Author's Notes

Hello everybody!

I really, really wish I was uploading more frequently, but it's just taking me longer at the moment. I want to give my best to the story and to all of you and it's just taking a bit more effort than usual to get there.

Thank you so much, members and guests, for the reviews on the last chapter. They put a great big smile on my face and I am grateful to you for taking the time to share your thoughts. I was very happy as I read the wonderful comments about Madeline, her personality and her relationship with Adam. When I started this story, I worried that readers wouldn't take to her, so your kind comments about her mean so much to me. The other thing I worried most about with the way I write, is the amount of detail and description. But as many of you have let me know, you enjoy that, so that's wonderful to hear. As always, your feedback teaches me so much and makes me a lot better at telling this story than I otherwise would be.

I have an extra long chapter for you this time! I hope you enjoy it and I wish everybody a great week. :)

Chapter 35

Paperwork. So much paperwork. There were so many pages and ledgers lying about, the mahogany surface of the desk wasn't even visible anymore. This was not the "systematic chaos", as he liked to call it, that usually materialized when he worked on the books. This was an outright disaster.

One thing Ben had always taken special pride in was his organizational skills when it came to running the ranch. He was a natural born supervisor and that fact combined with his abilities as a cattleman had been vital to his success all those years ago when he'd bought his very first herd of steers. Since then, he'd made it a priority that the bookkeeping was in perfect order and it had been more than worthwhile. The Ponderosa had started out as a dream—a daring idea conceived by a man with a vision. A man with a sharp eye for good business who possessed the tenacity to pursue that dream even through adversities that would have crushed most. He'd gone from barely making ends meet, and he'd become the owner of the most prosperous ranch in Nevada.

For the last decade, he'd had all the paperwork worthy of the empire he'd built. But while he'd hired dozens and dozens of men to help carry the ever-growing physical work-load, he was more or less still managing the bookkeeping single-handedly. There was an imbalance there, just as Adam had pointed out to him many times over the years. It made perfect sense; business was thriving and hiring someone on to help out with the books would be a logical, not to mention sensible move to make. Yet somehow, making that change was . . . tough. Ben liked being the one in charge, and more importantly, he wanted to keep the managing of the Ponderosa within the family. But neither Hoss nor Joe were good with the books and although Adam had always helped out when he could, he'd made choices that had taken his life in other directions. Away from the Ponderosa. Ben was, unlike his oldest son, not always so enthusiastic about changes even if they meant progress. Call him old-fashioned, but change unnerved him. Then again, he might just be plain stubborn.

This morning, his stubbornness was no help to him. For the last five minutes, he'd hardly moved behind his desk, and he was currently staring down the mountain of papers and account books which seemed to be glaring right back at him. He'd been at it for hours already. Since the sun had first peeked over the horizon and he'd decided to get up to start on the neglected work.

And here it was, all laid out before him. There were cutting figures from the logging camp to go over, cattle reports to read, herd tallies, bills and then supply lists to make. It wasn't like him to let the paperwork pile up like this, but with the way things had been going lately, it was little wonder he'd fallen behind. With his thoughts constantly on Adam, he'd been too preoccupied to get much done.

Since becoming a father, he'd learned that nothing could ever distress him more than seeing one of his sons hurting. It really didn't matter whether they were small children or grown men—they were still his boys. All three of them had suffered these last couple of weeks, and the situation had been even more upsetting because of Adam's unsettling and uncharacteristic behavior. Ben now realized that what he'd witnessed was a demonstration of just how much those four years at war had changed his oldest son.

He had never seen Adam in such a dark place before. He'd never known him to act so recklessly, to say such bitter, angry things. Even though Adam was working on getting better, Ben had seen the worst of him. He'd seen the devastation and torment that his son's strict composure usually kept hidden so well. And he couldn't forget it.

When the trouble with Madeline had first begun, Ben was shocked that her withdrawal had pushed Adam to such a state of depression. But now that he'd had time to think it all over, his understanding of the events had changed. He'd spent most of the previous night wondering if those dark, despairing feelings hadn't existed all along within his troubled boy. Which meant that Madeline's absence had not caused them, but rather brought them to the surface. This idea tied in with how out of sorts Adam had been when he'd first returned home from the war and how everything had changed for him when he met Madeline Delaney for the first time. In the months that had gone by since then, his mood and health had improved and he'd seemed happier. It was as if she had suppressed his sorrow and given him a new purpose.

However, after witnessing him spiral out of control, there was no doubt in Ben's mind about how pained and disturbed Adam still was. It would take time for him to get over this setback. Difficult as it was to accept, Ben could only help as much as his son allowed him to. He was more grateful than ever for Paul's presence in their home and for Hoss' and Joe's considerate handling of their older brother. Most of all, he was thankful that Madeline was back in their lives because he believed that she was what Adam needed more than anything at this time. He just hoped it would be enough. If it wasn't . . .

He stopped his pondering right there because that was a thought he didn't dare pursue. There was little point anyway, nothing good would come of it. Besides, the clutter on his desk wouldn't take care of itself.

