THREE

ooooo

"Julia Adeline Griswold!"

Julia's head came up. She pivoted in her chair to look at the entrance to her mother's room. She'd taken a break from cooking to fold some linens.

And apparently forgotten to turn down the fire.

The chair skidded back as she shot to her feet. "Sorry, Ma! I'll get it!"

"You'll get your head out of the clouds or you'll end up sitting on one strumming a harp!" her mother huffed as she limped over to the stove and pulled the burning pot off of it ,and then proceeded to limp to the door and toss the spoiled contents into the yard. She didn't say anything – just shook her head – before taking the charred vessel back to the sink.

A moment later she was at her side.

Ma reached out a hand to touch her head. "Really, child, you have to learn to concentrate on what you're doing. You could have burned the house down, and," she added with a wink, "that handsome Joe Cartwright along with it if he was here."

Julia blushed. "I wasn't thinking about Joe," she said as she busied herself with the linens.

"You let that go. I need help airing this place out. Or hadn't you noticed the smoke?"

The young woman wrinkled her nose. Now she did.

Her mother winced as she lowered herself into the chair.

"Does it hurt bad, Ma?" she asked.

"I've had worse pain. Birthing you was one. Who would've expected a girl to have such long legs!" Her mother placed a hand over hers. "You know? I think maybe the Good Lord let that pot burn. We don't stop much to talk anymore. Seems there's always something to do since your pa…." Ma let out a sigh. "How are you, Julia?"

She shrugged. "I'm fine, Ma."

"Fine with cooking and cleaning and managing a ranch and doing men's chores? Fine with wearing pants and mucking out stables?"

"I haven't had to do that for a while. Ern…."

"That boy loves you. Do you know that?"

Julia laughed. "I love him too, like a brother."

"Not like a brother."

"Oh, Ma, really! No…I…." She was flustered. "Ma, you don't mean….? Ma? No! I've known him since I was a little girl!"

She nodded. "About ten years. That's a long time for a man to wait for a woman to take notice."

Ern was in his early twenties. He'd been a boy when Pa hired him. They'd practically grown up together.

"You're wrong, Ma."

"I'm right. Now, I know you never looked at him that way – "

"And I never will! He's just not my type, Ma. He's…."

The older woman was eyeing her. "What?"

She pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose. "Ern's a boy."

"While Joe Cartwright is a man."

Julia scowled. "You keep harping on Joe Cartwright…."

"Because your mind hasn't been on anything else since he came riding in the other night." Her mother smiled. "He's a handsome man, and a good one. I don't hold anything against him."

"But?"

Her mother leaned back in her chair and thought a moment. "Julia, there are different kinds of men. There are the ones who are hard-working, whose thoughts are for their wives and children. There are men who are dedicated to their work and it becomes their life. There are others whose high sense of justice drives them to right wrongs. Some are loving. Others, well, they shut themselves down from hurt. And then there are some who are just plain reckless, who don't have a lick of sense."

"And which is Joe?" the young woman asked.

Her mother snorted. "All of the above. Joe Cartwright is a complicated man, Julia."

"So…." She drew a breath. "You wouldn't like it if I…liked him?"

"Did what I just said make sense?"

It took a second. She nodded.

Her mother leaned over the table. She touched her forehead and then her heart. "Here, but not here, I'm guessing?"

She nodded again.

The older woman let out a little sigh as she rose and pushed her chair back. "The heart just plain doesn't have any sense," she said. With that, she headed into the hallway that led to her bedroom.

Julia called her back . "Ma?"

"Yes?"

"Which one of those men was Pa?"

Her mother laughed.

All of the above.

ooooo

Joe Cartwright reached for the coffee pot nestled in the coals of his campfire. He was beginning to regret his choice to come to Lone Pines. The more he thought about it, the more uneasy he was leaving the Griswold women alone with no one but Ern to keep watch over them. He'd finished up his business around noon. After sending the telegram to Pa, telling him he would be about a week, and the one to Clem Foster requesting information about Robert Truslow, he'd taken a turn around the town. Lone Pines contained the usual feed and seed stores, a mercantile, a bank, a small opera house, and several saloons. He'd gone to the one that also served food. While most everyone stared, no one approached him – except a pretty saloon girl named Charlie who tried to get him to go upstairs. Joe snorted. He must have looked like an easy mark. He'd bought her a drink and tipped her five dollars and she'd gladly moved on to the next one. Charlie was a pretty woman with spiraling blond curls and a short, compact, curvaceous body. She had big blue eyes and clear, clean skin, both of which were buried under too much makeup. He found himself comparing her to Julia, with her silky brown hair that fell in a wave to her waist, her long willowy form and down on the farm freshness.

