Author's Notes

Hello guys!

Thank you very much for the reviews on the last chapter. I do appreciate you taking the time to let me know what you thought. I'm glad you all seemed to enjoy seeing things from Adam's point of view and that you liked the moments of humor. A few of you mentioned that you are fond of the Pa/Adam moments, and that's a good help for me. With so many main characters it's sometimes difficult to give them all enough "screen-time", so feel free to let me know which characters you enjoy seeing together. I want to write what you enjoy to read.

I hope this next part isn't too drawn-out, but I admit I had fun writing it. I love these two together. :) It's time to have a talk with the Doc!

Chapter 42

The fresh scent of the river cut through the hazy flower fragrance as Adam stepped out of the meadow's high grasses. A cooling wisp of breeze hit his face and he closed his eyes, welcoming it. Then, rallying his courage, he began walking along the green bank towards where Paul was fishing. The river beside him was wide and flat, sluggishly flowing south. As he walked, he peered over at the opposite shore where a thick pine forest reigned, reflecting in the calm waters below. It seemed like another world over there; dark, uncharted and mystical in comparison to the open meadow environment on his side of the river. The view triggered a distant memory of himself and a five-year-old Little Joe, holding hands and wandering up the bank where he treaded now. Joe had been fascinated by the mystery that was "the other side of the river", so Adam had made up a story about an evil king living over there in a magical kingdom. He'd included a fair princess, a noble knight and some magic spell involving gold dust. And an enchanted piglet. Mainly because Joe had found piglets very exciting at the time.

Adam smiled faintly. In his mind's eye, he saw a cherub-faced child with untamable curls, grinning recklessly and asking for a story. He must have told Joe hundreds of tales when he was that age. He'd been more than willing to give his youngest brother those little escapes, however short-lived, from the harsh reality their family had faced back then. In the fantasy worlds he'd created for Joe, he could ensure that things ended happily even if that wasn't always the case in the real world. In reality, such endings were rare. He'd had enough bitter experience over the years to know it.

Adam faced forwards again, his smile gone as he continued up the riverside. The trees were scarce along the bank, but he saw Paul had found a dead log to sit on near a cluster of valley oaks. It was a perfect little fishing spot, quiet and secluded. With all that peacefulness around him, surely the doctor would be in a good mood. Calm and collected. Open to a talk about his niece. Adam hoped so. And if things went awry, he stood a fair chance of making a successful escape to the meadow close by. Not that he had any intention of letting the conversation escalate as it had done the last time they spoke one-on-one. But a man ought to be prepared all the same. This, he also knew from experience.

His eyes were fastened on Paul as he approached. The older man's head was angled out towards the river and he sat with his elbows resting on his thighs, holding a homemade tree-branch fishing pole.

For as long as Adam had known him, Paul had always been immaculately dressed. Wherever the man was, whatever time of day, he had the appearance of a cultured gentleman and his attire, ever neat and well-pressed, seemed perpetually suited to his polished manner. He typically wore shades of black, white and grey—though sometimes brown happened too—and he always maintained a level of formality with his shiny pointed shoes and knotted ties. Today, he wore his favored charcoal vest, a white shirt and grey pants and his matching jacket lay draped beside him over the log. There was, however, a very distinct and out of the ordinary detail about his attire. The flat crown, broad brim hat on his head. The hat had come about earlier as they were leaving the house when Madeline became worried about her uncle's head in the sharp sun. Joe had promptly produced an old, forgotten hat from the bunkhouse and a brief discussion had ensued—resulting in Paul giving in to Madeline in order to gain permission to board the buggy. Adam hadn't really taken notice of the hat before but as he got closer to it now, he couldn't help but think that the item looked . . . strange. It was sort of mud-colored and floppy-looking, like it couldn't hold itself up properly anymore. Most of all, it appeared to be too large for the doctor's head. It sat low on his brow as if it would slip down over his eyes at any moment and the wide brim simply looked disproportionate to his body size. As far as men's hat fashion went, this was definitely a style Adam was unfamiliar with.

He was a few feet away now, and fully expected Paul to hear him coming and look up. But the doctor seemed to be lost in thought and only stared out across the river. Adam slackened his pace when he noticed an odd cast to his face. From the heavy lines and the downward pull of Paul's mouth, he sensed there must be a gravely creased forehead under the big hat. It was obvious that Paul's mind was focused somewhere else. On something unpleasant, troubling. Maybe this wasn't such a good time to have a talk about Madeline after all. Adam briefly considered retreating but decided it was too late for that now. He was practically there.

