Author's Notes

Hiya guys!

Thank you very much members and guests for the great reviews and comments on the last chapter! I do apologize for leaving you all (and Madeline) with such an ending though, so I tried to get this next part up as quickly as I could...

I hope you all enjoy this and thank you again, I really appreciate it.

Chapter 21

Ben walked out of the house, stretching his arms out to either side of him as he released a low grunt. He stopped on the porch and put both hands on the small of his back to rub out the kinks that had settled there again. Lately, it seemed like he was spending more time behind his desk than anywhere else and the paperwork still kept piling up. This was the busiest time of year for the ranch and while he was very pleased with how well business was going, it was becoming a real challenge to keep up with the accounting. Years ago, Adam had suggested hiring someone who could help out with the bookkeeping, but Ben had thought it unnecessary at the time. Now though, he was beginning to wonder if the time for a change had finally come. . .

He looked up at the sky and spent a couple of minutes just enjoying the warmth of the sun, until a movement to his left captured his attention. Joe came out of the tool shed at the side of the house, carrying an axe across his shoulder and Ben called out to him.

"I thought you boys would have been off by now?"

Startling a little, Joe stopped abruptly. "Oh, hey Pa." He headed towards his father. "Yea well, older brother saw that the buggy's wheels needed greasing and he decided to give it one darn thorough inspection." He pointed in the direction of the barn and stepped up onto the porch. "I spent half an hour tidying up the tool shed, and he still isn't finished."

Ben's sight drifted out to the empty yard, and he noticed the black boot sticking out from under the buggy parked by the barn. There was a bucket of pine tar standing next to the wagon-wheel.

"You know how your brother is," Ben said and looked back at his youngest with an affectionate smile. "Once he sets out to do a job, he wants to do it right."

"Just because he wants to do it right, don't mean he can't speed things up a bit. I don't know why he always has to—" Seeing his father's dark eyebrows lift, Joe let out a grudging groan and swung the axe down to rest it on the porch floor. "I guess I can wait a little while longer."

Chuckling, Ben put an arm around his young son's shoulders.

"Even if you'd left two hours ago, I doubt that you would have finished fixing that east fence-line along the ridge today. It'll probably take you most of tomorrow too."

"I don't care if it takes the rest of the week to finish it, Pa. As long as I'm free of chores Sunday afternoon to go to that dance in town, I won't be complaining."

Ben studied his boy as Joe kept watching the buggy for any sign that his older sibling was finishing up.

"I'm glad to see you in better spirits again, son." Pausing, he waited for Joe to face him. "I know that I've been a bit preoccupied with Adam for some time and then with work . . . well, I didn't really get around to talking properly with you about this thing with Maisy." He released his youngest's shoulder with a little pat. "I'm sorry things didn't work out."

Joe's mouth instantly widened into that infectious grin. "It's all right, Pa. Actually, it was Hoss and Adam who helped me with that. I had a long talk with Maisy and she wasn't all that upset. We're still good friends too. Besides"—his sparkly green eyes went round and innocent—"it just wouldn't do for the handsomest boy in the territory to be tied down to dancing with only one girl on Sunday."

"Oh, you little—"

Joe laughed and ducked away from his father's swatting hand, but their fun was interrupted by a new arrival in the yard. A young man came riding in at a high speed and sprang down from his horse. They nodded at him when he tipped his hat towards them.

"I have a message for Adam Cartwright, is he around?"

"Over here," Adam called as he crawled out from under the buggy.

Ben and Joe watched Adam stand up, wiping his hands on a towel as the newcomer approached him. The two shared a few brief words and the messenger handed Adam an envelope. He then walked back to his horse, mounted up and left the yard as quickly as he'd come. Ben observed his firstborn closely and moved down off the porch with Joe in tow. When they got to Adam, he was squinting at the paper in his hands as if he didn't understand what he was reading.

"Is everything all right, son?"