Julia won the contest hands-down.

Earlier in his life, when he'd been that kid that Adam was always pulling out of a bar fight and tossing over his shoulder semi-conscious, he'd been attracted to women who were trouble. At seventeen it had been anyone old enough to be his mother. Joe shook his head and took a sip of coffee. He did not want to go there. After Julia Bullette's death, he'd matured enough to realize that she – along with Lotta Crabtree and Adah Menken – weren't the kind of women a man wanted for a wife. There'd been several he'd come close to marrying. Amy Bishop, for one. Laura, for another.

Laura. She'd been the one. He'd been so sure she'd be his wife and the mother of his children.

When she died….

Joe rose. He took hold of the coffee pot and poured the remainder of the dark liquid on the fire. He'd never stopped looking for love, not really, but he'd looked in all the wrong places – on purpose. He knew he would never – could never find Laura again. Laura was sweet and gentle; shy with the kind of smile that made a man want to circle her with his arms and draw her in. He'd wanted to take care of her. To protect her.

Just like he did Julia Griswold.

The curly-haired man shook his head as he headed for his horse. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Julia had something to do with him being alive. Pa would tell him to consider that carefully before making any 'rash' decisions. Adam would have agreed with Pa. And Hoss? Hoss would have told him to go for it, that life was too short to over-think things.

It had been too short for Hoss.

Joe leaned a hand on his saddle, and then leaned his head on his hand. God, he was weary! All he wanted to do was to get back to the Griswolds and flop on Julia's feather-down tick. Her mother had changed the linens, but it still smelled like her. It smelled of rose and lavender and vanilla…

And possibilities.

The curly-haired man lifted his foot toward the stirrup, but halted when he heard a twig snap underfoot. He was fast and he almost made it. His fingers brushed the pearl handle of his pistol even as the cold, hard barrel of a revolver made contact with the skin at the base of his neck.

"Nice and easy," a low muffled voice said. "Take your gun out of the holster and toss it on the other side of your horse."

Joe did as he was told. "Look," he said, "my wallet's in my pocket. I'm gonna reach in and – "

"You just shut your mouth and get your hands up," the voice ordered before calling out, "Anything?"

Another voice replied. It was muffled as well, but he could tell it belonged to an older man. "For a rich man, he ain't got much in his saddlebags. There ain't nothin' worth sneezin' at."

So, they knew who he was.

"I told you my money's in my pocket. Ouch!" Joe winced. The man had struck him in the back of the head.

"And I told you to shut up!" the outlaw ordered as he began to pat him down.

Joe fought his rising anger. Going off half-cocked would only get him shot – or worse. "I told you, I'll get the wallet."

"Got it!" the muffled man announced as his fingers closed around the leather pouch and roughly drew it out of his jacket. He turned and tossed it to the other man. "Check it out."

There was a moment of silence while the other man searched its contents. "He's got about a hundred dollars. There's some papers in here too."

"What are they?"

"Copies of a couple of telegrams. One to Ben Cartwright and the other…. " The man whistled. "Sent to Clem Foster, Sheriff, Virginia City. He's asking about Robert Truslow."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." The second man came closer. "Seems Mr. Cartwright here has a crazy idea that old Bob might not be on the up and up."

"That right?"

Joe was thinking. It was obvious these men knew who he was. They knew as well where to find him and were aware he might be carrying important papers. It was just as clear that they were, at the least, acquaintances of Sheriff Truslow.

Things were not looking good.

"What have you got against the sheriff?" the first man asked.

"Nothing," Joe replied. "I just find it suspicious that everywhere he goes, someone dies."

"That so," the man holding the gun said even as he heard the rifle cock. "Funny. I don't see him here."

Seconds later the gun discharged.

ooooo

It was past midnight and Julia couldn't sleep. She'd gone to her bedroom to get a book and ended up staying there. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, thinking. Joe Cartwright traveled light and he didn't have many belongings, but his extra shirt had been hanging on the wall. She'd hesitated, but in the end, had removed it from the peg and took it with her. His scent was comforting. It reminded her of her pa – sweat and hard work mixed with pine and bay rum. Lifting her feet, she positioned herself on the bed before leaning back against the pillows and closing her eyes. It shamed her now to think of how much of a child she'd been the first time Joe came to their house. Her ma told her that Pa was bringing in a man who'd been shot and they were gonna put him in her room, and all she could think of was the fact that she'd never sleep in that bed again if he died in it! Ma'd upbraided her right smart at that and made her help bring him in. She'd never forget her first look at Joe Cartwright. Pa was bending over, talking quietly, as they carried him through the door. At first, all she could see was his silver hair. She'd thought he was an old man until Pa moved out of the way when they got to the bedroom and she helped her ma lay him on the bed.

