Author's Notes

It's so thrilling to hear that you guys are enjoying the story, especially with the sudden dramatic turn things have taken. I'll try not to take too long with more chapters and the next one will be a long one. Thank you for reviewing, you are all so kind.

Chapter 22

At dawn the next morning, Ben was standing in front of the long mirror in his room as he shrugged on his vest. He regarded the stubble on his cheeks with a look of displeasure but decided to forgo the shave today. There were more pressing matters at hand. As soon as he came out of his bedroom, a familiar noise from downstairs made him hurry down the hall. He knew his son very well indeed.

"Hold up!" he called as he got to the top of the staircase. "Just a minute, I want to talk to you."

Adam was literally halfway out the front door when his forward motion came to a halt. He took a step backwards and pushed the door closed again, turning around to face his father who was briskly descending the stairs. Listlessly, he dropped his saddlebags onto the dresser, next to his brothers' gun-belts.

Ben walked straight over to him and stopped, folding his arms across his chest. "All right, where are you rushing off to at this time?"

"Joe spent hours yesterday working on that east fence-line alone," Adam replied evenly, "it's only fair that I finish it up and if I leave now I can get it done by this afternoon. I want to go into town later."

"Adam, the sun is barely up. Nothing is going to be solved by you running off alone for another whole day." Ben's eyes softened. "Talk to me, son. What's going on between you and Madeline?"

"I don't know Pa," Adam said in a flat tone. "That's why I need to go into town again today. To figure it out."

Biting his tongue, Ben tipped his head sideways. As much as he loved his oldest boy, this one certainly had a very unique way of frustrating the people who cared about him. He wondered briefly if Adam had any idea about how many of the white hairs on his father's head he was responsible for. Between him and little Joe, it was probably a tie. Then again, Ben pondered, his hair had been greying before that little baby with the chestnut curls ever showed up . . .

Seeing his son's typical, guarded expression in place, the father decided that advancing with caution was the best strategy.

"All right," he said, "and would it hurt to sit down for five minutes with me and have some coffee? Perhaps then, we can also make sure that you have some proper food packed with you for the long day you plan to spend out on the range. Unless you were intending to skip breakfast AND lunch . . .?"

Adam's face remained completely neutral for several seconds. Then the resolve appeared to seep out of him and his posture sagged. He trudged past his father, towards the dining table and as Ben followed, he couldn't resist placing a hand on his back. It wasn't shrugged away.

Madeline forced herself to move faster, her skirt whisking along the floorboards. She glanced back up the street behind her just as she rounded the corner of the bank and as a result—only narrowly avoided colliding with a woman going in the opposite direction.

"Oh, please excuse me," she said and went around the lady, continuing down the boardwalk. Her steps slowed down, and she paused outside Baxter's General Store, resting the back of her hand against her burning cheek. She threw another look over her shoulder. He was gone. The sigh of relief stayed lodged somewhere in her chest though. She couldn't relax until she was home once again in her uncle's house. Pulling both of her white gloves more firmly up to her wrists, she only managed to walk another few feet before a voice hollered to her from the other side of the street. She did a start of surprise and almost slipped right outside the general store.

"Madeline, wait a minute!"

Maisy McCoy waved and scurried across the street, stopping on the way to let a surrey pass her.

"I'm so delighted that I saw you, Madeline." The younger woman scooted up onto the boardwalk. "I feel like it has been such a long time since we had a chat!"

"Hello Maisy," Madeline said and produced a smile that she hoped looked half-real. "Yes, I have been quite busy lately. I've just come from the restaurant and was on my way home. I hope you are well?"

"Yes, I am, thank you. Well, you've probably heard that Joe and I are no longer an item."

"Oh, I am very sorry . . . I wasn't aware . . ."

"That's all right!" Maisy's grin stretched between her freckled cheeks. "I suppose I always knew it would go this way, after all, he is little Joe Cartwright. Actually, taming any of those three brothers would probably be a challenge for most women. Though from what I hear, you are doing quite well with Adam? . . . Madeline?"

