THREE
oooooooooo
Hoss stirred and looked up as his older brother came down the stairs. The big teen was sitting by the fire with an open book in his lap. He'd tried reading, but had given up a few minutes before.
Keepin' your mind on words was hard when your heart was one flight up with your baby brother.
"Adam, where do you think you're goin'?"
Adam halted abruptly and turned back to look at him. He'd made it to the door and was reaching for his coat. "I'm going into the settlement," he said as he pulled it on.
"How can you do that when you don't know how it's gonna come out with Little Joe?" he demanded as he crossed to his brother's side.
"Hoss, look. You know I'm as concerned about Joe as you are, but my sitting here worrying isn't going to change the outcome. His life's not in danger and there are things that have to be attended to. The ranch won't run itself."
It seemed kind of uncarin' to him, thinkin' about business at such a time.
"I couldn't walk away," he responded.
"No, and neither can Pa. I can, but that doesn't mean I want to." Adam laid a hand on his shoulder. "Think about it Hoss. Pa was in the settlement, attending to some very important business – business meant to get us through the winter. He had to stop and come home, leaving all of that undone. There are still contracts to be signed, bids to be made, and so on. You and I both know that if the Ponderosa isn't represented, Sebastian Stephens is going to have a monopoly on everything and that isn't good for us or the settlement's residents." He lifted his hand. "I have to go."
Hoss dropped his head. "Sorry, Adam. And here I was thinkin' –"
"That I was a cold-hearted bastard?" older brother finished with a smile. Adam's gaze went to the stair. "I don't want to leave but, if I go now, I'll have at least five business hours before the day ends."
"You gonna stay over?"
"No. I'll come home. They'll be plenty to do overnight. I can always ride in again tomorrow morning."
As his brother finished buttoning his coat and reached for his hat, Hoss cleared his throat.
"Yes?" Adam asked.
"I been sittin' here thinkin'. I mean, there ain't much else to do 'til the Doc and Pa come down." He paused, unsure of how to put his thoughts into words. "You don't think that Stephens feller could have had anythin' to do with Little Joe's accident….do you? After all, it got Pa out of the settlement."
"I've considered it," his brother admitted. "Still, there's no evidence that it was anything but an accident. Little Joe went where he shouldn't have been, something startled the horses, and he was hurt." Adam paused. "Still, the timing seems, well, frankly a bit too coincidental."
"Pa's sure stuck here now," he said. "He ain't gonna leave Joe 'til he's well."
"Yes. For weeks…." Again, Adam's eyes went to the stair. "Or maybe longer."
The reason Pa might be forced to remain near the house for 'longer' hung between them unspoken. Into that silence came images of his little brother runnin', leapin', ridin' and laughin'. Little Joe was like a grasshopper. You'd reach for him and he'd already be gone. The boy was never still. He was on the move from the moment those big green eyes of his opened in the mornin' until they closed in sleep at night.
A tear trailed down Hoss' cheek.
Adam's hand gripped his arm. "Don't lose hope. Joe's young. He'll recover quicker than any of us."
"But the Doc said…."
"Paul is a learned man and he'll be the first to admit he doesn't know everything. Sometimes the spirit can overcome a physical difficulty when no one thinks it possible, and if little brother has anything, it's spirit!" Adam released him and turned to open the door. "Hoss, Joe's going to need you to be strong for him, but even more than that, Pa's going to need your strength. You know how he is about Little Joe."
"You think he's takin' it extra hard 'cause Mama, you know, was killed by a horse?"
"I imagine it's on his mind." His brother stepped onto the porch. "Tell Pa I'll be back around eight. If something…changes…send one of the hands in for me."
"I will."
After he closed the door behind Adam, Hoss turned and braced his back against it. He didn't know about Pa, but Little Joe's accident sure had put him in mind of Mama's. The whole dang thing had left him kind of weak in the knees. If it hadn't been for that paint horse, Joe probably would have been killed. She'd kept him from bein' trampled after he was down.