With renewed determination, Ben scooted forwards in his chair, assuming an upright posture. He moved a few ledgers around, working to clear his mind and focus on the task at hand. The next thing that required his attention was their current lumber deals. He flicked through a stack of logging camp papers until he found what he'd been searching for. The contract where Ben was to supply the timber for new settlers' houses in the lower Washoe Valley.

He read through it carefully. When he'd finished, he was even more convinced that his decision was the right one to make. They were already behind on the cutting and now, they were shorthanded as well. He wanted Hoss and Joe to have at least a few more days of rest before they returned to work, and Adam would need even longer to recover—in spite of what he might think himself. Adjustments needed to be made. There was one very simple way of getting back on track.

Taking a blank sheet of paper, Ben picked up his pen and began writing, his manner decisive. The pen danced confidently across the page, composing a concise message that came about a lot easier than he'd thought it would. He paused at the end of a sentence and stretched out his free hand to find his coffee cup. Feeling the cold porcelain with his fingers, he discovered that the cup was empty, and he remembered that it had been for a while.

He was having a mental debate on whether to go in search of more coffee when a noise from the staircase diverted his thoughts.

The sight of Adam coming down the first steps made Ben's heart sink. It didn't particularly surprise him, but he was disappointed all the same. His face fell into deeper lines when he noted his son's slow and strained manner of descending. Adam gripped the banister tightly and kept his eyes focused on each step down. Wanting to avoid startling him, Ben remained completely still in his chair.

He correctly guessed that Adam had been unaware of his presence. That much was clear by the young man's surprised look when he reached the landing, raised his head and their gazes collided. Then, in perfect, obstinate Adam-fashion, he let go of the banister, pulled his shoulders back and continued down the stairs without aid.

Only Adam. Only Adam could make Ben go from being worried to exasperated in such short order. He dropped his eyes to his desk because at that instant, even the paperwork was less frustrating to look at. Glaring down at the unfinished letter, he dipped his pen in the inkwell with more force than was required before continuing in a jagged handwriting. Two sentences later, he sensed his firstborn come to a halt in front of the desk.

"Good morning, Pa."

Ben stalled his reply as he kept writing the final few words.

"Good morning, son."

Satisfied with the letter, he set it aside along with his pen. He reclined back, propping his elbows on the arm rests of the chair and folding his hands by his chin.

"You're up early again."

He tried to keep it from sounding like an accusation, but the bite to Adam's retort let him know he had been unsuccessful.

"So are you."

Cradling his left arm to his side, Adam perched one hip on the edge of the desk, trying but not quite managing to stifle a wince. With a casualness that did nothing to alleviate his father's exasperation, he motioned to the papers and books.

"What are you working on?"

Without answering, Ben inspected him and made no effort to hide it. Blatantly, he moved his gaze over him, discontented with what he saw. There was no need to ask how he'd slept—Adam's unkempt appearance and drawn face said everything. Asking about his arm would be just as useless because Ben already knew what the answer would be. For a second, he considered pointing out that there was a suitable chair just there on the other side of the desk which would make for a much more comfortable sitting arrangement. But then he caught Adam's eyes and the challenging tilt of his head.

Ben blew out a long breath. "I'm just taking care of the bookkeeping." He sat forward in his chair again and started flipping through the pages of the ledger for the logging camp. "There were a few things I needed to catch up on, so I thought I'd get an early start."

"I haven't even looked at any of those books in weeks . . ." Adam mumbled.

There was unmistakable guilt in his voice, making it quiet and hesitant.

"I don't want you to worry about that," Ben said, facing him. "Anyway, I'm used to taking care of it myself. It's not as if those brothers of yours suddenly took an interest in it during the years you were away."

Adam's brows knitted together as he studied the chaos on the desk. His sight locked onto the newly written letter and he grabbed it. Out of all the papers lying about, Ben thought in irritation, Adam would of course pick up that particular one.

"What's this?"

Retrieving the letter from his son's hand, Ben replied in a steady tone. "It's a letter regarding that timber deal for the housing in Washoe Valley. We're pulling out of it."

"But why? You worked hard on getting that contract . . ."

"Yes, well. You can't win them all."

After putting the letter aside again, Ben went back to leafing through the ledger, hoping that would be the end of it.

"I asked you why you're pulling out of it, Pa."

His hands stilled on the pages, and Ben dropped his chin in resignation. Any attempt to avoid this discussion would be futile. He took his pen and reached for the report on the latest cutting figures, knowing its exact location in the chaos of papers.

"It's a fairly big order and we're already behind." He tapped the pen against the page to punctuate his point and Adam leaned across the desk to see better. "We have enough timber cut to meet the first and second shipments, but we won't be able to make the next ones. The recent rain has made the eastern slope muddy and it's slowed down the transportation of the logs. Now we're also shorthanded. So, I'll have the men deliver what we've got and then I'm going to give the rest of the deal to Dryden Lumber company."

Contempt flashed in Adam's eyes. "To Charles Dryden?"

"Mmm. I might have had a few run-ins with him over the years, but he is still a good businessman and runs a smooth operation. His company is the closest and best suited to take over this job." Setting down his pen, Ben pointed to the desktop. "There's plenty of work here and we have those two other lumber deals with the mining companies that we need to get started on."

He waited for his son to speak his mind as Adam pursed his mouth into a knot, contemplating.

