March 1873

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Prologue

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The tree looked as ancient and gnarled as the young man felt.

It had been a long hard ride and all he wanted to do was find some place to bed down and get some sleep, but something had drawn him into the desert to this place.

To this tree.

It was March and the tree was in bloom. Its yellow blossoms and sweet fragrant scent were inviting, but the young man – seasoned in the realities of the West – knew, like the desert itself, that appearances could be deceiving.

Most often were deceiving.

Past the blossoms, beyond the scent, the tree's branches were covered in thorns.

He had his gloves on – just like he'd had them on that other time – so he took hold of one of those branches and used it to steady himself as he knelt beside the tree. It was a healthy tree. It's feathery top reached nearly twenty feet into the sky, far beyond its normal range. That was because it had been watered.

With blood.

The young man let out a sigh. He wasn't quite sure what had drawn him here. The path between where he was and where he intended to go was a straight one. Point A to point B. The Acacia tree was off the beaten path. It was a detour.

He snorted.

Or was it a diversion?

The cowboy reached out to scatter the sandy soil at the base of the tree's bifurcated trunk. After a moment, he removed his black gloves and dug into the dry dirt with his bare fingers, as if moving it with his flesh instead might – somehow – connect him to what had occurred here nearly two years before. He didn't remember much. In fact, he remembered nothing at all of this place. He only knew what he'd been told.

He'd almost died here.

Rising to his feet, the young man looked to the west. He had a choice to make. He could mount his horse and ride to the next town, and from there to Lone Pines, or he could take another detour. Tears kissed his eyes as he considered his choice. Life had taken a detour the year before. No. Not a detour. It had been derailed. Hop Sing often spoke of a balance. When one thing rises, another has to fall. Something is given, and something else is taken.

In other words, the ferryman had to be paid.

As he rose to his feet, he wavered. Striking out, he caught hold of the tree's trunk and balanced himself. He was tired. Dog tired. He doubted he could make it to the next town even if he wanted to. His choice was to sleep on the ground with scorpions as his companions, or to head for the ranch. There were memories there he wasn't sure he wanted to face. Not of sickness or pain, though he'd know that as well, but of the gentle giant who, like Atlas, had sat by his side keeping watch; the giant who had balanced his world on broad shoulders.

That balance was gone now. He was tilting, not at the wind, but toward the abyss.

The young man sniffed and struck tears away from his face with the back of his black glove.

He hated self-pity.

Joe Cartwright glared at the Acacia tree that had sheltered him all those months before when he lay dying of a bullet wound to the back and gave it a good swift kick.

Almost as much as he hated life.

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ONE

ooooo

It was another day.

The young woman who stood with her hand on the kitchen pump let out a sigh before brushing a long lock of straight brown hair out of her eyes. She went to pick up the graniteware bowl that sat on the dry sink's top, but instead leaned both hands on its edge and closed her eyes. Her ma had made it clear to her when she was a little girl that life didn't just hand you what you wanted. That, in fact, it was downright unfair.

This last year had certainly proven that.

She was a willowy creature, tall for a woman, with a thin face, thinner waist, and long legs that put her waistline a good two inches above her ma's. Neither her ma or pa were tall, so she wasn't sure where it came from. Ma said it was great-grandma Ida on her mother's side, but there was no ferrotype to prove it. She'd always felt awkward and shy because of it. Though she'd only attended school for a few years before they moved to the ranch, it had been long enough to be bullied and bossed and called things like 'giraffe girl'. She was shy by nature, but the treatment she'd received there had made her withdraw even further into herself. It had come as a relief when Pa said they were going to move to the country to raise cattle.

The cattle wouldn't care how tall or ungainly she was.

She was tired. Not that that was anything different from the day before or the day before that. She was always tired. In the last year she'd had to do that thing Ma kept telling her she'd have to do one day – grow up. She realized now what a vain and idle creature she'd been before. Maybe it was because of what her pa always said. He called her his 'princess' and, well, she just got it in her head that that's what she was. Where Ma was practical, Pa was a dreamer. When she should have been helping with the chores, he'd swoop her up off the ground and they'd go riding over the vast track of land that was their home. Pa talked about her future as they rode – how she'd grow up to be a beauty and have boys waiting in line to court her, and how he'd make enough money from the ranch that he could give her a sizeable dowry so she'd be able to land a handsome, well-heeled husband.