That little filly was sure gonna get an extra cup of oats tonight!
Hoss ran a hand over his face as he pushed off the door and headed back into the great room. As he did, Doc Martin made an appearance. The doctor descended the steps slowly, like he was tired. When he thought about, Pa's friend would have been roused from his bed about two in the morning. The older man was probably exhausted.
"You want some coffee, Doctor Martin?" Hoss asked. "I can feed you too. Hop Sing cooked pancakes and ham for breakfast, but ain't none of us had a stomach for it."
Paul looked at him. "Son, you need to keep your strength up. Both your father and Joe are going to need you."
"That's what Adam said."
The doctor looked around. "Where is Adam? I'd like to speak to him."
"Adam's gone."
"Gone?"
"Pa was doing some important business in the settlement. He had to leave it behind. He had meetin's scheduled for today and tomorrow. Adam went to stand in his place."
"And to keep Sebastian Stephens from becoming king of the territory?" the Doc asked wryly.
"That's about it, sir. It's important to Pa, and with Little Joe…."
Paul briefly touched his shoulder. "I completely understand. Life must go on no matter what."
Hoss hesitated. "How's Little Joe? Did he wake up yet?"
The doctor shook his head. "Not yet, though there are signs he's swimming to the surface." Paul eyed him. "When was the last time you ate something, son?"
The big teen frowned. "I guess supper last night. After that's when we found Little Joe."
"How about you and I share some of those cold pancakes and ham?"
Hoss swallowed as his stomach flipped. "I don't think I can. Not after…."
"Little Joe is alive, Hoss. That's a blessing in itself. Your brother could easily have been killed with so many horses running wildly about the corral. And I could be wrong. Joe might wake up and move his legs. He's still got a long, hard road ahead of him even if he does, but the threat of paralysis might be just that – a threat."
Paralysis. That was a hard word.
"I understand that, sir," Hoss replied, his eyes tearing. "But you didn't see the little feller shoved face down into the mud, covered in muck and blood. I thought… I…."
"You thought he was dead, just like your mother."
Hoss drew in a gulp of air before going down like a drownin' man. "Yes, sir," he answered as tears trailed down his cheeks.
A movement to the side caught their attention. He and the doctor turned toward the dining room just in time to see their cook and housekeeper emerge from the shadows and head for the table.
"Hop Sing hear Doctor and Mistah Hoss talk. Both sit down now and eat or Hop Sing feed pancakes to the goat!"
"Good as your pancakes are, Hop Sing, my stomach just ain't wantin' food," he sighed.
"Number two son stomach always want food," the Asian man said as he placed two plates on the table. "It his head say he not hungry! What good it do little brother or father if big brother's eyes flutter and he faint like girl?!"
Paul cupped his hand over his lips. His eyes danced as he stifled a chuckle.
Hop Sing finished putting the glasses next to the plates and then came right up to him.
"Mistah Hoss not listen to Hop Sing. How often he tell number two son that the birds of worry and care fly over your head, this you cannot change, but that they build nests in your hair, this you can prevent."
Hoss reached up and ran a hand through the sandy fuzz on his head. "I ain't got all that much hair for them dang birds to nest in."
"Boy have enough! You sit at table. Hop Sing bring food and drink, then take tray up to your father."
Paul caught hold of the Asian man's arm. "Thank you, Hop Sing. I appreciate the offer. As to Ben, let's give him a few more minutes before you go up. He's quite…upset. I doubt he will eat until Little Joe wakes up."
Their cook shook his head. "I wait, then take up coffee."
"That sounds about right." Paul indicated the table and the empty chairs with his hand. "After you, son."
oooooooooo
"Son, can you hear me? Little Joe, it's Pa. Please son, please…wake up."