This bed.

Julia raised the shirt to her nose and breathed in Joe's scent. She remembered it well though, at the time, it had been mixed with blood and alcohol. She'd spelled her ma keeping watch over him. One night, when no one was awake, she'd sat on the bed and run her fingers through his curls and them along his sweat-soaked, well-muscled chest.

Even dying, he was beautiful.

A sound brought her eyes open and her head up. Quickly, she rose and crossed over to the rack and replaced the shirt. Then she turned toward the door. When it failed to open, Julia frowned. She'd heard something. She was sure of it!

There.

There it was again. Coming from behind her.

Julia gasped.

The window was opening.

ooooo

Pat Griswold lay with her eyes open. The empty side of the bed next to her, like the cut on her leg, was a wound that would not heal. It had been over a year since Tom rode away on that cattle drive, never to return. She'd faced it before, the idea that something might happen to him and she'd be left alone. She knew plenty of other women who'd had to. And yet, when it happened, it had come like a flash flood, driving everything before it and leaving her with nothing.

No, that wasn't true. She had Julia.

For now.

With a sigh, Pat levered herself up and sat against her pillows. She supposed she should have seen that coming too. Julia falling in love, that was. Of course, the girl'd been in love with Joe Cartwright – or the idea of him – since she'd tended him that last month before his pa and brother took him home. The man had the face of an angel, albeit a slightly battered one. He was charming and gracious and funny and more than willing to give a compliment where it was deserved. Gratitude was one thing, but the ability to express it was unusual in a man. The older woman reached out to caress the space beside her. Her Tom had been like that. She loved him for a lot of reasons, but his humble spirit was chief among them.

Pat's lips twitched.

She wasn't sure 'humble' was a word she would apply to Ben Cartwright's youngest son.

Though, if the truth were known, she hadn't really gotten to know Joe all that well when he's stayed with them before. Tom had left on the drive and she and Julia had a house packed full of guests plus a sick man to look after. Still, if his pa and older brother were anything to judge the man by, Joe Cartwright would make a fit husband. She wouldn't want too soft a man for her girl. Julia needed a strong hand.

Just as, once upon a time, she'd needed a strong hand.

Pat swung her feet over the edge of the bed and put them on the floor. She was giving up. Sleep simply would not come and there was more than enough to do. With a glance out the window, which told her the day was dawning, she rose to her feet and headed for the bench where she'd laid out her clothes. That bread she'd left to rise last night would be ready. She'd just start it baking.

The sound of her door opening caused the older woman to turn toward it. Her daughter's young face appeared in the crack.

Julia didn't have to say anything for her to know something was wrong.

"What is it?" Pat asked as she tied her robe around her waist.

"It's Joe," Julia replied.

"When did he get back?"

"Just now. He came in the window."

Pat was halfway to the door. She stopped short. "He came in the window? Whatever for?"

The girl was pale. She swallowed over a lump in her throat.

"You better come quick, Ma. Joe's been shot."

ooooo

"Whatever have you got yourself into now?" a stern voice asked.

Joe was sitting on Julia's bed applying pressure to his upper arm. He gave Pat a smile. "It went through clean, if that's any help."

"Well, it might be and it might not be," she replied. "You just let me take a look."

"I've been shot before – I mean, before I was shot here." Joe winced. "I don't think that came out right. What I mean is, I don't think it's too bad."

"So, you make a habit of it?" the older woman asked as she sat beside him and reached for the bloody rag he'd folded over and applied to the wound. "Getting shot, that is?"

"Is he gonna be okay, Ma?" Julia asked.

Joe winced as her mother probed the wound. "Seems to me Doctor Cartwright might be right. The wound looks clean. Julia, go and get the alcohol out of the cupboard and some clean bandages. I want to clean it just to be sure. We don't want infection setting in." When Julia failed to move, her mother said sharply, "What are you waiting for? Get a move on it!"

"Yes, Ma."

"That girl," Pat sighed as her child disappeared. "Always has her head in the clouds."

"It's a pretty head," Joe said.

Julia's mother eyed him – like most girls' mothers eyed him.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean anything by that."

"Maybe you didn't and maybe you did," the older woman replied as she reached for the basin and pitcher of water on the bedside table. "It's no business of mine. Julia's old enough to know what she wants."

Joe met her gaze. When she said nothing more he nodded. Then he closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillows.

"You gonna tell me what happened and why you came in the window?"

It was still open. The breeze ruffled the curtains and blew them, along with a chill. "I was robbed," he said, and then paused. "Or at least, that's what the men who attacked me wanted me to think."

"You think otherwise?"

Julia had returned. Even though his eyes were closed, he knew her scent. "I don't think, I know otherwise. They knew who I was and that I would have papers on me."