He came to a halt right next to the log and waited, sticking his hands in his back pockets. Paul remained oblivious and continued staring forwards, so Adam coughed a little to announce himself. It took a short while for the cough to register. Very slowly, the doctor turned his head. The massive hat tilted precariously when he looked up and was saved at the last instant by a steadying hand on the crown. In mere seconds, all traces of gloom had been wiped from his face and his expression had settled into one of cultivated indifference as he regarded Adam.

"Well, well," he drawled. "Look who left his tree."

Adam kept his own expression pleasant. He'd deserved that one. "Mind if I sit down for a bit?" he asked.

Paul gave a blank look. The only thing that changed about his face was an imperceptible wrinkling of his nose as if he momentarily caught a whiff of something distasteful. Finally, he gestured with a lazy hand.

"If you wish. As long as you don't disturb me." He faced the river again, the movement making his hat slip lower. "As you can see, I'm very busy."

Adam shot a glance at the slack fishing line.

". . . I'll try not to."

He went to sit down but stopped short. The log was big enough to fit two people. Or, at least it would have been, had Paul not been sitting right in the middle of it. As it was, if Adam tried to sit down next to him, their bodies would be squashed uncomfortably together. Paul's demeanor indicated that scooting over was quite beyond the realms of possibility. Without a doubt, he was fully aware of the awkwardness his sitting position presented.

Doing his best to muffle a twinge of exasperation, Adam settled down in the grass instead. He got comfortable, bent one knee and stretched his other leg out. As he scanned the glittering waters, he wondered if Paul considered talking as "disturbing him". Discreetly, he watched the doctor out of the corner of his right eye. Despite having known him for seventeen years, he still had trouble reading him. The man was the uncrowned king of inscrutable expressions. It didn't help matters that his eyebrows were hidden under that monstrosity on his head. Adam had never realized it before, but those two bushy strips of grey hair were the most telling feature of Paul's habitually bored countenance. Without them to go by, it was near hopeless to try to gauge the doctor's thoughts. He gave it a good shot but had to admit defeat. Having failed to discern any sort of feeling from Paul, he decided to test the waters with a casual comment.

He cleared his throat and glanced up at the sky.

"Nice day today . . ."

Long, quiet seconds ticked by.

"How observant of you."

The reply was flat and held no inflection whatsoever. Still, it was a reply. Waters tested, Adam thought a little more casual talk might soften up his friend.

"I remember we used to come out here a lot back in the day," he said, his gaze drifting down the river bank. "Sometimes you, Pa and Roy would be fishing while I played hide-and-go-seek with the boys around the meadow . . ." he trailed off to give Paul a chance to add comment.

The doctor didn't.

"Hoss and I even camped out under the stars here a few times," Adam expanded.

He got a low grunt in response.

Not quite what he was hoping for. At present he would get more conversation out of the dead log Paul was sitting on. Straining to curb another spike of annoyance, Adam turned to stare boldly at him. He eyed the bizarre hat, wondering what Paul would do if he suddenly yanked the thing off his head and tossed it into the river. That at least, was bound to get a reaction out of him. A tempting notion. But probably not the best or the most effective way of getting to the whole "I'd like to ask for your niece's hand in marriage" matter.

He dismissed the idea. He started to pick at the grass, trying to come up with something else to say instead. A genuine smile spread across his face when a fond memory surfaced, clear and vivid in his mind.

"You remember that one year when Hoss wanted to have his birthday party out here with all his friends?"

Paul snorted. "Certainly. A remarkably high number of parents of the young guests managed to wander off and get lost in the woods. Your poor father was running around like a headless chicken trying to keep track of everyone."

Adam looked at him in surprise. That was a whole lot of words. Feeling heartened, he replied, "And at the same time Pa was fretting over the rowdiest kids, worrying that one of them would end up taking a dip in the river."

"Mm-hm, and while he was busy watching said kids, it was Mrs. Buford he should've been keeping an eye on."

An image flashed before Adam's eyes, of a drenched and outraged Mrs. Buford. The grassy bank had been very slippery that day. Amusement tugging at him, he continued. "It was a sunny afternoon and you'd just come back from traveling . . ."

"Indeed. I stepped right off the stage coach, set off my luggage and hopped in the buggy," Paul said, waving a hand with a flourish. "I didn't know you'd all come out here, so I went straight to the house and a ranch hand informed me of your whereabouts."

Adam nodded. "We weren't expecting you home for another week, everyone was surprised when you showed up." His smile broadened. "Remember how excited Joe was to see you? The kid wouldn't let you go anywhere without him, he was so happy the 'duck' was back."