The young woman opened her eyes and looked at her reddened and chaffed hands. Then she raised her head and stared at her reflection in the mirror that hung about the kitchen sink. She was nineteen, going on twenty, but she looked much older. The last year had aged her in more ways than she could name. No, make that the last two. She reached out to touch the mirror, laying a finger on the shadow of a smile that curled her lips. Everything had changed the day he came – the stranger her Pa had found in the desert with a bullet hole in his back. Up until that time she'd been an innocent.

She was an innocent no more.

The sound of the door opening caused Julia Griswold to turn toward it.

"I got the morning chores done," an earnest young voice asserted. "If you don't need any help in the house, Miss Julia, I'm gonna head out and ride fence."

The young woman smiled. Ern was a sweet boy, but that's all he was – a boy.

"No. I'm fine," she said.

Ern's gaze went past her to the hall that led into the main bedroom. "How's your ma doin'?"

She let out a little sigh. "About the same. The Doc's supposed to come by soon."

"That's good." The young man paused. "You sure I can't do anythin' to help?"

"Thank you for offering. I'm gonna take this bowl in to Ma so she can get cleaned up, and then I'm going to cook most of the day. I'll be fine."

"I'll check back come night fall then." He stared at her a moment. "With all that's been happenin', well…you take care. "

She nodded and then followed Ern to the door and watched him mount up and ride away. After that her eyes went to the barn with its burnt-out end, and then to the pasture where they'd kept their extra horses until someone opened the gate and let them out. Strange things had happened ever since…well, for a year or so…but they seemed to be happening with more frequency now. Her eyes went to the rifle leaning against the wall by the door. Her Pa'd shown her how to use it when she was little – at Ma's insistence – but she didn't like it. She'd never really learned how to use it. The idea of shooting a man – or anything for that fact – made her queasy at her stomach.

She knew how to use it now.

As she stood there looking out, a lone figure came into her line of vision. Julia raised a hand and squinted against the dying sun. The stranger was coming in from the opposite direction their hand had taken, riding at a slow pace as if to let whoever lived on the ranch see he was coming. She reached for the gun and stepped out onto the porch and raised it. He was almost in the yard now. With a frown she noted the man was riding a black and white pinto and wearing an apple green jacket.

And that his hair was a wondrous tussle of silver and sable curls.

As he dismounted and turned toward her, Joe Cartwright raised his hands to a position of surrender. "So, you gonna shoot me or invite me in?" he grinned.

Julia melted. She lowered the rifle and rested it beside the door. "Hello, Mister Cartwright. What brings you here?"

He moved a step closer, and as he did the dying light struck those curls. They sparked just like Christmas tinsel in candlelight.

"I was on my way to Lone Pines like before. I thought I would stop by and say hello."

Julia's eyes narrowed. There was something about the way he said that, that said that wasn't quite true. Or at least it wasn't all of the truth. She looked at him closer.

Joe Cartwright looked older too.

"Well, you're welcome here," she said. "I'm afraid we haven't got much, but what we've got, we'll share."

He shook his head. "I don't need much. Just a place to lay my head for the night."

She dared it. "You look tired."

Joe was studying her. "You do too," he said softly.

Julia reached up and pushed that stray lock of hair back again. "I'm all right. There's just a lot of work to do since…." Her eyes grew moist. She denied the tears. "Well, since Ma took ill."

He was immediately concerned. "What happened to your mother?" Turning he looked around, seeming only then to note the vacant pens, the haphazardly mended fences, and the lack of ranch hands.

"Is your father around?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Pa's…gone. It's just Ma and me."

Joe nodded. "Well, maybe before I pull out I can help Ern…he's still with you, right?" At her nod, he continued, "Maybe I can help Ern fix up a few things. I'm in no hurry. The horses I'm picking up are already paid for." Joe paused and then added, his tone hushed. "Pa wouldn't let me come carrying money."