Adam continued to examine the message and Ben caught a glimpse of the elegant handwriting, but he couldn't make out any words.

"I have to go to town . . ."

He folded the paper and stuffed it in his back pocket before grabbing the black Stetson lying on the buggy. When he strode towards Sport by the hitching rail, Ben and Joe shared a confused look and followed him.

"Adam? Has something happened?"

After mounting up, Adam gazed down at his brother and father with an odd, blank expression.

"I don't know," he mumbled, "I'm . . . I don't know."

He pulled his hat lower across his face, kicked Sport's sides and the horse jerked forwards, thundering out of the yard.

"Am I following him?" Joe asked, not taking his eyes off his disappearing brother.

"No . . . whatever that was about, I think we need to leave him be for now."

In truth, Ben wanted nothing more than to ride after his oldest son himself and he ground his teeth together, feeling the worry creeping up on him. There was no use in it though, Adam would hate it if anyone went after him when he was in such a mood, there was no doubt about it.

Alone in the yard now, Ben faced his youngest and tried to keep his tone as light as possible.

"We know what he's like, it's best to let him go alone." Putting a hand on Joe's back, Ben gently guided him to the porch again. "Now, we both have work to do. Let's get to it."

"Yea . . . okay, Pa."

A bout of hard knocks on the front door almost made Madeline spill the untouched cup of tea between her hands. Her face tipped upward and her eyelids blinked rapidly. This was it. She rose from the chair and went out into the hall just as the knocking started up again. Pausing in the foyer, she swept a look down herself, smoothed out the long sleeves of her blouse and did up the top button by her neck. She unlocked the door and reached for the door handle, then took one last huge breath, preparing herself for the performance of her life.

The relief in Adam's expression was evident when she opened the door and he took off his hat, revealing the deep furrows across his brow. God, all she wanted to do was throw herself into his arms.

"I uh . . . I went to the restaurant, but Sally said you'd left early. Are you all right?"

Oh Adam, no I'm not all right!

"Yes, thank you. I just had a bit of a headache earlier, but I am better now."

His frown dug even deeper into his features at her monotone reply and he held up his left hand.

"I wanted to talk to you about this."

She glanced at the letter between his fingers. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you in person, Adam."

"So, you . . . you did write this?"

"Yes, I did."

His face fell, and it was only because of her intense fear for him that she managed to wrench the next words from her throat. "I did a lot of thinking last night, after you left. About you and I . . . and I feel that this is how things must be. At least for now, anyway."

"I don't understand," he said slowly. "Yesterday things seemed fine, I thought that we . . ." He shook his head and took a step closer to her. "Madeline, did I do something wrong?"

"No, it's nothing you have done, please don't think that." The affection in her tone was one she had no way of hiding. "It is me . . . I have some things I must settle. And I can only do that alone."

"But I . . . it doesn't make sense. You really mean that you don't want us to be together anymore? I can't even . . . come to see you anymore?"

"Under the circumstances—" She halted for a second to steady her voice, "I think that it would be best if you didn't come by here for a while."

Until I am gone.

He turned his side to her, rubbing a hand across his mouth then slowly down his chin. She risked a quick glance out across the street, but saw nothing other than horses and people moving down the road—all of them blissfully unaware of what was transpiring on Doctor Paul Martin's porch. Sensing Adam shift, she swiftly faced him again and his quiet words were almost drowned out by the noise from the street behind him.

"Can I . . . can I come in for a moment, just to talk?"

"No! No, Adam . . ."

As discreetly as possible, she placed the palm of her hand over her churning stomach because she was convinced that her reply had been just a little bit too insistent. But he didn't look suspicious. Only hurt.

I need to get you away. I need you to be safe.

"I am sorry," she said, "but I think you should leave now."

She was about to twist back around to the door, but suddenly he looked straight at her, desperation burning out through his eyes, scorching her.

"Madeline, you don't mean that—you can't mean that! Just please, tell me what's wrong?"