Madeline had only heard the first half of Maisy's words before her attention became fixed on a man standing a little further down the street—in the direction she'd come from. He was by the boardwalk railing outside the barber's shop, watching her. It wasn't the same man who'd followed her minutes ago when she'd left the restaurant. Nor was it the man she'd seen observing her uncle's house early that morning when she'd left to go to work.

This one gave an almost imperceptible nod which made Madeline turn to Maisy in one swift movement.

"I am terribly sorry Maisy, but I just remembered—there is something I must see to at home."

She moved to go past the younger woman, averting her eyes.

"But wait, are you coming to the meeting this evening?"

Madeline hesitated and fidgeted with her gloves, the cloth sticking uncomfortably to her clammy palms.

"I'm afraid that I will be kept busy the rest of the day. I have a few things to attend to." She tried for another quick smile when she faced the girl. "Have a pleasant afternoon Maisy, and please, give my regards to the other ladies."

"Yes . . . of course, Madeline."

Carrying on along the street, Madeline didn't have to look behind her this time to know that her new stalker was right on her tail. Get home, just get home. The rapid thumping in her breast began to ease when her uncle's house appeared ahead and the minute she got close enough, she grabbed at the porch railing for support. She hastened up the stairs, fumbling with the silk purse to get out her house key—not daring to look back at the street again. Her trembling fingers made the job of unlocking the door very difficult and when the lock finally clicked, she wobbled inside the house, her eyes closing as the door did. Struggling with the iron latch for a few seconds, she slid the bolt sideways, locking the world outside away from her. Without warning, a surge of dizziness hit her and she leaned against the door, not sure if her legs would be able to keep her upright any longer. The throbbing in her ears was the only sound she was aware of.

God, how to breathe? Shallow gasps were suddenly all she could manage and she must have been making a dreadful wheezing noise, only she couldn't really hear it.

After some time—which could have been five minutes as well as half an hour for all she knew—she gathered her senses and checked the door again. Then she slowly walked down the hall, removing her bonnet along the way. Sit down, that was what she needed to do now—sit down with a cup of tea. She felt cold and so very tired.

When she came to the kitchen doorway, a choked cry broke past her lips and a chill rushed through her, turning her blood to ice. He was there. Ray's face was at the window of the backdoor. Staring and waiting.

A wild thought occurred to her. What if she didn't let him in? What if she just ran upstairs and locked herself in her room and waited for him to go away? Left this nightmare to play out without her . . . If he broke in, perhaps someone would see him? Surely, someone would stop him?

But no matter how much she wished for those things, she knew that none of the neighboring houses had a clear view of the small back garden. No one could see across the white, close boarded fence except for maybe the children who sometimes crawled Mrs. Pickard's apple tree. And anyway, she couldn't risk going up against Ray because he would go after Adam. And she had to keep that from happening.

Looking at her husband's expression now, it was plain to see that he was losing his patience. She went across the room and although it felt gravely wrong to be letting this man inside, she unlocked the door and opened it.

"That was about time," he said as he entered the kitchen. "I suggest you don't keep me waiting that long again. With our precarious situation here, you'd do well not to test me."

She closed the door as Ray ambled over to the table and sat down in one of the chairs, resting one leg across his other knee. They were both quiet—him sitting, her standing—watching each other.

Then he spoke in a sly voice. "Well? Don't you want to hear about my day, dear wife?"

Madeline sucked in a sharp breath, feeling a rare heat blossom inside her. She strode over to the table with a bit of heavy stomp in her gait, and put down her bonnet with a thud.

"No. I do not care to hear about it."

He gave her a strained smile.

"Sit down, please."

When she didn't move, Ray bent forward in his seat.

"Sit down," he repeated, this time without the smile, "or I will make you."

She held his eyes for another dangerous second, then lowered herself graciously into the chair opposite him, turning her side to him.

"I like a woman with a little spirit, Madeline. But not too much. As I've told you before—watch that defiant streak of yours. It's most unbecoming."

Madeline didn't say anything, she just sat there with her back straight and her gaze directed out towards the kitchen.