"I think it's too early to give this one away," he finally said. "I'll be able to work again soon, and we can hire on some extra lumberjacks for a while to make up for the lost time."

"I'm not giving it away because we can't do it. I'm letting it go because it isn't worth it."

That gave Adam pause and Ben went on.

"After everything that's happened, we all need time to get back on our feet. The last thing this family needs is the pressure of meeting a deadline we're already behind on." Catching the familiar shift in his son's countenance, Ben held up a finger. "And before you go adding this to your personal list of things to feel guilty about—this isn't just for your sake. It's for your brothers too."

He was only doing what was best for everyone under the circumstances. If he didn't get out of this deal, Adam would feel obligated to take it on. And knowing him, he would more than likely fulfill the contract and work himself into a state of exhaustion while doing it. Which simply wasn't acceptable since he was in pretty bad shape already. Ben might not be able to help him with the inner struggles he refused to share, but this was one thing he could do something about. He could help by taking at least one worry away.

"There will be plenty of other contracts," he finished.

"Maybe I should just take a quick look . . ." Adam stared down at the report but didn't try to reach for it. "There might be a way of—"

"The decision has already been made, son," Ben said, employing the tone he used to indicate that a discussion was over. "Besides . . ." He jutted out his chin towards the staircase. "That girl up there is more important than anything in these books, so I suggest you save your attention for her."

Receiving no response to that, he rubbed his palms against his eyes. The moment he'd been dreading since last night had come. There was no use in putting it off any longer. He blinked until his vision cleared and looked directly at Adam.

"But there is something else you need to see . . ."

He opened the top drawer of his desk and got out two envelopes. There wasn't really anything to say about it, so he simply held them out.

Clearly confused, Adam took them. "Where did these come from? Did you send someone to town for the mail?"

"No, Roy brought them with him yesterday. He figured we would want to stay out of town for a while, so he stopped by the post office before coming out here."

As expected, that dark, arched eyebrow raised a fraction, silently demanding an elaboration.

Managing a calm face, Ben explained. "I felt that you had quite enough on your mind yesterday, so I decided to wait with telling you about the letters."

Holding his son's sharp eyes, Ben tried to appear as though he was completely assured of that decision. He got off easier than expected when Adam said nothing and instead turned to the two letters. After studying both, he laid one on the desk and started to open the other. It was awkward to watch since he attempted to use his left hand as little as possible. Ben fought the impulse to intervene. When Adam unfolded the paper within the envelope and began to read, it was obvious by his expression that the contents of the letter were unpleasant. His jaw locked tight and the bright hazel of his irises seemed to darken as he read until the color ended in earthy brown.

Several minutes went by before he glanced up. "It's from my army friend in Georgia. You remember I sent a letter to him a couple of weeks ago, asking him to check up on Ray Bradshaw?"

"Yes, I remember." Ben felt sudden trepidation twist his gut. "What does he have to say?"

Angling his face downward to the letter again, Adam recited, ". . . Ray Bradshaw is wanted by the law in Augusta, charged with fraud and with the murder of an unidentified man and a housemaid . . . his current whereabouts are unknown, but my search has led me to believe that he has left the South and may have traveled West . . ."

Adam stopped reading aloud and faced Ben. They looked at each other for a long moment, neither speaking because words were unnecessary. He folded the letter again and stuffed it back in the envelope.

"I'll write him and explain what's happened. He'll pass the news on to the relevant officials in Georgia."

Ben nodded his assent. "I assume you won't be telling Madeline about this."

"Of course not," Adam said evenly.

As if the very idea was madness. Quite the reaction to expect from him.

Growing thoughtful, Ben studied him closely, noticing the dispassionate set of his mouth, the slight dullness to his eyes—all adding to the attitude of detachment he mastered so well. Adam must have felt his perusal and glanced over at him.

"What?"

With a shrug, Ben leaned back, crossing his legs. "I didn't say anything."

For a few seconds, it looked like Adam had something on his mind but wasn't sure if he wanted to say it. Or rather, how to say it. Instead of speaking, he turned away, standing. He paced back and forth in front of the desk, clutching the envelope, and Ben, ever the patient one, observed him quietly. In mid-pace he abruptly stopped, spun around and thrust out his hand.

"Look, now that I'm taking care of her, it's up to me to protect her from information like this"—He flapped the letter around—"which will only upset her even more. And for what? She doesn't need to know."

"Mmm. Oh, I completely agree with you."

"Well . . . good."

A gradual smile worked its way across Ben's face. Adam gave a puzzled, if somewhat annoyed look.

"What now?"

"Nothing. It's just, you said now that you're taking care of her."

". . .Yea." He dropped the letter onto the desk. "So?"

"Well, Paul being her uncle, I'd say he's the one who's responsible for her."

A pause came between them. Adam began swiping his thumb along the polished edge of the desk.

"All right, so technically he is . . . since they're family . . . but he won't be responsible for her for much longer. Not if it's up to me anyway."

"Oh?"

Adam's back suddenly slumped and he perched on the desk again as he released a deep breath.

"I want to marry her, Pa . . ."

It was sort of odd, hearing those words from him. Ben had known it for a long time, in fact, anyone would know just by watching the couple together. But this was the first time the marriage subject had actually come up in conversation with Adam.

