewhere above them. He stayed silent for so long, she'd almost given up on receiving any kind of response when suddenly, his deep voice broke through the quiet.

"Joe and I had sort of a disagreement earlier." He sat up straighter. "Well . . . more of an argument."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, her tone cautious. "Is that why he wasn't at the house?"

"Probably. I guess he figured he'd stay away and avoid running into me for as long as he can."

"So, you didn't . . . resolve your differences?"

"No. No we didn't."

Lapsing into that pensive silence again, he gazed out at the creek as she studied the side of his face. While she wouldn't ask him to share the details of the argument with her, the wish that he would choose to do so by his own will burned deep in her heart. It was very obvious to her that there was more to this than a simple disagreement between brothers, and she knew that his evident exhaustion couldn't have been caused by an argument a few hours earlier. It made her feel helpless because he'd only allowed her a small glimpse through a breach in the walls he habitually had up. And she wanted to help him, she wanted him to talk, to let her know him. But who, of all people, was she to ask that of him?

Giving his still hand a little squeeze, she made another attempt at lightening his spirits.

"Perhaps later, when you have both had some time to think—"

"I'm not sure if he wants to see me later or even at all."

Her mouth opened, and she stared at him in shock.

"Adam, you can't honestly mean that . . ."

"No, I . . . no, I'm sorry, you're right." He harshly rubbed his other hand across his face. "I just . . . I know he says things sometimes when he is angry that he doesn't mean, but I—" He stopped, his shoulders drooping. "It wasn't even the kid's fault . . ."

"Go on," she said softly, at the risk of him shutting her out.

He continued looking out at the creek. "We were working at the corral breaking horses and Joe got the idea that he wanted to break the wildest, meanest-looking stallion of the bunch." Feeling him tense up, she pressed her fingers gently against his palm.

"I asked him to leave the horse. Actually . . . I told him to leave the horse. It probably came out more as an order." He paused and grimaced. "In front of a few of the cowhands."

"I see."

She now had a pretty good idea of what had happened earlier. She'd witnessed Adam lose his cool before and with what she knew about Joe's tendency towards being quick-tempered, it really wasn't hard to imagine how things had gone as they did. What puzzled her, was Adam's handling of the situation.

"You have told me before how skillful Joe is when it comes to breaking horses. You even said he is the best you have ever seen."

"Yes, and that's true . . . but this was . . . today was different."

The last word hung on an uncertain note and his dark brows inched closer together.

"How was today different, Adam?"

"Madeline, I—"

He abruptly broke off when he faced her. Tipping her head a little to the side, she spent a long moment showering him with heartfelt understanding and compassion, delivering it all through a simple eye lock, which they both knew at this point, was a thousand things more. His Adam's apple slowly bobbed down, then rose back up.

"Sometimes," he mumbled in a hoarse voice, "sometimes at night I don't sleep too well. There are . . . dreams . . . and they affect me. And my thinking . . ."

She tried to remain unfazed. The admission didn't surprise her, but he seemed befuddled by it himself. She'd guessed that he had this struggle a while ago. What caused her distress, was seeing that vulnerability she had caught flashes of a few times before and she waited for him to do or say something to cover it up as he always did. But his countenance had changed, and he said nothing else, just kept looking straight at her, like he was waiting for her to show him how to do this.

"These dreams . . . I imagine they must be quite upsetting?"

He gave a faint nod.

"And you had such a dream last night?"

"Yes."

His eyes became half-closed as he looked down to their entwined hands and she sat completely still, waiting, hoping.

"I dreamed I was back at war. It's always that. And there was a person I used to know. A young man—just an overgrown boy really. He was the youngest in my company." Wistfulness tugged at his features and made the sides of his mouth lift slightly. "The men ribbed him a lot for that, but everyone looked out for him, he was like everybody's little brother. There was just this thing about him . . . the kid had guts."

"And he reminded you of Joe?"

Adam looked back at her in mild surprise.

"Yes. He always made me think about Joe. Not that they looked anything like each other . . . it was his spirit, that thirst for life, I guess."

His chest lifted with a deep breath. "In my dream I first saw that boy from the army, but then all of a sudden Joe was there with me instead. Amidst the smoke and . . . the noise. He was on a horse and I wanted to talk to him, I needed to say things to him, but he charged towards the battle and . . . he fell . . . I watched him fall off the horse. When I got to him, it was too late. I lost him."

A hard lump clogged Madeline's throat when he averted his eyes, and she knew that she could never imagine the frightful scene that must be in his mind. She also had the inclination that horrifying as the dream sounded, he was probably giving her a mild version of it.

"Adam, it is understandable how you reacted earlier when you saw Joe with that horse after having a nightmare like that. You are too hard on yourself . . ."