"Adam, please don't—"

"Is this about what happened last week?" He stepped even closer to her, lowering his voice. "About the things you told me regarding your past?"

She lowered her gaze—too afraid to look at him because of what he might see. At any moment, that gunshot could crack through the air. Any moment . . .

"I told you that I understood, that I'll wait for you. All I want is to be with you, you know that . . ."

"It isn't as simple as that . . ."

"But why isn't it? I know I've been a bit . . . well, my mood hasn't been the best lately and I'm sorry for that. If you need a day to yourself to just—"

"I need more than a day Adam, I have to be on my own for a while," she said more firmly. "I know it must be difficult for you, but try to understand . . ."

His face jerked away from her and then finally, she saw it. Over on the opposite side of the street—a shadowed form peeking out of the alley between two houses. Her eyes flew back to Adam and her fingers squeezed the fabric of her skirt to keep them from shaking.

"Please go. I am sorry, but you have to go now, Adam."

He looked like a dog that had been kicked and her sore arms and aching back were nothing compared to the pain cutting straight into her heart at the sight. She spun around before he could say another thing, and grasped the bleary shape of the doorknob. Everything seemed to happen at a strange, slow pace, but she made it inside and closed the door behind her. With her back leaning against the wood, she stood completely still as she listened, praying like she'd never prayed before. If something happened to him because of her . . .

Oh, God please . . .

A minute went by and all was quiet. No gunshot came. Cautiously, she turned and peered out of the window beside the door and what she saw made a lump settle at the base of her throat. Adam had stepped down off the porch and he was by Sport. First, it looked like he was preparing to mount up, but realization tore into her with ruthless force. He was just standing there, leaning against the horse with his arms resting across the saddle, his head hanging down. Her eyes burned as she watched him and she pressed her lips tightly together, worried that she would end up crying out to him. Eventually, his shoulders raised, and he swung himself up into the saddle. He didn't look back at the house, just set off down the street and her forehead fell against the door.

Please forgive me, my love.

xXXx

The sun was rapidly dropping towards the horizon, tinting the thin veil of clouds above Virginia City from white to pink and painting the sky a blend of orange and crimson. That special evening lull had come over the town's streets and parties of people, men and women dressed in formal wear, strolled along as they chatted excitedly. Some had plans at restaurants and hotels for fine dining and dancing while others had tickets for the theater.

Sauntering down the boardwalk on C Street, was a man dressed in a dark-blue evening suit. He was close to forty, but people who didn't know that would likely have guessed him to be younger. Despite the few, grey strands in his hair and the slight wrinkles by his eyes, his demeanor resembled that of a young man in his mid-twenties. Energetic, purposeful and bold—but in a gentlemanly way. He had the kind of pleasant-looking face that wore a constant smile, even when his mouth was just a straight line, and the confidence in his gait matched the glint of arrogance in his eyes.

Two women, whose ages were closer to twenty than thirty, passed him on the boardwalk and he slowed down, tipping his bowler hat as he smiled charmingly at them. They nodded in greeting, hiding their giggles behind two waving hand fans and he continued on his way. He smirked inwardly, well aware that the women were turning their heads at that very moment to look back at him.

Up ahead, his destination came into view—the International House. Glancing around himself, he waited patiently for two buggies to pass him before he crossed the street. He jumped up the three steps to the door of the hotel and pulled it open just as a young couple were about to exit the building. Moving to the side, he inclined his head politely as he held the door for them. They thanked him and after they'd gone past him, he went inside. He walked straight to the front desk and the hotel clerk smiled warmly at him.

"Good evening, Mr. Barns, how are you, sir?"

"Good evening, Mr. Stanford, I'm well, thank you. Have any messages been delivered to me this afternoon?"

"No sir. But about the inquiries you made earlier today, I am to inform you that a table in our private lounge has been arranged for yours and Mr. Wickworth's party of guests tonight."