They'd thought that was why he'd been bushwhacked nearly two years back – his pa and big brother, Hoss, that was. Joe was carrying a large sum of money. In the end, it had been greed that had almost killed him, but that greed had nothing to do with the Ponderosa and everything to do with them.

"You don't need to do that – "

Joe's look stopped her. "I don't need to. I want to. You and your parents…." The handsome man drew in a breath. "You saved my life."

She hesitated and then nodded. "Okay. Thank you." In truth she would have done just about anything to get him to stay for a few days. She'd been a child when Joe Cartwright rode away nearly two years before. She was anything but a child now. There'd been boys who had come out to the ranch to see her. Even one who had asked for her hand before…. Julia looked out to the east where she could just see a rider heading that way. Ern was in love with her. She knew it and he knew she knew it, but there was nothing there. There couldn't be. Her heart belonged to the man who had occupied her bed for nearly a month, the one she'd fear would die in it – the one who stood before her now and whom she had feared she would never see again.

"Miss Julia?"

She started and then laughed. "Just Julia."

"Then you have to call me Joe."

"Oh, no! I couldn't do that. You're – "

"Old?" he laughed. "Well, I may be old, but 'Mister Cartwright' makes me feel even older."

He climbed the steps to the porch and came to rest at her side. There was about Joseph Cartwright an aura of strength and a fierce masculinity that was all but overwhelming. It caused her to take a step back. They were of a height, though with his high-heeled boots on he topped her by a couple of inches. He'd aged in the years since she'd last seen him. His hair was more silver than sable now. There were added lines in his face and a tightness about his lips that spoke of something he would not name; something that ran deep, dark, and dangerous as a roaring river. His eyes were the green of the desert in spring when water is plentiful, but his spirit – and oh, how she remembered that spirit – was dry as the bleached bones that littered the summer sand.

She wondered what he had lost.

"All right. Joe, it is." She forced a smile. "Ma will be right happy to see you. She's been laid up for a while. I think company would be good for her."

"What happened?"

"She was fixin' a fence and cut herself," Julia replied. "The infectivity just won't go away."

"What was your mother doing fixing a fence?" he asked, his tone saying more than his words.

Julia dropped her head. "Someone had to do it."

The next thing she knew, his fingers were under her chin and Joe was lifting her head up. The electric nature of that touch shot through her and made her shiver.

"Julia, what aren't you telling me?"

"Answer plain, girl," a weary voice said. "The man's asked you a question."

The young woman started and turned in place. "Ma! What're you doing up? You know Doc Scully said you need to rest!"

"Pish-tosh! I'm no city girl to be handled with white gloves." Pat Griswold pinned him with her keen stare. "I see you managed to stay alive," she said with just a hint of amusement in her voice.

"Yes, Ma'am. I figured I used up so much of your time and food and bed linens that I'd better. Letting myself get killed would have been a poor way to repay you for such fine nursing."

Her mother nodded. She eyed him a moment before speaking again. "You look thinner, Joe. You better come inside and get something to eat before the wind blows you away."

With that, her mother turned her back on them and limped into the house.

Joe exchanged a glance with her. "She's supposed to be in bed?"

Julia nodded.

"Any luck keeping her there?"

She shook her head.

"Well? Are you coming or not?" her ma's voice called out.

As she made to follow her mother, Joe caught hold of her arm. When she turned, it was to look directly into those eyes. They were filled with concern and there was something in them that echoed her own pain.

"Your father?" he asked.

The tears she had denied fell. Julia shook her head.

Then she hurried inside.

ooooo

Joe Cartwright took off his black gloves and tossed them on the Griswold's table before pulling out a chair and sitting down. Pat Griswold had indicated he should with a nod of her head and then gone into the kitchen. He'd been mostly out of his head when he'd stayed with them. Not only had he had the bad luck to ask a cup of coffee off of two cattle rustlers, but they'd been neighbors of the Griswolds and knew where to find him. When a shot in the back didn't finish him off, one of them – Jim Fenton – tried to smother him. He'd spent several weeks with the family, most of it out of his head. The curly-haired man smiled. Near the end Pa had allowed him out of bed and he'd sat at this table a few times before they loaded him into the wagon and took off for home. As Julia moved past him to join her mother, Joe looked around. The woodwork was off-white; the walls papered with a blue and white stripe that matched the tablecloth. There were all the usual things you would expect to find in a kitchen – cupboards filled with dishes, a work table; pots and pans. He raised his eyes as Julia came to the table to lay an extra place.