"Well, I can honestly say that there's no woman I would be prouder to have as my daughter-in-law."

"Yea." Adam rested his bandaged arm on his thigh. "It's what I want, and I think . . . I feel it's what she wants too . . ."

"But?" Ben prodded.

"There isn't a but, exactly. Except for . . . well, except for . . ." His features hardened as his frustration spilled over, coming through in his voice. "With the way Paul is acting, I'm starting to doubt that he'll ever let me."

Seeing his son look so disheartened over such a thing almost made Ben smile as he regarded him with open affection. "Adam . . . what you need to understand about Paul is, that she's the only family he has. He loves that girl like she was his own daughter. Finding out about what she's gone through these last weeks has been very hard for him. Remember, it wasn't just you she pushed away. She shut him out too. And just as you have a strong need to spend time with her and reconnect with her—Paul feels the same way." He added a subtle push to his tone. "You can't really blame him from that, can you?"

Pensive lines now on his brow, Adam sat very still.

"No . . . I guess not," he said with some reluctance.

"He will come around. It'll just take him time."

"Yea, you're probably right." Shifting his weight, Adam muttered. "He sure doesn't make things easy though."

"To be fair, if she were my daughter, I think I'd have a hard time letting her go too."

They said nothing more of that, but Ben was pleased they'd had this talk before the tension between Adam and the doctor got out of hand. While he could certainly see where the young man was coming from, he also understood Paul's position in all this. Adam was perhaps a little too in love to take that into consideration.

Ben broke off his pondering when he noticed that Adam had picked up the second envelope and was staring at it.

"Are you going upstairs to read that one?" he asked softly.

"No. It's from Jim and I know what it's going to be about." A deep sadness shadowed his face as he tentatively brushed the paper. "I don't need to read it right now."

Didn't need to, or he couldn't? Ben wondered about that but didn't ask. He also had an idea of what the message regarded. Although the letters that Adam received from his friends in the military caused Ben unease, he wouldn't push him on this.

Deciding to break away from that subject, he rose from the chair with as much energy as he could muster.

"Well, since we're both up early and I have another couple of hours of work ahead of me, how about we go and make some coffee?"

Adam's gaze lingered on the envelope for a second. "All right." He retrieved the letter from Georgia and held both as he stood up.

Ben was stretching to relieve the kinks in his back when he felt a sudden apprehension in his son.

"What's wrong?"

"Uh . . ." Adam peered towards the kitchen. "Is Hop Sing out there?"

"No. He's out by the chicken coop, collecting eggs."

"All right. Then I think I'll just get a fresh shirt and go clean up in the washroom before he tries something."

As Adam swiftly headed for the stairs, Ben walked around the desk, his lips lifting slightly.

"He'll catch up with you sooner or later, you know . . ."

Shaking his head, Adam didn't turn back. "He always does."

xXXx

At nine o'clock, everyone in the house was awake. Joe was the last to appear for breakfast, loathed to leave his comfortable slumber yet forced to when Hoss tried to rouse him for the second time, threatening to finish the bacon. The pleasant surprise of Hop Sing's pancakes waiting for him on the table—one of Joe's favorites—quickly soothed his bad temper and aching body though.

Everybody took the day to rest, filling out the time with easy conversation and various board games and card games. The way the mood had lightened in the home was palpable and it showed especially in Madeline's behavior. It had meant everything to her that she'd finally explained herself to everyone, hard as it had been to speak of her ordeal. Her smiles now reached her eyes again, where the natural brightness was returning, and she was less tired. She delighted in spending time with all the Cartwrights, not just Adam, and her room seemed to be the life of the house since there were always three or more people in there. The fact that she was comfortable made everyone else happy—no one more than Adam and Paul. Although she was still weak and couldn't be out of bed for long stretches at a time, her recovery was well under way.

Hop Sing was in his element, fussing and sometimes complaining about number one, two and three sons while he displayed his milder nature when he saw to his Missy Madeline. He treated her like a queen; bringing food to her room, supplying her with pots of her favorite tea and even cups of warmed chocolate. She did gently admonish him for spoiling her so, but all that earned her, was a toothy grin from him and more tea and homemade cookies. He truly held her dear, and Hoss and Joe in particular were intrigued to see this new side of their moody cook. Adam wasn't so surprised at the effect she had on him. It was just how Madeline was—one of the many, rare qualities that made her so extraordinary. Without even trying, she moved people like no other, in her effortless, innocent way. One could do absolutely nothing but adore her.

From late morning to early afternoon, Adam spent every moment he could with her, which meant that he practically never left her room. Normally, he despised sitting still when he was recovering from an illness or injury—just like his youngest brother did. Where Joe quickly got bored, Adam always felt restless and eager to get back to work, so he would typically attempt to do some chores—much to his family's frustration. This was just about the first time in his life he'd dutifully followed Paul's order to rest. He wasn't fooling anyone though. There was one very specific reason for his compliance and lack of desire to leave the house. One brown-haired, fair-skinned, intensely appealing reason.