It took a little while, but when he eventually met her gaze, she was overwhelmed by what those soulful depths of golden-brown told her. For a moment, it was like glimpsing straight into his world, his story. His very soul. She saw a battlefield of emotions where pride struggled with doubt, where despair threatened to conquer hope and where anguished guilt was in eternal parley with forgiveness. In the midst of it all was pain, such incomprehensible suffering that a small part of her wanted to look away, but she wouldn't do that to him.

When she spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper.

"That boy from the army . . . what happened to him?"

"He was injured and died."

His reply was toneless, and Madeline found that she had no way of expressing the aching sorrow she felt for him. There were so many comforting things she wanted to say to him then, but instead, what slipped out was a question she had wanted to ask him for a long time.

"Adam, were you . . . did you ever get . . . hurt?"

An expression that came close to a flinch crossed his face just before his chin dropped to his chest and she instantly wanted to take it back, thinking she'd pushed him too far. What seemed like a timeless moment passed, when suddenly, he lifted their linked hands and settled them on his thigh, just above his left knee. He untangled his own hand and took hold of her forefinger, gently pressing it down against the black fabric. Her face cleared when it dawned on her that he was, in his own way, answering her question. She stared at where her finger pointed, realizing that just beneath the cloth must be a mark, left behind by some kind of injury he'd sustained during the war. After a moment, he took her hand and moved her up to his left arm, tracing her finger in a horizontal line along the curve of his bicep. Although she couldn't feel anything other than the warmth of his skin through the thin shirt, the slicing outline he drew, immediately made her think that this hidden injury had been caused by a bladed weapon. The knowledge that he'd been in such close combat, made a shiver run through her body, even though she logically had known this to be very likely. He lowered her hand again and hovered in the air indecisively, just by his side. Then finally, he brought her to touch his left flank, pushing her finger against a very particular spot. The seriousness of a wound in that location would have been obvious to most, but with her nursing background it truly hit home and her breath caught somewhere in her throat. The shirt fabric felt practically transparent at that point and she could almost feel the scar pressing against her. With this one, she raised her head and looked at him in silent plea.

"Rifle shot," he murmured.

She moved her finger in a tiny, circular caress, the touch gentle and so very tender. He closed his eyes and she watched his face with heart-stirring awe and thankfulness. Then he lifted her hand again, bringing it to his lips where he placed a soft, warm kiss on her knuckles.

"I am sorry, Adam. For what has happened and for what you still struggle with. For all of it," she said as his eyes opened, and there was a calmness in the brilliant hazel which hadn't been there a few minutes ago. "But I am so very happy that you are still here now . . ."

He was all talked out, she recognized that, and when he leaned towards her, she moved to meet him. The kiss that followed was intense and spine-tingling as his kisses always were, but it was also different—deeper. It was amazing how he seemed to continue baring his soul to her through the touch of his lips. She felt privileged that he had shown her this openness even though it had clearly been hard for him. As she started to lose herself in the thrilling delight his tongue was rousing, a tiny voice in the back of her head kept telling her that she needed to do the same for him, and soon.

It was almost seven o'clock when Adam rode into the yard. He'd escorted Madeline back to town even after she'd insisted that she would be fine on her own. The need to make sure she would be safe and the want to spend as much time with her as possible had spurred his own insistence. Also, the solitary ride home had been just what he'd needed—a chance to work through all the strange things that had happened over the course of the day.

He walked into the barn with Sport following him, still absorbed in his thoughts as he lit the lamp hanging on the wall by the stalls.

It had been a tough day, one that he thought back on now as being bittersweet, and Madeline was responsible for the sweet turn it had taken. In spite of being physically exhausted and mentally drained, he felt lighter somehow. Breathing seemed easier, and though the world around him was still quite the same, he felt a little more connected to it. For so long, he'd been worried about Madeline finding out about the sheer misery he carried around inside. He'd had the idea that his darkness would somehow smear her natural brightness, her innocence—as if exposing her to it would leave her pure, good heart tainted by it. But he'd opened up to her and she was still there now, offering him only understanding and acceptance. Whether he was deserving of it or not. That was something he still wasn't sure of.

After removing the saddle from Sport's back, he began taking off the bridle when a little noise behind him made his arms still. He spun around in the blink of an eye, his gun already drawn and aimed when he took in the presence by the open barn door.

"Joe . . ." He released a quiet curse as his shoulders sank back down. "You know better . . . sneaking up on a man like that."

Holstering his gun, he returned to loosening the headgear around his impatient horse.

"I wasn't sneaking up on you, just heard you ride in" Joe walked further into the barn, the light from the lamp illuminating his anxious face, but Adam had his back to him and didn't see it.

"Adam, I wanted to talk to you . . ."

"Look, if it's about what happened earlier, I'm really not in the mood. I just want to sneak past Hop Sing and get to bed. It's been a long day."

Adam hung the bridle up on the hook on the wall, and Joe caught the weary way he moved. "You're all right, aren't you? Is everything okay with you and Madeline?"