"Papers?" Julia asked. "What papers?"

He looked at her. "Copies of the telegrams I sent to Pa and to Clem Foster. I –"

"This is gonna hurt," Pat said.

Joe nodded and then held his breath until she was done cleaning out the wound.

"Go on," she said.

"Pat, what do you know about Robert Truslow?"

"I've known him since he came here."

"But what do you really know about him? Where did he come from before Carson City? Has he always been a sheriff?"

Pat was wrapping his arm. "Why so many questions?"

Joe considered his answer. Pat was a tough woman. She was also shrewd. If he didn't tell her, sooner or later, she'd figure it out on her own.

"I think he's dirty."

The older woman's brows lifted. "Bob? I'll admit he's not the best sheriff, but what makes you think that?" She thought a moment. "Truth to tell, Joe, I don't think he's smart enough to be trouble."

"Or he wants you to think he's not smart enough." Joe winced as he moved his arm and balanced it on a second pillow. "Thanks," he said.

"It weren't nothing." Pat placed the bottle of alcohol on the table. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Joe glanced at Julia and then back to her. "Has Ed Flanders told you about his son's death?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Just answer the question. Please."

"Ed's close about it. Still, after Tom died, we talked a bit. Jimmy was coming back from delivering some cattle up north. Robert rode out to meet him."

"How come?"

"Well, I don't know."

"Don't you remember, Ma?" Julia asked. "James had a lot of money on him. The sheriff was gonna escort him back to Lone Pines."

"But Truslow found him dead instead?" he asked.

Pat nodded. "That's right. I remember now. Bob said he was too late. That man had already shot Jimmy." She paused. "What's that got to do with you being shot, this time or the other?"

"There were no witnesses. Truslow could have fabricated what happened."

"Why would Bob want to do that?"

"I'm not sure." Joe shifted to find a more comfortable position. "It just seems suspicious to me. James was shot by a man who disappeared. Truslow is alone when he finds him. When I was bushwhacked, he did everything he could do to keep anyone from looking for the men who bushwhacked me." Joe met Pat's gaze and held it. "Robert Truslow was with your husband when he died. And now, just after I visited him and let him know I didn't trust him, someone tries to kill me."

"Joe!" Julia exclaimed. "I thought you said you were robbed."

He regretted he'd said that. "It was a cover, Julia. They were pretending to be highwaymen. They meant to kill me."

"How'd you get away?" Pat asked.

He could remember the feel of the gun on the back of his neck. When he heard the trigger cock, he was sure he was dead. Past desperation, he'd whirled and brought his arm up under the barrel and managed to direct the shot skyward. Then he'd taken off running. He'd been shot in the arm while making good his escape.

And he'd come in the window because the men were still out there.

For several heartbeats Pat said nothing. Then, she asked, "So tell me. What do you think it's all about?"

"There was a man at the sheriff's," Joe replied. "He didn't like me much. He was tall and thin and slightly hunched over."

"Sounds like Amos Pettis, Ma," Julia said.

The father of the man who had tried to kill him – and in turn been killed by Robert Truslow's deputy, or so the lawman claimed.

"It seems to me that there's something the good sheriff is hiding," Joe said as he rolled over and rose to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Pat asked.

"I need to get my horse. I left Cochise in a thicket not all that far from away. I didn't want the men who were following me to know I'd come here." His jaw tightened. "I won't put you in further danger."

"Ern can get your horse. I'll have him stable her at Ed's."

"Can you trust him?" he asked.

"I know Ed. He's a good man," she said.

Joe glanced at the door. "I can't stay here. If the men who shot me follow, it will put you and Julia in danger."

"Where are you going to go?" Julia asked. She was obviously distressed.

Pat thought a moment and then came to a decision. "Julia?"

"Yes, Ma?"

"You remember the old Russell place?"

"The cabin up by the stream?"

"That's it. You take Joe there." Pat was heading for the door. "I'm gonna go with Ern to Ed's. He's never liked Bob Truslow. He'll help us."

"You're sure you can trust him?" Joe asked.

"I'm sure." Pat halted. "We got about an hour or two before the sun's up. That's plenty of time for you to start for the Russell's. You take the alcohol and extra bandages with you. That wound looks clean, but you never know." She turned to her daughter. "Julia, I think you better stay with Joe. If someone's watching, they could see you come back. Once I talk to Ed, we'll come fetch you."

Joe caught her arm. "No. I'll go alone. I don't want to place either of you in danger."

Pat held his gaze. "Breathing is dangerous, Joe. And if what you say is true – and Robert Truslow isn't what he makes out to be – then that's a thing I need to know."

ooooo

To be continued….

ooooo