So, he stayed in Madeline's room, taking every opportunity to be near her and making the most of it. But while he enjoyed seeing her interact with his family, he also longed to be alone with her. That longing only seemed to grow over the course of the day. For the last couple of months, he'd gotten used to spending a great deal of time with her just the two of them. They'd been taking regular rides out to Silver Creek, and at times, they'd even shared a couple of hours of privacy at Paul's house when he was out doing house calls. But as it was now, Adam had to force himself to keep a certain distance from her.

Things would have been different if they were formally engaged, but although he was more than ready to take their courtship to the next stage, he didn't know when he'd get the chance to do so. With others watching practically every second, he couldn't be close to her the way he craved. No holding her, no kissing. He couldn't say the things he wanted, couldn't express his love physically or too openly, and it felt as though he was held hostage by the rules of courting. It wouldn't have bothered him so much, sharing her with everyone, if he'd only had some assurance that he would get to spend time with her alone soon. But as the day progressed, that seemed less and less likely to happen.

Mostly, this was thanks to the consistent, unwavering presence of one agitating doctor who appeared to have taken root in the chair by Madeline's bed.

Whatever went on, Paul was right there by Madeline's side. Whoever entered or left the room, he remained in his seat. The strain between him and Adam could be felt by the other Cartwrights, not to mention by Madeline who was literally in the middle of it all. It was taking Adam great effort to keep his temper in check and he had a feeling it was just a matter of time before the older man's excessive chaperoning pushed him too far.

xXXx

By late afternoon, Adam's patience had reached its end. He was sitting on the side of the bed, facing Madeline as she rested back against a heap of pillows at the headboard. Keeping his mind on their current game of chess, was proving to be near impossible.

Despite the conversation he'd had with his father early that day, his intention to give the doctor some leeway had not only gone out the window—it had rolled off the edge of the porch roof and plummeted to the dusty ground, meeting a crushing demise. Paul's customary dry tone, indirect jibes and watchful eyes, were just rubbing him all the wrong ways. What didn't help matters, was the insistent headache pounding away at his temples and the pressure building behind his sore eyelids. That made him irritable, and snappier too.

It was after one such snappy reply to some sarcastic comment from Paul, that the older man finally took his leave. After rising from his chair in a most dignified manner, the doctor marched to the door and on his way out of the room, remarked that he hoped to have a cup of coffee with a more even-tempered Cartwright downstairs.

Adam let that one go, but with a rough exhale. His eyes met Madeline's and she gave a small smile before moving her attention back to the chessboard balancing on a pillow in between them.

Alone with her at last, and he still couldn't enjoy it. As propriety dictated, the door to the room was left wide open and would stay that way so anyone could, at any time, walk in. And as Adam knew, the doctor was not to be trusted. Oh no, Paul would be back, soon and suddenly, he was sure of it.

Madeline's cautious voice interrupted his frustrated musings.

"Adam?"

"Mmh . . .?"

"It's your turn again . . ."

With a slow blink, he transferred his gaze to the chessboard. He might as well be looking at the game for the first time in his life. After short evaluation, he reached out and moved his Knight to take one of her Pawns. He looked at her again and she frowned down at what he'd done.

"Is something wrong with that move . . .?"

She took her time before replying, as if contemplating her answer carefully. "I think perhaps you should reconsider it."

He glanced down again. And realized he'd just given her the game. His King was vulnerable to attack from a direction he hadn't noticed and he could see how the next few moves would play out. She would put him in check, he would then be forced to take her Queen with his King and she would have him in Checkmate after that. Of course, sweet as she was, she wanted to give him the chance of making another move . . .

Annoyed with himself, he began resetting the chess pieces with his good hand.

"No, you've already won this one fair and square. I just wasn't thinking straight."

He felt her watching him, but he focused on each chess piece.

"That is the third game in a row I've won then . . ."

"Mmm, is it?" he asked absently.

"Yes . . . if I didn't have more faith in you sir, I might suspect you of letting me win again."

Her words were light with gentle teasing, an obvious attempt to lift his mood. A spark of self-loathing rose up in him because he was doing it again—brooding and thinking about his needs when he should be concentrating on hers. Here she was, trying to cheer him up and he was wasting their time together by sulking. He didn't know what to say so he just stayed silent. After a little pause, she spoke again but this time her tone was different, laced with concern and care.

"What is troubling you? You are distracted . . ."

He shifted to reposition the cushion his bandaged arm rested on. "Nothing is . . . I'm not distracted, really . . ."

She fell quiet and he looked up at her from under his brow. Sudden warmth blossomed in his chest as he took in her endearing expression. Her eyes had filled with mild disapproval, and then there was that cute little crease between her brows which appeared whenever she was being serious.

"Then you really are letting me win again . . . even after I asked you not to, Adam."

How could he keep from smiling? She was the most adorable thing that had ever existed. He dropped a Bishop to take her hand instead and began tracing circling patterns over her knuckles with his thumb.

"Now, why would I do a thing like that? It happened one time—you made your objections and I promised I wouldn't do it again, remember?"

"Yes, that's true, you did promise . . ." Her displeasure melted away, her mouth curving. "But, if you insist that you aren't letting me win, then you definitely are distracted . . ."

Well, she had him there. And honestly, it was too much effort to argue.

"Maybe a little bit," he conceded, releasing her hand.

She softly encouraged him to go on. "A little bit?"