"Now, since you don't want to talk about my day, I think that we should discuss yours," Ray said pleasantly and sat back in his chair again. "Remember what I said about acting normally to avoid rousing suspicion? You're nervous. And it's showing."

"How do you expect me not to be nervous when I am being watched by strange men every moment?!"

"I told you to watch it!" His fist slammed down onto the tabletop, making her jump in her seat. "And I have learned from experience Madeline, that you need watching every moment!"

There was a short silence and Madeline continued to stare out into the room as a slight tremor ran across her shoulders.

"Who was the little redhead you spoke with?"

"She is just a young girl, Ray. I said nothing about you."

"You said nothing, hmm? And yesterday, you didn't tell your cowboy anything about me either?"

"You were there watching, weren't you?" She looked down at her lap. "I only told him to stay away from here. You saw him ride off . . ."

"Yes, he did seem rather . . . troubled." Ray smiled, eyeing his wife from the side. "He probably won't be back anytime soon. I imagine there must be cows to chase and dirt to roll around in—isn't that what men do out here? These common cowboys?"

His tone and manner grew in intensity with each word and she stayed completely still.

"Ah, except he isn't . . . just a common cowboy . . . is he, Madeline?"

Her eyelids fell shut.

"You neglected to tell me that he is a soldier of the Union. A Union captain."

"Not anymore. He left the military," she said, facing her husband as her chin tilted up. "Adam didn't destroy your company, Ray. He hasn't done anything to you."

"They ruined me, Madeline!" His voice rose up and he half-lurched across the table towards her. "And while I was forced to flee the burning embers of my estate, you were here, sharing the bed of a damn Yankee captain!"

"No!" she exclaimed, pressing herself backwards in the chair to get away from him, "I-I told you, I never—"

They both stiffened at the sound of sudden knocking on the front door. Madeline's whole face went white and she laid a hand on the table to steady herself because her heart was stumbling.

"He's a mighty persistent fellow, isn't he?" Ray growled and shot out of his chair. He moved to the doorway and stuck his head out into the hall. When a slightly louder round of knocks boomed down the hallway, he looked back at Madeline.

"Could it be anyone else than him? Answer me!" he hissed.

Unable to speak, she quickly shook her head, covering her open mouth with her other hand.

"Well, you better hope that he takes the hint and leaves. In any case, I have a man out front too."

Madeline dropped her hand and she tried to stand up even though the room was now whirling around her.

"He . . . he won't shoot him, will he?"

"Is your lover the door-kicking type? If so, I wouldn't count on him being around for much longer."

When the knocking started up again, Madeline gasped, staggering across the floor to where Ray was.

"Please let me open the door, I will send him away!" Ray grasped her arms violently, but she hardly even felt it. "I will make sure he doesn't come back, please, just let me talk with him before something happens!"

"Shut up! You aren't going anywhere, you're not that good an actress."

He pushed her head against his chest to silence her as the knocking continued. She fought to get free, but he held her solidly, allowing her only tiny breaths of air until she was at the point of dangling in his arms. There was no telling how long it all lasted but eventually, no more knocks came. And there had been no sound of gunfire.

With gritted teeth, Ray pulled his wife up by her elbows and dragged her across the floor, throwing her down into the chair he had been in before.

"I am trying, Madeline—by God I'm trying!"

He knelt down in front of her, holding onto her shoulders when she almost toppled out of the chair.

"I am willing to forgive you your transgressions. When we leave this place to start a new life, I'll even consider how to be a more tolerant husband to you."

With a suddenly gentle motion, he reached up to brush the damp curls from her face.

"But I swear, if you don't do exactly as I tell you to while we're here in Virginia City, I will not be responsible for the consequences. You understand?" He gave her a little shake. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand . . ." she whispered, her eyes dazed and glassy as she swayed from side to side.

It was quiet around the dining table that evening at the Ponderosa Ranch. The first time around, Hoss had cleared his plate with about half of his usual enthusiasm, but he was finding it very difficult to get through his second helping. He glanced over at his older brother who'd been sitting in the exact same way for the last five minutes. Staring down at his plate, leaning his cheek on his fist. Hoss had never thought about it before, but as he considered Adam's plate, he realized how different the three brothers were in how they dealt with their food when something was bothering them.