"Excellent, I'm glad you were able to sort it out."

"It was our pleasure, sir." The clerk reached beneath the counter and held out a little card. "If you just show this card, it will give you access to the lounge at any time during your stay with us."

"Thank you," the other man said as he took it.

"Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Barns."

"You too."

Tucking the little card into the pocket of his suit jacket, Mr. Barns headed past the desk and to the staircase. He went up to the third floor and walked down the hall with rooms on either side of him, but continued past his own room, number thirty-two. He walked another few feet and stopped outside room number thirty-six, then hit the door with three firm knocks.

"Who is it?" a muffled voice asked.

"It's just me."

A couple of seconds later, the door opened and a short, red-faced man appeared in the doorway.

"About time you got here, Chris. I've been waiting."

"Calm down." Mr. Barns rolled his eyes and walked inside the room. "I'm in plenty of time, Robert."

"Plenty of time, he says . . ." Robert Wickworth let the door slam shut and turned to face the room. "The guests will be here in less than an hour and we were supposed to go over things another couple of times."

"Oh relax, will you?" Mr. Barns strolled to the liquor cabinet by the opposite wall. "Everything is under control. The widow and that Miss Fisher have both already warmed up to me. After this evening they'll be ready to make some sizable investments, I guarantee it." He poured whiskey into two glasses as he spoke. "The three gentlemen will need a little more persuading. But they're already intrigued and when they hear the proposition we'll present them with tonight, they'll be eager to learn more."

"Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" Wickworth grumbled, dabbing at his sweating forehead with a handkerchief as he paced over to the wing chair by the window.

"Of course I am. I thought you'd learned that about me by now."

With the two glasses in hand, Mr. Barns went over to his partner who dropped heavily down into the chair. He pushed one of the drinks into Wickworth's hand.

"Have some. You clearly need it."

"You know what I really need, Chris? Is for you to get your priorities straight." Wickworth downed the whiskey in one go, his mouth twisting as if he'd bitten into a moldy plum. "What are you doing about this wife-situation of yours?"

"I'm handling it," Mr. Barns said, casually sipping his drink. "Just like I said I would."

"To be quite frank, your way of handling things is straight-out disturbing. You've jeopardized everything by confronting her this early in the game!" The man in the chair slammed his empty glass down onto the table next to him. "Just because you let your jealousy get the better of you after seeing her with that young fellow! Now she knows you're here—she could ruin the whole thing!"

"Have you finished yet?" Mr. Barns leaned an arm on the backrest of the chair opposite his bristling partner. "I can handle her, she'll say nothing to anyone, trust me."

"Trust you?! This entire ploy is riding on your credibility. How are you going to charm any single women around here into giving you money if it gets out that you're married? Not to mention—one word from your wife could bring both of our backstories crashing down! If our new shareholders found out we've lied—"

"I told you to relax." Mildly irritated, Mr. Barns walked around the chair and over to the window. "There's no need to worry. She won't say anything, I know how to control my wife."

Wickworth released a sarcastic chuckle, his white shirt struggling to contain his bulging belly as it jiggled. "Forgive me, but your history would indicate otherwise!"

The man by the window slowly turned around. "Watch yourself, Robert."

The sudden deadly tone and eerie gaze made Wickworth pause and a chilling quiet filled the room. Mr. Barns faced the window once again.

"I have men watching her constantly. Men who would never betray me. She knows what I'm capable of, she'll follow my rules."

"What about the man she was with?" Wickworth asked calmly.

"He's out of the picture."

Hesitating, Wickworth watched his partner intently. "Chris . . . what did your men do to him?"

"They will only use violence as a last resort. Nothing has been done to him. Yet."

Swiping a hand across the bald top of his head, Wickworth sighed. "I don't know why you're going to all this trouble—why you would put our whole plan at risk just because of this woman even if she is your wife. Granted, her beauty is extraordinary, but the money—"

"I don't just want the money. I want her too."