"Ah yes," Paul said, his voice lowering and warming. "The dear boy . . ."

His eyes went distant and the recollection brought an instant softening to his features as a smile of affection touched his lips. No doubt he was picturing Joe as a child like Adam had done himself just before.

"I half-worried he might've forgotten me, you know," Paul said after a minute. "Three months is a long time for a child that age."

"Of course he didn't forget you. We talked about you while you were away."

The doctor's eyes maintained that distant sheen as he spoke again. "I'd stuffed my pockets full of those little red sugar plums he liked so much, and I kept passing them to him behind my back when Marie wasn't looking. We had to be sneaky about it, she would have none of it before he'd eaten his supper."

"Yea . . ." Adam's smile wilted a bit. "She was always fussy about desserts before supper . . ."

Suddenly, Paul faced him and their gazes met and held. Memories poured in. But while the flood of remembrance brought some warmth, for Adam, it brought much greater pain. An old, suppressed sorrow awoke within him, ambushing him. A sharp-edged torment from the past that time had failed to dull, cut him deeply like a fresh anguish in the present. It was so intense, it took him off guard. His throat bobbed once, laboriously, and his eyes skirted away. Stifling silence ruled as he struggled mightily to get his thoughts and the conversation back on track. He didn't need this. He didn't need old pain piled on top of everything else.

"Anyway," he said after a long while, keeping his face turned towards the river. "It was just like you . . . coming home with a mountain of sweetmeat for the boys."

This time, Paul's response was immediate, his tone purposefully light. "Just as it should be. I wouldn't have been much of a best doctor in the whole world if I didn't return with ample amounts of sugary goods after being away, now would I?"

Adam was grateful for his tact. "I guess not," he said, going along. "Still, you had two whole boxes of chocolate drops and a huge bag of candy and that was just for Hoss."

"It was the boy's birthday," Paul justified himself.

Adam's mouth lifted a little. "And you gave me that book on engineering . . ."

He waited for a reply. None came. Puzzled, he looked over at the doctor. He seemed awfully absorbed in his fishing pole all of a sudden.

"Paul?"

"Ah . . . a book, you say?" His voice carried an undercurrent of reluctance. "What ah, what book was that?"

"It was about civil engineering," Adam said, scrutinizing his profile. "It had those incredible pictures in it of bridges, aqueducts and canals from all around the world."

"Well, erm, it was many years ago." The doctor pulled at his earlobe "I don't seem to remember . . ."

Adam furrowed his brows. "You gave it to me that same day, after Hoss had opened his presents," he prompted. "I took it to West Point with me."

Paul examined his fishing pole with scientific intensity. "Yes, well, I suppose I might have stumbled across such a book on my travels . . . I probably got it off some book canvasser and thought you might have an interest in it."

For a long moment Adam simply looked at him, his chest feeling strangely full.

"It was a newly published leather-bound edition. You brought it all the way back from New York for me . . ."

The sound of his own voice surprised him. It had gone curiously soft.

Paul sat very still. "Well . . . like I said, it was a long time ago. I really have no recollection of it . . ."

Adam's eyes were fixed on him. He couldn't look away. It was suddenly as if he saw him in a different light—a light from the past. He didn't see the cranky, agitating doctor who'd been driving him crazy the last week. He saw the man who'd been a steady presence in his life since he was fourteen years old. A man who'd always been there for him, his father and brothers, ready to lend support whenever it was needed. Someone who had listened to a boy's dreams of a college education and who had cared. Adam's chest tightened as all that came back. He shifted where he sat to relieve the sudden onslaught of emotion. This was another thing he didn't need. That kind of deep reflection would only make his life more complicated. Everything between him and Paul was complicated enough. Through sheer willpower, he quashed the rioting feelings within him in one fell swoop. Then he relaxed his posture and adopted a casual tone.

"Don't worry Paul, I understand. Your memory isn't what it used to be." He reached over to give the older man's back a supportive clap. "But don't feel bad. It happens."

The top half of the doctor's face disappeared completely as the clap made his hat drop all the way to his nose. He slowly lifted a hand and pushed the wide brim back up, revealing one grey eye turned towards Adam.

"Oh, ho ho, what a little joker you are, lad," he said flatly. "Does your wit know no bounds?"

"Probably not . . ." Feigning deep thought, Adam lifted a finger to his lips. "And I think it would be wrong to put boundaries on it. Such talent should be allowed to grow . . ."

Paul regarded him silently. Then shook his head. "You're impossible."

"Nope, can't be impossible." Adam motioned to himself. "Right here, I sit."

"Indeed, you do."