There had only been two.

A 'huff' and a slight moan made him look toward the stove. Pat Griswold was leaning on it; both hands gripping the edge. He started to rise, but Julia shook her head. A moment later Pat was on her way to the table with two bowls of soup in her hand.

"I'll get the other one, Ma," Julia said and hustled that way.

Joe watched the older woman sit. His eyes lingered on her face, noting the changes. It was drawn and her coloring off. Both sure signs of the sickness Julia had mentioned. Pat had lost weight, which – again – was to be expected. But there was something more. Something he recognized.

This was a woman barely holding it together.

As Julia sat down, he said softly, "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

The redhead's gaze shot to her daughter. Julia gave a little shake of her head.

"Julia didn't tell me, but it's obvious." Joe indicated the table. "Two places set." He turned and looked at the door beside which two cloaks and two hats hung. "No man's coat, hat ,or belt by the door."

Pat drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Eat your supper first. Then we'll talk."

Joe exchanged a look with Julia and then did as he was told. Not only was he hungry, but the older woman who had done so much for him deserved respect. Not a word was spoken as they consumed the chicken soup and bread. It was followed by a piece of apple pie and coffee. He remained where he was as the two women returned the empty dishes to the kitchen. He'd offered to help, but Pat had turned him down. When they finished, the older woman came back to the table.

"I've a mind to sit out on the porch. That suit you?"

He nodded as he rose. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Call me Pat," she said as she wiped her hands clean on her apron, "somehow I think 'ma'am' is a little formal for a woman who's seen you in your birthday suit."

He must have looked horrified because Julia giggled. He shot her a look and then stopped short.

Had she seen him too?

Pat seemed to read his mind. "The girl didn't get too good a look. I shooed her out right fast enough."

Pat Griswold had this way of looking at you. Her face said one thing and her eyes another.

Right now they were laughing.

The older woman took him by the arm and began to draw him out of the house. "C'mon, boy. You look like you could use some fresh air.

The Griswold's porch was broad and expansive. It nearly ringed the house, lacking only one side. The land the impressive ranch sat on was flat, so there was almost always a breeze. Since it was spring, it was a bit chilly. Julia came up behind her mother and dropped a warm merino wool shawl about the older woman's shoulders before taking a seat beside her. He did the same, occupying a chair while the ladies sat in rockers. For some time, they were silent again.

"I lost my husband about a year back, just before winter," Pat said at last. Joe noted Julia reached over to take her mother's hand as she continued. "If you remember right, when you were shot, Tom was ready to take off on the drive. This was the same." She paused. "Only it wasn't."

"May I ask what happened?"

Pat shrugged. "No one knows for sure. Tom and the others rode off like they always did and took the same route. Tom knew it well as the back of his hand. When they came back, he wasn't with them."

"Sheriff Truslow said there was a storm. The lightning scared the cattle and they stampeded. Pa went out to try and stop them." The young woman paled. "They looked, but they couldn't find him."

"That was the hardest of all," Pat said as she rocked. "Having nothing to bury."

"Why was the sheriff on the drive?" Joe asked. It seemed an odd thing.

"They were a few men down. Bob went with them. It was only supposed to be for a couple of weeks."

"Sheriff Truslow actually deputized Ern to keep order while he was gone," Julia said, laughing softly. "You should have seen him sporting that tin badge. He showed it off to everyone."

Her description made him think of himself as a young man when he took over as sheriff in Rubicon. He'd been so proud and so sure he was old enough to do what had to be done. In the end, he'd discovered he was being used.

Joe frowned.

"Is something wrong, Joe?" Pat asked.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. "So, you two have been here alone since…since Tom's accident?"

"Ern's here," Julia said.