In a moment of weakness, he bent his head. Propping his elbow on his knee, he rubbed a hand along the sidewhiskers on his cheek, and his eyelids suddenly dropped. What could he say? Yes, he was distracted, and his exhaustion made all the muscles in his body feel like lead-weights. He was so tired. There were too many . . . things.

Opening his eyes again, he saw that her perfect face was now marred by a worried frown.

Great.

He began studying the chessboard with exaggerated concentration—anything to avoid looking her way.

"You aren't sleeping very well . . ." she stated quietly.

Ridiculously, his first impulse was to deny it. Why was it so hard for him, admitting his struggles? He couldn't even justify the urge by telling himself that she wouldn't understand because he already knew she would. Madeline always did. Yes, she always did . . .

"Sleep is . . . sort of difficult at the moment." There, he'd said it.

"I am sorry to hear that . . ."

He waited. His mind screaming at him to flee the conversation while his heart whispered for him to give in.

"Adam, you told me once about your nightmares . . . and about how they affect you at times . . ."

Her voice seemed to go softer with every word, a tone so tender and loving it wrapped around him, making him powerless. Trapped. He recognized what she wanted from him. But he just couldn't do that right now. He was barely holding things together as it was. In his room lay a letter that he couldn't bring himself to read. Frightful images from the night plagued him even now, promising their return later. The urge to drink—to allow himself that blissful relief—tormented him in every moment of self-doubt. And there was such pain. The pain had become as much a part of him as his bad arm—a rolling agony that came in waves of varying intensity but never, not even for a second, went away completely. He couldn't talk about these things. Not now. He wasn't ready. Lifting his head, he looked her straight in the eye, and for once, did nothing to disguise what he felt.

Almost instantly, he saw his own pain reflected on her face. As if she had sensed the anguish in his heart and now felt it with him too. A moist shimmer appeared in her forest green depths and it baffled him that she could feel so much of him when he wasn't even speaking to her.

"It's all right . . ." she simply said.

No, it's not, he thought. Because it wasn't.

She smiled. Just a sad smile, and she raised her hand to his face. Starting by his chin, she lightly stroked his jaw, then moved her fingers up to trace his left cheek. He closed his eyes and let a slow sigh slip out.

God, that felt good.

He loved her touch. Soft and gentle like everything else about her. The feel of her silky skin was nourishing to him, it was healing like he'd never known anything to be. He still couldn't figure it, how she did all these things to him with such ease. Bit by bit, the ache and profound sadness within started to get lost in those loving caresses. The sharp pressure in his throat lessened. It was utterly mystifying how her touch affected him; in one way it was soothing, calming, and in another . . . tantalizing.

Her hand left his cheek, trailed upward, and the next thing he felt was her fingers brushing through his hair in tender strokes. A shiver of awareness rippled through him. While his mind was drifting, going to a nice, drowsy place, his body was just awakening. Her hand moved in the same comforting rhythm, and he found himself getting warmer. Little tingles shot up his back and that familiar feeling of anticipation crept in, that desire snaked through his belly, lower. Maybe it was because of his fatigue, but he seemed to have even less control than usual over his physical reactions to being near her. Actually, with the way she was making him feel right now—he was having difficulty exercising any form of self-control at all. The fleeting thought passed through his mind that he should try to get a hold of himself. But it felt so good. So good. She carried pure magic in her fingertips and he was defenseless against it. Didn't even want to defend himself anymore. His need for her went bone-deep. With her, everything was better. He was better.

Her voice drifted in through the sensual haze she had created around him.

"Would you like to have another game of chess . . .?"

No. He wanted her to keep touching him. There were probably a hundred things he would rather be doing with her right now than playing chess. Some more innocent than others. Still, at least pretend to consider her suggestion . . .

"I don't think I'd fare much better," he eventually said.

"I don't think you would either."

He got one eye open and saw a cheeky lift to her lips. He really wanted to kiss that smile right off her sweet mouth.

"You shouldn't be teasing me, you know . . . I've never lost three games in a row before"

"I am sorry." The twinkle in her eyes indicated she really wasn't. She brought her hand down to his cheek again. "Would you have preferred if I'd let you win?"

To hell with it. He needed to kiss her. Unable to contain himself, he leaned forward, tipping the chessboard with his front so it slid off the pillow. He stopped just inches from her mouth, his hooded eyes relaying his intent. Her lips parted, and a thrill jolted him at the glimmer of heated attention that flashed across her face.

"We shouldn't . . ." she said on a breath. "Someone could come in at any moment . . ."

And by someone, she meant Paul. Obviously.

"Yea, I know . . ."

She was right. The gentle voice of reason. He was already so worked up, the odds of him being able to keep a kiss brief and light were relatively slim. All right, nonexistent. Doing what he could to hide his disappointment, he widened the distance between them again. He pulled her hand from his cheek and pressed a long kiss to her knuckles.

"Thank you," he said.

He hoped she wouldn't ask him for what because he had no idea where to even begin. He'd just needed to say it. Her countenance smoothed, and she gave him her softest look. Then, she viewed the scattered chess pieces on the bed covers.

"Well, I think that was it for our chess session."

He hummed, letting go of her hand. "Maybe I'll challenge you to a checkers tournament later. I might have more luck."