Ben both wanted his son to wake up and feared it. He feared Joseph seeing the tears that were streaming down his cheeks. He didn't want to frighten the boy, but he couldn't seem to stop them. He was overwhelmed with anticipated grief and with shame. Those contracts – the bidding and the competitive atmosphere that went with them – had seemed so important just a few hours before. If he told the truth, winning out over Sebastian Stephens had given him great pleasure. He disliked the man intensely and despised the way he went about conducting business. He had seen it as his mission to stop him. Yesterday it had been the army contract, today it was about timber, and tomorrow, about mining. He needed to diversify his interests. Protect his investments. Make sure he came out on top. Ben reached out to brush a matted chestnut curl from his son's forehead.
What did any of it matter now?
The boy had developed a fever. It was low and Paul said it was to be expected. His friend had spent nearly half an hour carefully cleaning out the wound on Joseph's forehead. It sickened him to see the imprint of the horse's shoe in his son's tender flesh. Paul had gently reminded him that not only dirt, but most likely discharge from the horses themselves had entered it while Joe lay face down in the mud. Thank God, the horse had only struck him a glancing blow!
At least, in the front.
He'd sucked in air as Paul turned his boy over to reveal the bruising low on Joseph's back. It was just above the tail bone and the skin was swollen badly. The physician had run his fingers over it, causing a low moan to escape the boy's lips. Then, he'd instructed him to do the same.
The damage was evident.
Ben cupped his son's face in his hand and planted a kiss on his head before rising and walking to the window. The new day was afoot. He could hear the men moving about in the yard. For a moment he wondered who was instructing them, but then realized it had been some time since he'd seen Adam. Knowing his oldest boy, he'd assumed responsibility for keeping the ranch afloat while his father sat in a darkened room, tending his youngest brother and despairing.
And yes, he was despairing. The words with which Adam had described both Joseph's accident and how and where he and Hoss had found the boy had struck a desolate chord deep within his soul. Marie's boy had inherited her love of horses. From the time he could sit one, it had been all he could do to keep Little Joe's boots on the ground. He often found the ten-year-old watching the horses, reveling in their power and, if the truth be known, in their wild and carefree nature. Sadly, that love had proved as the moth to the flame. Joseph had been drawn in and he'd been scorched. Ben turned to look at the silent form on the bed.
Would his boy ever be the same?
As he stood there, musing, Ben heard his son speak. Joseph had moaned now and then, and even said a few unintelligible words. This time, whatever he'd said had been spoken with clarity. Crossing to the boy's bed, Ben sat on the side and touched his face.
"Joseph, son," he tried again. "It's Pa. It's time to wake up."
The boy moaned again and shifted, and again, he spoke the same word. Ben wasn't sure that he'd heard what he thought he heard.
"What was that, boy?" he asked as he leaned in.
"Cochise…."
That was what he had heard. "Cochise? Joe? What do you mean?"
The boy's eyelids fluttered, his thick black lashes dancing against the field of white that was his face. A second later he frowned. Then his fingers clutched the covers.
"That's it, son," he said as he took the boy's hand. "Fight! Come back to me."
One green eye opened. The other followed – slowly. Little Joe looked around the room, passing him by as if he didn't exist.
"Cochise?" he asked again.
Ben was beginning to worry. Was the boy out of his head? His fever wasn't all that high. Perhaps Little Joe was recalling one of the stories he'd told of his and Adam's passage west.
But had he mentioned the chief of the Chiricahua?
"Joseph?"
At his voice, the boy stiffened. Little Joe's eyes closed and opened again, and he looked in his direction. For a moment, the boy frowned and then, God was gracious.
His son smiled.
"Hey, Pa…."
Ben gripped the boy's hand tighter. "You know who I am?"
"Sure do…." Joe stopped. His face took on a puzzled look and then he cried out. "Pa, it hurts! Make it stop hurting!"
The tears returned. "I know it does, son. I'm so sorry." Rising from the bed, Ben went to the door and yelled downstairs. "Hoss! Is Paul still here?"
A second later Paul Martin answered. "Is Joe awake?"
"Yes, and he's in pain."