"Just Ern?"

Pat nodded. "We had to let the others go. Since Tom's death money's been tight. We have to pay men to move the cattle and care for them. Our profit's been just about cut in half."

"Some of the neighbors have offered to help out," Julia said. "But Ma –"

"I won't be taking charity, Julia, and you know it. We'll get by." Pat rose to her feet. "We always have." She turned to look at him. "I'm tired, Joe Cartwright, and I imagine you are too. You can bed down in Julia's room. She can sleep with me." The older woman smiled. "I think you know the way."

"I'm gonna stay up a bit longer, Ma, unless you need me to help you get to bed."

"I been putting myself to bed for nigh onto fifty years, girl. I think I can manage it myself."

Julia dropped her head.

"Goodnight, Mister Cartwright. Don't you young people stay up too long. There's work to do in the morning, bright and early."

Joe smiled and then watched as Pat walked into the house. Her steps were heavy as the grief she'd suffered weighed her down.

He knew all about that.

They sat for a few moments; Julia rocking and him staring out at the night sky. After a bit she asked the question he had known was coming.

"How's your family, Joe? How's your Pa and Hoss?"

Hearing the name was like an arrow thrust into his flesh. He swallowed. "Pa's fine."

She must have sensed it. Women were that way. You could no more hide something from them than a bloodhound.

"Is something…wrong with Hoss?"

He pursed his lips and closed his eyes. It was there, whenever he did – the image of his brother's last moments alive. That picture – so much a part of him now – had the power to draw all strength away. He couldn't count the nights he'd lain curled up on his bed, racked with tears; unable to sleep. Pa was worried about him, but then he was worried about Pa. The last year had been hard. After first drawing together, they'd drifted apart. Pa…well…Pa was worried the same thing would happen to him. His pa had always been a mother hen, but the wing that sheltered him had become a prison, and the tighter Pa held on, the more desperate it made him to break free. Their grief had grown to the point where the sight of one another was painful. It was part of why he had taken off for Lone Pines.

They needed some time apart to come to terms with their mutual loss.

Fingers touched his arm. "Joe?"

He opened his eyes and leaned back in the chair. "Hoss is dead," he said.

Julia actually gasped. "No!"

Joe nodded. "It happened not too long after we left here. A few months. There was a flood and a wall of mud…." He sucked in air. "I almost died. Hoss did."

She was blinking back tears. "I'm so sorry, Joe. Hoss was…." She paused. "He was one of the kindest, gentlest men I ever met. I've never seen a man so tender. The way he took care of you –"

The arrow twisted and he sucked in air.

Julia's grip tightened on his arm. "Oh, Joe! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…."

"I know." It took a few seconds, but he looked at her. "Seems we've both lost something that can't be replaced."

Julia held his gaze for a moment and then rose and walked to the edge of the porch. Once there, she took hold of the railing and gazed out toward the horizon. There was something in her look – in the way she held her long, slender body – that told him there was more to learn and he wasn't going to learn it now.

He went to join her.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She turned to look at him. "Are you?"

He could have lied. She could have lied. But it would have done neither of them any good.

"No," he replied.

Twilight had fallen and the moon risen in the sky. Its pale beams struck the porch rails turning them silver-blue. As she raised her head, the light reflected in Julia's blue eyes, revealing unshed tears. Her lower lip trembled as one escaped. He reached up to brush it away.

And then, she was in his arms.

He held her for some time, until her grief and fear ran out along with her tears and she suddenly realized where she was and what she had done.

"I'm sorry, Mister Cart – Joe. I didn't mean to…." She reached out to place a hand on his chest. "I've ruined your shirt!"

He caught her fingers in his. "Nah. It needed a good washing," he said with a smile.

She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could a stern voice called out, "Julia! Unless you want to sleep on the porch, you better get in here. I'm gonna lock the door."

"She probably needs help getting ready for bed," the young woman said. "You know Ma. She's not good at admitting she's less than perfect."

"Are you?" he asked, taking her off-guard.

"Julia!"

She didn't answer him. He didn't really expect her too.

Silence was part and parcel of the lie.

Ooooo

To be continued….