Hearing the unmistakable concern in his little brother's voice made Adam turn around and look at Joe properly for the first time.

"Yea, we're fine." His tiredness was forgotten as his full attention settled on the younger man. "What about you?"

"I'm fine too." Joe stepped over to Cochise's stall to pet the pinto. "Well, except, things haven't been going all that great with Maisy. I guess you've noticed that . . ."

"I suppose you have been sliiiightly more testy than your usual mellow self."

Adam went closer to his brother, the good-natured teasing in his expression drawing out a trace of that heart-breaker-Joe Cartwright-smile.

"I talked with Hoss earlier, after you rode home. He made me realize that since I'm so unsure about how I feel about Maisy, I probably don't feel the way I should. I know that I care a lot about her, just not like that. At least not anymore. I'm pretty sure she feels the same, but maybe she doesn't know it herself."

Adam listened, knowing that what Joe often needed was this—just to be allowed to talk and share his thoughts without being interrupted or advised.

"The thing is," Joe halted, scratching Cochise behind the ear. "She just doesn't look at me the same way like . . . well, like Madeline looks at you."

Adam's insides felt suddenly warm and fizzy and it amazed him that barely two hours had passed since he'd said goodbye to her and now he was already craving her nearness again. Noticing his younger sibling's silence, he shifted his focus back onto the conversation.

"Madeline and Maisy are two very different women, I don't think you can compare our relationships that way. But you might be right. What you and Maisy share could be more of a friendly affection rather than love."

Joe's head jerked to him. "You love Madeline?"

The question took Adam by surprise even though it shouldn't have. However, as it sank in, he had one of those rare moments of clarity and the answer seemed so simple.

"Yes, I love her."

"And she loves you, right?"

Adam was still a little dazed by the declaration of love that had just left his mouth and Joe's new query was one he was even less prepared for.

"I don't . . . we haven't exactly—" He turned back to Sport, away from those curious, green eyes. "It's complicated, Joe."

Just when he thought this day couldn't get any stranger, and here he was, making profound announcements and sharing details of his love-life with his baby brother!

"Or maybe you're just making something that's real straightforward into complicated because . . . well, you're you."

"Oh, so that's what you think, huh?" Adam faced him, pleased to see some of the natural sparkle back in the younger man's gaze. "What was it you said earlier . . ." He rubbed his chin with a finger. "Something about me staying out of your business?"

It was meant as an easygoing jibe, but Joe quickly turned somber again.

"I'm real sorry about earlier. What I said about you not being fit to be around other people, I didn't mean—"

"It's all right, Joe, I shouldn't have riled you up that way," Adam broke in and moved over to him, "just forget it."

"But I didn't mean it like you thought!" Joe insisted and paused to chew on his bottom lip. "I want you to know that . . . it's just so good to have you back home. And things have been going pretty well lately, and now that you're more settled in, things are only gonna get easier for you and . . . things are only gonna get better. Don't you think so?"

The insecurity displayed so plainly on his little brother's face stirred the growing guilt and doubt Adam secretly harbored inside. Then he did something their pa had always done often but that Adam only rarely did; he reached out to Joe, and instead of giving the usual quick pat, he gently rubbed the young man's shoulder and his hand stayed there. He offered up a smile, but it only touched the lower part of his face.

"Sure little buddy. Things will be fine."

Adam had used the affectionate name regularly for Joe as a kid, but not as much when he'd become older and it always touched the youngest Cartwright in a way his big brother would never know. The last time he'd said it, was on the day they'd ridden to the county fair and hearing it now made Joe grin like he'd struck the richest gold mine on the Comstock yet.

"I just know they will, Adam!"

With a little nod, Adam released Joe's shoulder and went over to grab the horse brush hanging on the wall.

"How about you help me give old Sport a brush-down so we can both go into the house and relax?"

"I'll take care of him and you can just go inside. Like you said, you've had a long day."

"There's no need for that, Joe," Adam said, walking into Sport's stall where the horse was waiting for some pampering. "I don't mind doing this."

Joe followed and went to the chestnut's other side, pausing hesitantly. "It's just that Pa is probably pacing around the sitting room and driving Hoss crazy. He wasn't happy when I told him what happened earlier and, well, he's worried about you."

Adam looked over Sport's back, one eyebrow lifting. "Did he also tell you to go out here and talk things out?"

"No, I had to convince him to let me be the one to go out here so I could talk to you first."

The earnest honesty on Joe' face made Adam's expression soften. "I think Pa can wait another few minutes while I take care of this. But I'd like some company . . ."

There it was again—that infectious Little Joe-grin that always rubbed off on those around him. "Sure, Adam. I'll help you."

Joe went to get another horse brush and the two brothers worked quietly together, each of them glancing up with a smile when the other wasn't looking.