"Oh, you will need more luck. Checkers is my specialty as you know."

Yes, he did know, and he always enjoyed seeing her get all caught up in the game.

She started collecting all the chess pieces, placing them in a little velvet pouch and he observed her, the effect of her caresses lingering in his body. Once all the pieces had been recovered, she tied the strings of the pouch and laid it on the chessboard. She went to set the board on the night table, but as she lifted it and twisted sideways, she suddenly jerked, and a little exclamation of pained shock rushed from her open mouth.

"Whoa," he said, quickly taking the board and tossing it on the bed, then reaching for her. "What happened? Sweetie?"

"I am all right . . ." She winced. "I just moved . . . the wrong way I think . . ."

Alarm spiked in him as he regarded her with narrowed eyes, noticing the rigid way she was holding herself. She was in pain, and just from twisting sideways.

"Is your back hurt too?"

She didn't look at him. "Yes . . ."

Abruptly thrust back into the sharp clutches of anger, he stretched his hand up and moved her hair to one side, but she latched onto his wrist.

"Adam, please don't . . ."

A muscle pulsated in his jaw as he eyed her, long and hard. Resignation fell over her features like a veil and she lowered her hand, no longer holding him back. He moved the collar of her nightgown down, revealing the purple marks around her throat and now, as he angled his head around her, he could see the bruising at the back of her neck too—disappearing down past the white fabric. He was about to pull the collar away from her nape to look down her back, wanting to know the extent of her injuries once and for all, and that's when she gripped his wrist again.

"No, you can't do that, I . . ." Faint pink rose up in her cheeks as she lowered her gaze. "This nightgown is all I am wearing . . ."

He froze. Oh.

"I'm . . . I apologize."

Damn right he apologized. What was the matter with him?!

Withdrawing his hand, he watched her anxiously, not quite sure how to act now that his temper had cooled. After a while, he risked taking her hand.

"Are, uh . . . are you all right?"

"Yes . . . it's only a few bruises," she said carefully. "Uncle Paul has already checked it."

Well, if Paul had taken a look, he knew she wasn't hiding some serious injury from them at least. But it killed him to see her in pain. He wished he could take it from her, take it upon himself instead. The last traces of tension disappeared from her forehead and she peered up at him with a touch of her old shyness.

"It must be close to supper time now . . .?"

Was it really that late? Time always seemed to move at an odd pace when he was with her.

"Yea, I guess it is," he said. "Are you hungry? I can get you something now if you want?"

"No thank you. I was just thinking . . ." She considered their linked hands. "I want to get dressed so I can go downstairs and sit with everyone for supper."

He wasn't pleased with that idea.

"I think you should stay here, it'll be more comfortable for you. No one expects you to go down and sit at the table, Madeline."

"But I would like to sit with everyone, just for a while." She rubbed his palm, slowly, the movement matching her coaxing tone. "I will take it easy, Adam. I promise . . ."

How distracting. He struggled to concentrate on the conversation. "You were dizzy earlier when you got out of bed," he reminded her.

"Yes, but I feel better now."

She apparently thought they'd agreed on it because she released his hand and began shifting on the bed to free her legs from under the covers.

Not liking this development, he stood up to give her some room. He supported his bandaged arm with his right hand, watching her as she gingerly maneuvered herself to the edge of the bed. She set the tips of her toes to the ground, pausing. When he saw her sway momentarily as her lashes drifted closed, he quickly crouched down in front of her, his voice full of concern.

"Are you sure about this? Do you need help getting dressed?"

She turned a pair of big, curious eyes on him and he realized how that sounded.

"I mean . . . well, I wasn't implying . . . not my help, of course . . ."

He sprang to his feet, and before he could stop himself, his hand went to the back of his neck. "Actually . . . I don't even know who would help, we're all . . . and you're . . ." He licked his lips. "You're the only . . . well, you know that."

Stop talking. Just stop.

There was a hint of amusement in her fascinated expression and his brain raced to find him a way out of the hole his mouth was rapidly digging for him.

"Thank you, Adam, but I'll be fine on my—"

"Paul!" he exclaimed, finger pointed down at the floor as if he were trying to communicate directly with the doctor downstairs. "He is what I wanted to say . . . if you need help I can send up him . . . Paul."

"Thank you . . ." She smiled at him. "But I'll be fine on my own."

"Oh . . . all right."

Awkward silence. Yes, why not.

She tipped her head to the side, fondness shining in her eyes. He just stood there, staring at her, his feet stuck to the floor.

"So, I'll just . . ."

Leave the room. Now, you fool!

"Yea."

He spun around and made for the door with brisk strides. Never before had he been so eager to leave a room she was in. He'd just gotten to the threshold of the doorway when he paused. What if she got dizzy? What if she really was too weak to do this by herself? The thought of her keeling over and landing on the hard floor . . .

Damn it.

He turned around again. "Listen, I just don't want you to hurt yourself . . . you might get dizzy and fall over . . ."

Her amusement vanished, and she became serious instead. "I will be careful, I promise. Please, don't worry."

"Okay then," he relented. "But you're NOT going down the stairs alone, all right? Just holler when you're . . . you know what, I'm just gonna wait out in the hall, so let me know when you're ready." He grabbed the door handle, then added, "But don't rush, just take your time. I can wait."