Little Joe's plates were always chaotic and messy, with gravy smeared all the way to the lip of the dishware and maimed vegetables scattered everywhere else. It was practically impossible to guess what meal had actually been served when looking at Joe's abandoned supper platters.

Adam on the other hand—when his mind was working through deep problems, it seemed that he needed to make structure and order around him rather than chaos. Over the years, his family had witnessed the constructions of many intriguing creations at the supper table—all made from nothing else than what Hop Sing had prepared. It was amazing what a man could do with mashed potatoes and green peas.

And as for Hoss . . . well, he tended to eat up regardless of what his mood was like. As far as he was concerned, having an empty stomach would only add to a man's troubles.

Hoss' contemplating was interrupted when Adam suddenly set down his cutlery on his plate, destroying the dam of mashed potatoes as a wave of green rolled out.

"I'm gonna look over those accounts in my room, Pa."

Rising from the table, he looked at his family.

"Goodnight."

They all hummed "goodnight" back at him, although Hoss and Joe both expected their father to protest their brother's departure. But their pa didn't make another sound and Adam went to retrieve some paperwork by the alcove before disappearing up the stairs.

The screeching of knives and forks resumed around the dining table and went on for a minute or so, until Hoss put down his cutlery.

"I sure hate to see 'im so sad . . ."

Ben wiped his mouth with a napkin, his face serious.

"We all do, Hoss. But right now I just don't see that there's anything we can do about it."

"Maybe the three of us should go on a hunting trip this weekend?" Joe asked tentatively. "Get him away for a while . . . if you can spare us, Pa?"

"I thought you had plans on Sunday, son?"

Hoss noticed the way his father's mouth curved up to the side when Joe returned his gaze to his plate.

"Well yea, but . . . there'll be other dances . . ."

Folding his napkin neatly, Ben studied his sons with pride and affection.

"It's very nice of you boys to be thinking of your brother. But I doubt that Adam would leave for a few days, even if it's the best thing for him. He'll want to be here and wait to hear from Madeline."

"See, that's what I don't get, Pa," Hoss interjected. "Why don't she wanna talk to him all of a sudden?"

"I don't know."

Ben clasped his hands together by his chin. "Adam told me part of what she'd written in that letter and by the sounds of it, she needs some time to herself. Of course, your brother has convinced himself that things will end in the worst way possible and that she doesn't want to be with him at all anymore. I tried explaining to him that maybe she just needs a little space for a few days but . . ." he trailed off, shaking his head.

"But Pa, she still loves him, don't you think?"

Facing his youngest, Ben couldn't help but expel a throaty chuckle.

"Oh yes, she loves him all right. There's no question about that. I just wish he could see it as clearly as we do."

"I tell ya, the thing that worries me is . . . he's gotten a lot better with havin' Madeline around and"—Hoss' bulky shoulders sank even lower—"I just don't wanna see 'im get all down again."

"I know, that worries me too," Ben said and his eyes turned somber. "But we can't go blaming Madeline for Adam's dependence on her. And now that we know a bit of what she has been through and with all the changes and new things going on in her life, her request for a little time isn't exactly an unreasonable one."

"No . . . when you put it that way, I guess it ain't."

"But I do wish that she'd talk to him at least. Just to reassure him. Before he spirals into one of those brooding moods again."

Ben's words hung on a glum note and Hoss and Joe saw that his attention had landed on Adam's barely touched plate.

"Aaw, don't you worry none." Hoss made an effort to tuck into his second helping once again. "We'll keep an eye on older brother, won't we Joe?"

"Sure we will, he'll be all right," Joe chimed in.

The flood of worry ebbed out of him, leaving Ben's face more relaxed as he looked to his two sons with a smile.

The three Cartwrights spoke of lighter subjects the rest of the evening and even enjoyed a few games of cards together by the fireplace. However, hours later—during the night—they were all aware of the light shining out into the hall from under Adam's door.