With another shake of his head, Paul returned his attention to his fishing line, but not before Adam caught the little twitch to his lips. That twitching suspicion of a smile he'd known since he was a boy. He was amazed at the warmth that spread inside him. This felt good. It was like they'd taken a small step back onto familiar ground with the resurrection of their easy banter. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed spending time with Paul. But he had. He'd missed their friendship. Maybe there was hope yet for a peaceful father-son-in-law relationship.

He followed the direction of the doctor's gaze to the fishing line.

"What bait are you using?" he asked.

Removing one hand from the branch-pole, Paul reached down by his feet where a little fishing tackle box stood. He opened it and lifted out a can that had at one point contained beans.

"Joe found me these juicy worms," he said, setting the can down next to Adam. "However, the fish residing here don't seem very keen. Not so much as a nibble yet." Massaging his little rounded chin, he cast a skeptical eye towards the water. "Perhaps some bugs of some sort would be more to their taste . . ."

Adam's eyes darted to the river, then back to Paul. An imp of mischief took hold. He shifted to get to his feet, timing his next comment so he would be up and standing when the words fell on his friend.

"You want me to help you catch one?"

"HA!" The doctor threw his head back and almost dislodged his hat. Hat, umbrella without a handle, whatever the case. "Help me? What in the—that's preposterous!" He struggled to secure the head-wear again. "I've been catching fish longer than you've been alive!"

"Sure, you have," Adam said tranquilly as he strolled around Paul's back, heading for an oak tree a few feet away.

"I'll have you know that I was—" Paul broke off when he whirled left and found an empty grass bank where Adam was supposed to be sitting. Adam fought a smile as the older man swung his head around in confusion, the hat flopping about. Paul finally looked right and spotted him. "That I was quite the fisherman in my day," he continued in a dignified tone. "Help me catch a fish. I've never heard anything so absurd in all my life."

Adam squinted up at the tree, searching for a good branch. "Sorry Paul. I didn't know you'd get so offended over—"

"Now, hold on there, lad." Paul held up a finger to rebut the statement. "Who said anything about being offended? I'm not offended, not at all. I was merely enlightening you. Clearly, you were dreadfully misguided on the matter."

"I appreciate it."

Spying a decent branch, Adam stretched up and broke it off. As he walked back to Paul, he found a y-shaped stick lying on the ground and bent to grab it. He sat down in the grass again and after breaking off the smaller growths from the main branch, he reached across Paul's shiny shoes to grab the tackle box. It was one of his father's, a present from Hoss one Christmas long ago. He got out a hook and line and began crafting a fishing pole. It had been many years since he'd constructed his own like this and as he worked, a new bout of memories with his brothers returned. He plucked a worm out of the can to bait the line, all the while feeling Paul's eyes tracking his every move.

He sensed the doctor shift. "Ahem . . . may I ask how many of my worms you intend to use?

Without looking up, Adam replied, "Of course, you may. I figure I can get two fat ones on there. The fish I want to catch won't bother with one measly worm."

He picked out a couple of lead sinkers from the tackle box and added them to the line. A quick upward glimpse revealed that Paul was leaning forwards and watching with interest.

"I'm adding extra lead to make sure the bait sinks and stays down," he explained. "The trick is to let it roll along the bottom with the current. All the big ones are down there."

"Hmpf." The doctor sat back. "Of course they are."

Adam pointed to his fishing line. "You might wanna pull your line in and check your bait."

Paul's eyelids did a very slow blink. "And why, pray tell, might I wanna do that?"

Pursing his lips, Adam surveyed the still water. "Have you felt any pull on that line at all?"

"I just told you, not so much as a nibble. The fish don't care for these worms."

"Trust me, check the bait. If you didn't hook it on right, a sneaky fish can snatch it clean off without you feeling a thing."

Paul made a face. "If I didn't hook it on right! What kind of fool do you take me for?"

About a hundred sarcastic responses to that sprang up in Adam's mind. The fact that none of them made it out was a sheer miracle. He merely smiled.

"Would you like me to do it for you?"

"Absolutely not." Paul dismissed the offer with a wave of his hand. "I'm very capable of checking my own fishing line, thank you very much."

Muttering under his breath, he settled the pole between his knees and began hauling in the line with a clumsy hand-overhand motion. A few seconds later, the hook emerged from the water, wormless. He held it up and they both stared at the curved metal swaying back and forth in the air.

Paul harrumphed. "Ah, it must've fallen off as I pulled the line in."

"Yeah . . . that's probably what happened."

"Mm. Without question."