"Chris, if we keep making as much as we have done up until now with this scheme, you'll be able to have any woman you want."

"As I said . . ." Mr. Barns moved away from the window. "I want her."

"Fine then. But while you were obsessing about her all day, you didn't get a single investor hooked."

"I'll have plenty hooked just like every other town we've been to, you can be sure of it. I had no idea that people out here in this part of the country were so painstakingly gullible." He walked over to the liquor cabinet again. "So quick to throw their money into a railroad they haven't even heard of . . . they deserve to lose every penny."

"I told you it would work, didn't I?" Wickworth pointed a finger at the other man. "You just remember that this was my idea in the first place and I can continue with the plan without you if you're set on putting everything on the line for some girl."

Mr. Barns scoffed as he poured himself another drink. "Don't fool yourself, Robert, you would have been nowhere without me. It's because of me and my contacts that you have those, remember?" He gestured to the suitcase filled with papers lying on the table.

"Without my help, you'd have only your word to go on. Now you have hundreds of railroad bonds that look perfectly credible even though they have been issued by a railroad company that doesn't exist. They include a brief history of our 'very successful business', land surveys and negotiations for land, a list of important people involved in the enterprise . . ." Taking the whiskey bottle with him, he went back over to the chairs. "No one would have been as thorough as I've been with this.

"And another thing," he said, his eyes gleaming as he refilled his partner's empty glass. "You need me as your promoter. You simply aren't charming enough to sell this deal, my friend." Wickworth snorted, but Mr. Barns went on, "Just like you would never have been able to get our party into the hotel's private lounge this evening as I have done." He set the bottle onto the table and sat down in the other chair, crossing his legs. "Where it just so happens that some of the most influential and wealthy citizens in this town will also be visiting tonight, by the way . . ."

Wickworth studied the man opposite him with a smile that grew each second.

"You know . . . I still can't decide whether you really are the most brilliant confidence man I've ever worked with. . . ." He reached out to take his glass. "Or whether you are simply a madman." He raised the drink to the air. "Here's to you, Chris Barns. If that is even your real name."

Mr. Barns made no comment, he just raised his own glass, returning the smile.

Nine o'clock in the evening, a rider came into the yard of the Ponderosa ranch. Hearing the noise outside, Hoss and Joe looked up from their cribbage game while Ben laid his book across his lap. The father spent the next few minutes staring down the front door until the iron latch clicked. Adam came into the house, closing the door quietly behind him. He said nothing to his family, he didn't even look over at them. Joe and Hoss kept glancing between their older brother and their father—both of them wondering if there was about to be one of those fiery Pa-Adam-arguments. Four years had passed since the last one.

It took decidedly longer than usual for Adam to rid himself of his gun belt and hat, and when he finally walked over to the sitting room and stopped in front of his father's chair, Ben's expression was tight, almost hard. Within a second of taking in Adam's appearance though, the harshness lessened in the older man's eyes.

"I'm sorry," Adam said, not meeting his father's gaze. "I shouldn't have left like that and stayed away for so long. I'll make sure that I catch up on my work tomorrow."

Ben shifted in his chair. "Where were you all day, Adam?"

"I went for a long ride." Closing his eyes, Adam exhaled deeply. "A very long one."

Joe and Hoss focused on their father as he continued to scrutinize their older brother. After a moment of silence, Ben placed his book on the table and put both hands on the chair's armrests to push himself up.

"Then you haven't had any supper. There's a plate in—"

"No thanks. I'm not hungry. Just tired."

Ben rose anyway as his son stepped back and walked around the settee, heading in the direction of the stairs.

"Listen Adam, whatever has happen—"

"Don't, Pa." Adam stopped, but didn't turn. "Not now."

The two younger brothers saw their father's mouth fall closed. Then, there was no other sound in the house than the creaking staircase as the heavy steps became fainter and fainter.