Pivoting on his heel, Ben returned to the bed and his place at his son's side. Reaching out, he caressed the boy's hair. "You've been hurt, Joseph. Paul will be here any minute. He'll give you something for the pain." When he got no response, he shook his son gently. "Little Joe?"
"…let me sleep…."
"Sorry, son, we can't let you do that," Paul said as he entered the room. "Is he coherent?" he asked.
"He knew me."
"That's a good sign." The doctor moved to the other side of the bed and sat down. He reached out and took Joseph's jaw between his fingers. "Little Joe, look at me."
His son sighed. "Leave me…alone. It…hurts. Let me…sleep…."
Paul chuckled. "I will in a few minutes. But I need you to look at me now." As Joe complied Paul said, more to himself than anyone else, "One pupil is enlarged. You've got a good concussion going there. Little Joe, how many fingers am I holding up?"
Paul was worried about Joe's sight as well, the blow from the horse's hoof coming so close to his eye.
Joe swallowed. "Ten," he said after a moment.
Ben exchanged a look with the doctor. Paul was holding up one finger.
"Ten?" the physician asked.
"Well, the way you're…waggin' it. It…looks like ten."
Paul grinned. "There's that Cartwright spirit."
Before he could finish speaking, Joe sucked in air and cried out again. "Pa! It…hurts. Make it…stop hurting!"
"You're going to hurt for some time, son. You've got a bad knock on the head and you've injured your back. The horse struck you the hardest there."
Joe swallowed again. A sure sign that nausea was soon to follow. "Cochise?"
Paul looked at him. Ben shook his head.
"Joe, who's Cochise?" the doctor asked.
In spite of the pain he was in, a slight smile lifted the corner of the boy's lips. "My…horse."
He was as puzzled as Paul.
"She…wouldn't hurt me." Joe's green eyes pleaded with him as he struggled to lift his upper torso. "Tell me…she…didn't hurt me, Pa!"
Paul pressed his hands on Joseph's shoulders. "You need to stay calm. Little Joe! Listen to me!"
"Pa! Don't…put her down! She didn't…mean it!" Tears were streaming down his son's ashen cheeks. "Please, Pa!"
Then it came to him.
The paint. Joe had talked about nothing else since they brought the last half-dozen horses in to break them, the black and white pinto among them. That's why he had defied his command to stay out of the corral.
The horse that had saved Joseph's life was also the reason he had gotten hurt in the first place.
"Joseph! Look at me!" he ordered as he sat on bed opposite Paul. "Are you talking about the paint horse in the corral?"
Joe was looking decidedly green. "Yeah, Pa. I'm…sorry…I disobeyed. But…please don't hurt…her. She…"
"She saved your life, son."
The boy frowned.
"Amnesia," Paul said, his tone distracted. "Not unexpected."
Ben touched his son's face. "She stood over you, Joe. She kept you from getting trampled."
Joe's smiled returned. Then, without warning, a sheen of sweat swept over him and he shivered. "Pa, I'm gonna be sick…. I gotta go to…the outhouse."
Before he could stop him, his son had tossed the covers back and raised his body up in an attempt to swing his legs over the side of the bed.
Only, he couldn't.
oooooooooo
One of the men came knockin' just as he and the Doc were finishin' breakfast. Hoss had to admit that, while it had been hard to get started, he did feel better now that he had some vittles in his belly. Pratt Shade was standing over by the corral where Joe had been injured, waitin' on him. The blond man was holdin' something in his hand.
"What'd you find?" Hoss asked as he arrived.
Pratt held out the mangled orange and black corpse.
"A ground snake?" The big teen was surprised. "What's one of them doin' here?"
The ranch hand shrugged. "I was cleaning up where the boy…where Little Joe had his accident. Found it buried in the mud."
The snake had obviously been killed by the strike of a horse's hoof.
"I'm thinking this is what spooked the horses," he went on.