"All right . . ."

"Good."

He quickly stepped out of the bedroom before he could say anything else, pulling the door closed behind him.

The hall. The quiet, deserted hall. It seemed the perfect place to address the most pressing question on his mind.

What . . . the hell . . . was that?

He fell back against the door. What did you just do?!

Nothing like that had ever happened to him before.

Staring straight ahead of himself, his sight settled on the door to Hoss' room just opposite him. He was tempted to find out whether bashing his head through the wood would be enough to knock him out. With any luck, he would wake up with no recollection of the last minute and a half of his life.

Before he could seriously consider putting his thought into action, he made the surprising discovery that the hallway was, in fact, not so deserted after all. Sensing something strange, he turned his head left and saw Paul standing at the top of the staircase, watching him, black doctor's bag in hand.

He jumped and stepped away from the door, jolting his bad arm in the process.

"Paul . . ." he said flatly, trying to hide how startled he was. "What are you doing?"

The doctor approached, every bit of him radiating suspicion. "I was going to check on Joe. Your father said his ribs were giving him some pain."

He stopped by Adam and they stood there, uncomfortably. Then Paul glanced at the closed door to Madeline's room and cracked a wide smile, looking much too delighted for Adam's taste.

"My, my . . . she finally threw you out."

Adam felt the bridge of his nose itching for him to pinch it. Easy, take it easy.

"No, Paul she didn't throw me out. She wants to go downstairs for supper, so she's getting dressed."

The older man's smile died away. "Getting dressed? Is she all right to do that by herself? She was quite dizzy earlier . . ."

Throwing a worried glance at the door, Adam held his now burning arm close to his body. "I don't know . . . she said she would be fine, I offered to help and—"

He caught himself on the scandalized look on Paul's face.

"Just what . . . did you offer to help with . . .?"

Get help, offered to GET help.

He was aware that every second he remained quiet instead of clarifying that part, his situation grew more and more precarious. But the twitching vein by Paul's temple and the frenzied quality to those cutting eyes seemed to have robbed him of the ability to speak.

A door opened further down the hall and Joe stepped out, hair tousled, eyes bleary. Adam had never been more grateful for his little brother's appearance. As Joe came over, he presented them with an unmannerly yawn as he scratched his head.

"What are you standing around out here for?"

"Your brother and I are having a discussion," Paul bit out.

Out of nowhere, something in him snapped and Adam regained full use of his voice. "No, we're not because there isn't a discussion to have. All I said was that if she needed help getting dressed, I'd get you." He threw both hands out despite the throbbing ache in his left arm. "I just offered to get you, nothing else, okay? So for once, Paul—give me a break!"

Well, that escalated. He instantly felt bad for the outburst, but then realized that Paul was scowling at him just as harshly as before.

"Uhm . . . looks like you two could do with having this little talk alone."

Joe stepped around them and hastened down the hall. Adam couldn't blame the kid for trying to escape, but he didn't get far.

"Wait a minute," Paul called, waving him back with evident irritation. "Your father asked me to take a look at those bruised ribs."

Stopping dead in his tracks, Joe twisted back around wearing a grimace.

"It doesn't hurt very much, doc. Anyway, this thing with you and Adam seems more important than—"

"Joseph, I told your father I would check you over and I fully intend to do so. Now will you just show me this small consideration and try to be more cooperative than—" Paul gestured to Adam, like he was searching for the correct word. "This."

Heaving a sigh, Adam moved over to the wall next to Madeline's door. Suddenly, he really couldn't face arguing. All this wild arm movement had severely aggravated his wound and it felt like the limb was about to drop off.

Joe admitted defeat and walked back down the hall to them, grumbling as he continued towards his room. Paul made to follow him, but stopped and delivered a meaningful message to Adam first.

"This discussion isn't over."

"Whatever you say, Paul."

He just didn't care. Tipping his head back against the wall behind him, he closed his eyes. He cupped his left elbow where the bandage ended as the pain intensified. An unexpected touch to his wrist caught him off guard and his eyes opened again. Paul was right in front of him, head bowed, brow furrowed as he scrutinized the bandage. Very carefully, the doctor felt along the white cloth. Adam winced even at that but he didn't stop Paul from turning his arm over to expose the underside of it where the stitches were hidden by the bandage.

"It's not starting to feel overly warm, is it?"

"A bit warm, but no more than it has been."

With a curt nod, the doctor let go of his arm. "You have to tell me if that changes. And I'll need to look at it soon."

He then set off down the hall towards Joe's room, leaving Adam standing there, watching him go.

Paul could definitely be a hard one to figure sometimes. Adam had known him for more than half of his life and the doctor had always been a close friend, but also a sort of secondary authority figure to him. And now, if things went the way he hoped they would, Paul would practically be his father-in-law. A slightly unnerving thought with the way things were at present.

He leaned back against the wall again, hoping the pain would go down soon. In a minute, Madeline would need his help getting down the stairs.

He imagined her fingers running through his hair again as he waited for her to get ready. It would be the same thing he thought about later on when his weary body would eventually demand sleep. Maybe, just maybe, his dreams tonight would be of her and her soft touches rather than of loss, despair and death.

xXXx