The doctor went about baiting the hook again and Adam withheld further comment. He threw his own line out, stuck the y-shaped stick in the ground and settled his fishing pole. Crossing his legs, he leaned back on his palms in the soft grass. Again, he felt Paul's scrutiny like a physical pressure on the side of his face. With a one-cornered smile hitching his mouth, he slanted a deliberately sly wink at the doctor. Paul's lips crimped as if he'd chewed down on something sour. He huffed and threw his freshly baited line out—this time with lead sinkers—grumbling something about a young whippersnapper trying to out-fish him. Adjusting his hat, he then got into position. He sat rigid as a statue with his body arched tensely forwards, holding his fishing pole tightly with both hands. His gaze was riveted to the water.

"Come on fish . . ." he urged quietly.

Adam smiled wider. "Talking to them probably won't—"

"I have my way of fishing, you have yours."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Adam nodded agreeably. He focused on the water again and they lapsed into companionable silence for several minutes. At regular intervals Paul tugged carefully on his line to tempt a fish.

Adam contemplated his next move. He'd laid the groundwork—they'd had over fifteen minutes of civil conversation and a bit of banter. He'd even gotten a couple of smiles out of Paul. The older man seemed to actually like him a bit right now. All that was left to do, was ask for permission to marry his niece. Simple enough. But how did he ease into it? He couldn't just . . . blurt it out. He had to bring Madeline up in some way first. So absorbed in his dilemma, Adam slowly became aware of the painful thumping in his left arm. It got to the point where it demanded his attention and he had to rethink his leaned-back position. Sitting forwards again, he clutched his left elbow to ease the ache. He couldn't quite stifle a wince.

"How is it?" Paul asked from beside him.

"It's fine" rose up his throat, but Adam choked it back down at the last second. Paul was showing genuine concern, he deserved a half-honest answer at least.

"It's all right," he said. "I probably moved it around a little too much the last five minutes though. A bit sore now."

The following pause signaled Paul's surprise at the reply, but he recovered swiftly. "I wanted to look at it when we get home. Madeline was worried."

This was it. The opening he needed. Without moving his head, Adam slid a sideways glance at Paul.

"Madeline always worries," he said breezily.

Something between a snort and a grumble left the doctor's mouth as he tugged lightly on his fishing pole.

"She certainly does about you."

Adam hesitated. "And I worry about her too . . . because I care about her. A lot."

"I've gathered that."

This was it, his mind repeated. If there was ever an opportunity to have this talk, now was the time. Damn it, why were his hands getting all clammy suddenly? It was just Paul for God's sake. Adam wiped his palms on his pants. There was only one way to do this. He licked his lips, took a big breath and plunged in.

"Listen Paul . . . I wanted to talk to you about—"

"GOOD LORD!" Paul suddenly leaped up to a stand. "I have a bite!"

Adam's jaw dropped. He gaped at the doctor in complete astonishment. Hardly able to believe that he'd been interrupted for the second time today while trying to have a meaningful conversation. He was literally shaken out of his bewilderment when Paul grabbed him by the shoulder, rattled him, and let go to point frantically at his taut line.

"Adam! Look!"

"Yea Paul, I—"

"Look, lad!"

Adam hung his head. Then he shifted and climbed to his feet.

"I'm looking."

Paul gazed wide-eyed at the river. Clasping his hands behind his back, Adam looked as he was told. The fishing pole was bent in a sharp arch, looking like it might snap as Paul attempted to haul it back. The line wasn't budging. Whatever it was the hook had caught on, it wasn't a fish, Adam knew that much. He was just waiting for the doctor to realize it too. The only disturbances in the water were the little rings that formed every time Paul tugged. The struggle went on for several seconds.

"Gnnrrr." Paul pulled harder on the pole. "The devil . . ."

"Here, let me try," Adam said, holding a hand out. "You've probably got the hook caught on something."

"Something like a huge fish," the doctor grunted.

He moved his hands down so Adam could take hold but refused to relinquish the pole completely.

Adam tugged repeatedly, each time with increasing force.

He frowned. "How the hell did you manage . . ."

Finally, he gave it a hard, very frustrated yank—the pole came flying back and, to his great surprise and misfortune—so did Paul. With a choked yelp, the doctor tumbled backwards, arms flailing, hat flying, his heels slamming back against the log behind him. Adam whipped a hand out to grab him but got a fistful of air instead as Paul tumbled over the log and crashed to the ground, backside-first, his legs shooting up.

"Oooompff!"