Hoss took the dead thing and looked at it. While ground snakes weren't terribly dangerous, a bite from one could have made someone as scrawny as his kid brother sick. 'Course it probably didn't have time to bite before the horse caved its head in.
He was pretty sure he knew which horse that had been.
The paint was lookin' at him now, makin' eye contact like she was askin' about little brother. He made a kissin' sound that brought the mare to his side.
"I'm sorry I don't have a treat for you, girl. I promise I'll bring you one later," he promised as he caressed her muzzle. "Little brother is awful sick and I didn't remember to put any in my pocket this mornin'."
"How is Little Joe?" Pratt asked.
"He woke up finally," Hoss said with relief. "Pa and the Doc's with him."
"I heard tell Mister Cartwright was supposed to be in the settlement today and tomorrow. I guess, that's why Adam headed into town?"
"Yeah. Pa won't be leavin' the ranch for a while. Doctor Martin says it's gonna take little brother some time afore he's on his – "
The piercing scream that cut through the crisp morning air had the power to make his heart stop.
"I gotta go!" the big teen declared and was on his way before Pratt Shade had time to answer.
Hop Sing opened the door as his feet hit the porch. "Father need number two son! Number three son need brother! Mistah Hoss go upstairs. Hop Sing go to kitchen. Keep house from burning down!"
He thought he'd smelled smoke.
The big teen nodded. He took the steps two at a time and raced down the hallway toward his brother's room. There were no further startling cries, but he could hear his little brother sobbing.
The sound near tore his heart in two.
Little Joe turned his face toward him as he entered. It was streaked with tears and pert near as white as the sheets the boy was lyin' on. Joe was clingin' onto Pa like he hadn't seen him do since Pa'd brought him down from that cliff at Eagle's Nest. The boy's knuckles were white where they twisted the blue fabric of their father's shirt. Little Joe was shakin' from head to toe.
"Joseph!" Pa said in that stern voice of his. "Joseph, you need to calm down!"
Doc Martin was shakin' his head. He was also fillin' a needle with medicine.
"Pa?" the big teen asked, at a loss.
"Hoss," baby brother sobbed. "Hoss, I…I…can't…."
Hoss crossed over to the bed. He looked at his father for permission before touching his brother's face. "You cain't what, punkin?"
Those enormous eyes of his brother's met his gaze and held it for a moment, and then disappeared as Little Joe buried his face in Pa's shirt.
The look his father gave him was as sad as Joe's.
"You're brother can't feel his legs," he said.
A second later Paul Martin plunged the needle into Little Joe's thigh.
oooooooooo
Adam Cartwright sat at a table in the restaurant his father frequented, sipping a cup of coffee and ignoring the steak and eggs on his plate. He'd finished one meeting and was waiting for the second one to begin. It had been hard to concentrate when his mind was twenty miles away with his family.
Still, it had to be done and he was the only one to do it.
The sea of faces that greeted him that morning had been slightly confused and mildly amused. He was, after all, only twenty-two and the son of a rancher, while they were self-made men of substance and wealth in their forties and fifties. They'd inquired politely about Joe and he'd told them what he knew, and then gone on to explain that his father would be unavoidably detained and he would be taking his place for the foreseeable future. Most all of the businessmen graciously acquiesced to the need for him to step into his father's shoes.
Most of them.
He was beginning to understand why his father had no time for Sebastian Stephens.
He'd never met the man before, though he had heard plenty about him. Stephens showed up in his black double-breasted full front coat and out of date top hat and proceeded to make an ass of himself by out-shouting and over-riding everyone else in the meeting. He'd stayed out of it for the most part, allowing the older men to spar and jockey for position. After all, he didn't need to talk. The proposal he carried, which Hop Sing had fished out of his father's saddlebags and sent with him, said everything he needed to say. It was close. Stephens pulled a few sleight of hand tricks, but in the end theirs was the most reasonable bid and they won the logging contract. Of course, the man who needed the timber knew his pa and knew he could be trusted to deliver. No one really knew Sebastian Stephens, although everyone knew he was a man who wanted his own way and had the money to throw his weight around if he didn't get it.