He lay stunned in the grass, blinking up at the sky with his arms and legs spread out in all directions. There was a terrible silence. And then, a burst of laughter exploded up in the air. It cut off immediately when Adam realized it was coming from himself. He stood dumbstruck, startled at the unfamiliar sound that had just erupted from his lungs. How long had it been since he'd laughed like that? He couldn't even remember. Now wasn't the time to try either. He had to do something about the daggers Paul's icy eyes were currently hurling at him. Throwing down the pole, he rushed over to the fallen doctor. He knelt beside him and tried to get him sitting up.

"You all right Paul?"

The older man slapped his hands away. "Release me, you savage."

He complied. The look on Paul's face was enough to make him back up.

"Uncle Paul!"

"Doc!"

"Paul!"

The distant chorus of shocked voices had Adam dropping his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose, waiting for them to arrive.

Joe was first to show up with the unhelpful exclamation, "What the heck happened!" Followed by the no better, "Can't we leave the two of you alone together for five minutes?"

Standing, Adam pinched the bridge of his nose harder.

A second later, Hoss appeared behind Paul and swiftly bent down and stuck his hands under his arms. "Now Doc, what're ya doin' down there fur?"

In his vigor to assist, he hoisted the older man up with such force that Paul almost flew forwards.

"Oooompf!"

"There ya go," Hoss said, steadying him before he plunged into the river headfirst as well.

"You're all right, Doc," Joe said, patting his shoulder.

"Ugh. Thank you . . ."

Next, Madeline hurried to his other side, her eyes huge and worried, her forehead rippled. "Are you hurt Uncle Paul?" she asked, placing his stray hat back on his head.

"Ugh." Paul repeated, still shaken. "I don't know, I-I . . ." He looked down himself, patting his belly as if to check if he was intact when suddenly—

"THUNDERATION! Look what you did!"

Adam stared at Paul's finger jabbing insistently at a ragged tear on the left side of his vest.

He winced. "I'm sorry Paul, I didn't—"

"My favorite vest!"

"I—" Adam began and, wisely, stopped. Paul's face had turned crimson. His eyes had gone from icy to bonfire-blazing. His cheeks were blown out looking like they might explode, and Adam could practically see fumes coming out of his ears. It was safe to say that the doctor was peeved.

"Oh dear," Madeline said delicately, seemingly addressing the unfortunate situation in general. She brought a hand against her breastbone and dipped her head to examine the ripped clothing. "Oh, but look Uncle Paul, it's only a small tear and it runs along the seam. It will be no trouble for me to fix this."

Ignoring her little observation, Paul finally erupted and stabbed a finger at Adam's midsection. "YOU are the most reckless, most EXASPERATING, the most—"

"Doc . . . Doc, calm down," Joe interjected with a nervous grimace, but Paul ranted right over him. Adam appreciated the kid's concern for his life, but he somehow knew that the doctor needed to get this out of his system.

". . . . of all the irritating, STUBBORN . . ."

Paul's booming voice carried out across the river. Beads of sweat formed on Hoss' brow. He and Joe traded anxious glances. As the tirade continued, Adam stopped paying attention to Paul's lengthy listing of unflattering adjectives, which he guessed must have been building up over the last week. He retreated to that empty, cold place inside him where nothing could touch him—no harsh words, no angry glares—nothing could get through or even dent his armor. Smoothing any expression from his features, he stood with folded arms, his eyes holding Paul's steadily. That reaction only seemed to inflame the doctor's temper and his voice flew up a pitch. When Paul took a step towards him, Adam stepped backwards. For all he knew, the man might try to throw him into the river. He would fail, of course, abysmally, but he might end up stumbling over his own clumsy feet and falling in the water himself and Adam didn't want to be blamed for that too.

". . . most BULLHEADED man to have ever been created!" Paul finished on a thundering note that must have echoed all around the Ponderosa.

He was out of breath at that point and looked exhausted. It was so quiet suddenly that everyone could hear Hoss gulp. Madeline had a hand covering her mouth and Joe stood frozen with his teeth gritted together in a wincing grimace.

"Well?" Paul demanded. "Have you nothing to say for yourself?!"

Keeping his face flawlessly blank, Adam was about to speak when his father arrived at the scene—and not a moment too soon.

"What in God's name is going on here?" Ben exclaimed, holding up a pair of quelling hands as he stepped in between them, facing the doctor.

"Ask your son!" Paul barked and looked down to mourn his torn vest again.

Adam waited as his pa swiveled around to him with a confounded expression that invited an explanation. He shrugged one shoulder. "We had a little mishap."

Paul's head jerked up, his eyes flying wide. "A LITTLE MIS—"

"Uncle Paul, Uncle Paul," Madeline intervened, placing her hands around his arm. "Please calm yourself. Adam clearly feels very terrible about all of this." Her worried gaze flashed in Adam's direction before she continued in her gentle, reasoning voice, "Like I said, I can fix your vest and I promise you it will be as good as new. There's really no cause for you to get so upset over such a thing. Now, most importantly, did you injure yourself?"

Only Madeline could have managed it, and Adam wasn't surprised that she did. Some of the steam left Paul as he finally peeled his glare off him and glanced at her concerned face for the first time. He grunted and rubbed his lower back. "No . . . no, I don't think so." He cast a doubtful look at the mangled fabric around his stomach. "I don't know about this vest though . . ."

"But I do," she said firmly. "I will mend it, so don't worry yourself."

Shifting his considerable bulk, Hoss dared a remark. "I reckon Miss Madeline knows what she's talkin' about Doc. She fixed a big ol' rip in a shirt of mine just the other day. She kin mend just about anythin'."

Madeline sent him a grateful smiled and Hoss basked in the glow.

"Well," Ben said with a measure of unease, laying a cautious hand on Paul's shoulder. "There's no real harm done then, is there Paul?"

Even though the storm seemed to have passed, Adam noted how his pa kept himself positioned between Paul and him, as though he worried the doctor might fly off again. It came as no surprise, his overprotective father's urge to shield him from the doctor's wrath. And without even knowing the facts of what had happened, which still hadn't been clarified to anyone.

"I suppose not," Paul grumbled. Mellowed some now, his previous expression of fury had been toned down to one of mere irritation as he once again faced Adam.

"Did you at the very least secure my catch?"

Joe who'd been unusually quiet, joined the conversation and spoke from behind Adam.

"Uh yeah, about that, Doc . . ."

Everyone watched as he held up the fishing pole and the scrap of fishing line that remained.

With deliberate slowness, Paul turned back to Adam and gave him a look that would have seen a lesser man felled on the spot. Adam didn't even flinch. The doctor opened his mouth to speak again but Madeline diverted him.

"There, there now, Uncle, everything will be fine. Why don't we go back and have a nice cooling glass of lemonade in the shade?"

Paul started to protest, but she quickly linked her arm through his and swung him around in the direction of the meadow. He had to hold onto his hat. She walked him off while keeping up a stream of soothing babble, projecting calm and peace onto her frustrated uncle. Watching them go, Adam had a feeling it would take more than lemonade to douse the older man's temper. He didn't say so though. Hoss shot him a sympathetic glance before hurrying after them, and on his way, collected the three flower bouquets which had been discarded in the grass during all the commotion.

Adam waited until they were well into the meadow. Then he bowed his head and expelled a huge, long breath. Sensing his father's approach, he instantly straightened his back and steeled himself for whatever was coming next. Unexpectedly, he felt a strong hand settle on his shoulder.

"We'll talk about it later, son. Paul has probably had enough outdoor activities for one day, so we'll start packing up and head home."

Keeping his eyes lowered, Adam only nodded. He didn't have the energy for anything else.

"It'll be fine. You know how he can be," his father said and with those reassuring words, he released his shoulder with a squeeze.

There was something resembling weariness in his gait as he went over to fetch Paul's grey jacket and the fishing tackle box by the log. With a great sigh, he headed after the others.

Adam decided to hang back, deeming that distance, at this time, would be best for all parties involved. He finally let his shoulders drop, along with his guard. Closing his eyes tightly, he smeared a palm over his face. That literally could not have gone worse. Everything that had just happened, surpassed any possible bad outcome he might have been able to dream up. Talk about letting a conversation escalate . . . What had he done? How the hell had things gone so horribly wrong? He knew Paul had a temper, but he hadn't witnessed such a long and scorching demonstration of it in a long time. All directed at him. And it had to happen now, just when they'd found their footing with one another again. He cursed his bad luck. It would likely take days for the doctor to get past this disaster. If asking for permission to marry Madeline had been unnerving before, it was downright frightening now.

Pacing a few steps along the river bank, Adam felt his bad mood returning with a vengeance.

He hadn't managed to talk things out with Madeline about the kiss. He hadn't gotten to ask Paul the question that burned constantly in his heart and mind. The chances had been there, and he'd blown them both.

This really wasn't his day.

He wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose again but restrained himself. A third time in such short order was just too ridiculous. Standing completely still at the edge of the bank, he stared down into the clear water, relying on deep, deliberate breaths to calm him down instead. Quiet fell around him. The breeze washed over him, cleansing. He stood like that for at least a minute, probably more. Until his thoughts had ordered themselves, somewhat.