There were rumors. Shortly after Stephens arrived in the settlement he had put in a bid to supply the timber for several buildings that were going up. No one knew him and he lost out. The buildings went up and then came down – in a fire. There was no way to link the Easterner to the fire, but it was certainly suspicious. Several other businessmen, a friend of his father's among them, had suddenly withdrawn their bids on other contracts. Two of them had left town.
It seemed Simon Legree had come to the Nevada territory.
"Warm up your coffee?"
Adam looked up to find Rosanna Brant standing by the table, pot in hand.
"Thanks."
She poured the hot liquid and then placed a hand on her hip and shook her head. "I sure can tell you're Ben Cartwright's son."
"Oh?" he asked. "How's that?"
"Your pa doesn't like steak either."
Adam laughed. "When did Pa not eat his steak?"
"The last time he was in here. After he finished his meeting." She sighed. "The cook's gonna start thinking you Cartwrights don't like his cooking."
"Oh, we like the cooking well enough. It's just that the company we've been forced to keep lately kind of sours the stomach."
"Sebastian Stephens?" she asked.
The look on her face was worth a thousand words. "He give you trouble too?"
"He's not a man to take 'no' for an answer and I've told him 'no' more than once."
Adam frowned. "Isn't he married?"
Rosanna rolled her eyes and then moved on to the next table as someone called her name.
So, Stephens was a philanderer as well. Was there anything to recommend the man?
"Cartwright, I want to talk to you."
Adam closed his eyes and winced. There went a relaxing lunch.
"I'm eating, Mister Stephens. I never mix work with pleasure."
The man rounded the table and came to a stop before him. "Well, then, we'll have no trouble talking." He pulled the chair out and sat down. "This is not going to be pleasant."
Sebastian Stephens was one of those men who – at first site – appeared to be handsome. He was in his late fifties or early sixties, tall and well-built, with a head of thick salt and pepper hair that his hat barely contained. It was only when you began to examine him – when you noted the narrow cast to his eyes, the cold hard look out of them, and the perpetual sneer that lifted his upper lip – that you began to take the measure of the man.
To say that he was arrogant was to undervalue the word.
Stephens removed his gloves and tossed them on the table as if he were calling him out to a duel – and maybe he was.
"You and your father have an unfair advantage," he began.
"I call it a home advantage," Adam countered. "My father has made his home here for over fifteen years. He's well-known and liked. And, I might add, trusted."
"While I am not?"
"Let's just saw that newcomers in these parts are often looked upon with suspicion."
"Isn't the West all about a new start? About a man making something of himself?"
"Yes, it is," Adam said, sitting up. "But then, some men may make something of themselves that no one else wants to be a part of."
Stephens leaned back in his chair. "Flattery will get you nowhere," he drawled.
"I do my best." Adam turned and reached for his jacket where lay on the chair beside him. "Mister Stephens," he said as he rose, "as pleasant as this interview has been, I have an hour before I have to be at the next meeting and business is the last thing I want to discuss or think about right now. If you will excuse me…."
"I heard there was an accident. Your little brother was hurt."
Adam stopped. He sat back down. There was something about the way the man said it that sent chills up his spine.
"What did you hear?"
"Only what the men in the meeting knew, that something happened and your youngest brother was injured and your father had to excuse himself. Was the tyke hurt badly?"
Answering that brought a bad taste to his mouth.
"Little Joe will be fine."
"Oh." Stephens picked up his gloves and began to draw them on. "I assumed from your father's continued absence…"
"My father and my little brother are very close."
There was a pause. Stephens looked right at him. "So I have heard. Anyhow, when you see your father again be sure to express my sympathies. One of the most tragic things in the world is for a father to have to bury a son."
Adam was on his feet. "Is that a threat?" he demanded.
Stephens answered him with an infuriating smile.
Then the bully tipped his hat and walked away.
oooooooooo