Let it go. That was what he needed to do right now. He couldn't change what had happened with Paul. There was no point in dwelling on it. Any attempt to talk to the doctor about Madeline would be futile for the time being. He would just have to bide his time and try again when things had cooled down between them. As for the talk with Madeline—he might still be able to settle that matter. If he could find the right moment to speak with her, privately, so he could explain himself. And apologize properly for his behavior earlier . . .

It came out of nowhere. "It" was a familiar prickle on the back of his neck. The prickle he got when something wasn't right in his surroundings—the prickle that had saved him and his men from more than a few Rebel ambushes during the war. All thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind as his warning instincts screamed alive.

Adam looked up. His narrowed eyes immediately moved over the river to the opposite shore. Years of training came rushing back, sharpening his focus. Slowly, he slid his gaze along the shore, trying to locate the source of his unease. Trying to identify this sudden, unknown threat. Reflexively, his right hand went to his hip, grasping for the comforting feel of the grip of his gun, but there was nothing. He remembered removing his gun-belt earlier while they were having the picnic. All his senses were on full alert now, every muscle in his body strung tight. His heart-rate climbed as his eyes searched the thick forest in the distance. He saw nothing. Only dark woods. But that prickly sensation wouldn't let up. His concentration was broken when his ears, attuned for the tiniest sound, picked up footsteps coming behind him.

"What is it Adam?"

He felt Joe's presence beside him and looked sideways at him.

Joe's brows were scrunched in a deep frown, his eyes sharp and attentive, fixed on the opposite shore.

"I'm not sure," Adam said and gazed across the river again. "I just had a strange feeling . . ."

For a few beats, they stood silently, staring ahead, neither moving.

"You wanna ride out and take a look?" Joe asked quietly.

The soldier in him did. But he wouldn't. Whatever was out there, he wasn't about to leave Madeline's side to go and find out. He would be sticking close to the buggy the whole ride home until he had her safely back at the house. However unpleasant it may be for him and Paul.

"No, not now," he mumbled. "Let's just get on home."

He turned away, though it took effort to pull his eyes free from the distant shore. Joe seemed to be having the same problem, so Adam placed a hand on his shoulder and rotated him around. He let his palm rest there as they headed back towards the meadow.

"Do you have any idea what it was?"

Prepared for the question, Adam replied smoothly, "Just a feeling I had. It was probably nothing."

Abruptly, Joe dug his heels in the grass and twisted so they stood front to front. "When you get a look on your face like the one I just saw, it means there's something," he said, his voice clipped, "I'm not a little kid anymore Adam, so stop treating me like one."

Taken aback, Adam dropped his hand from Joe's shoulder. He regarded his little brother with sudden intensity. Joe met his gaze, levelly, strongly, and his green eyes reflected the truth of his own statement. Adam realized Joe was right. That cherub-faced child he'd spent so much of his life protecting was long gone now. Before him stood a young man. A proud young man.

He sighed and rubbed his neck. "I'm sorry Joe . . ." He flicked a glance back at the river. "I don't know what it was out there . . . I didn't see anything exactly. But I think we should be on our guard until we get home."

Joe's expression softened and he jerked a nod. "Right."

As they began walking again, Adam's attention honed in on Madeline in the distance.

"This stays between us, Joe. Don't say anything to the others."

xXXx

By the time they got back to the picnic spot, all their supplies were loaded onto the buggy again. The atmosphere was subdued, only Madeline and Hoss were talking, attempting to lighten things up. Paul was quiet and sulky, and Adam paid no mind to him. He needed to keep a clear head and couldn't allow for distractions.

As they left Hoss Heaven, he and Joe took up position on either side of the buggy. Adam rode Sport close to Madeline's side. She was obviously surprised by that, but he knew she had no idea about the reason for his nearness. The same could not be said for his pa. Ever the perceptive father, Ben was quick to catch onto the change in his sons' demeanors. After five minutes on the trail, he also started paying special attention to their surroundings.

The further away from Hoss Heaven they got, the less threatened Adam felt. He had no sense they were being followed and gradually that prickly feeling faded.

The trip went without incident. They arrived back at the house half an hour later and Adam had noticed nothing out of the ordinary. He shared a look with Joe as they rode into the yard but he just shrugged and hadn't noticed anything either. Adam was relieved to have Madeline home safely, but the events puzzled him. He'd seen nothing. He'd heard nothing. But the feeling that someone had been watching him by the river lingered. He didn't know who or why. But he knew better than to ignore his instincts.

xXXx