"Hey Joe?"
Jamie's voice at his elbow startled Joe out of his dour thoughts. He turned quickly, shaking his head to clear out the cobwebs. It had been a … long week. A bad week, a hard time for keeping himself in working order …
"Joe!"
Jamie sounded annoyed now. Joe grunted his own frustration—focus, Cartwright!—and turned his attention onto his little brother. "We done?"
Jamie's lips pursed. "Yeah, sure. We're done."
Okay. He'd deserved that.
Joe eyed the loaded wagon. He really hadn't done much of the heavy lifting this time out. His thoughts had been a thousand miles away (or just outside of Carson City), and his movements had matched—all while Jamie dragged the greater part of their supply order from the store into the wagon bed.
The kid had a right to be aggravated.
This kind of thing had to stop. He had thought he was doing better lately, makin' some kind of progress, but …
"Thanks." Joe gripped the boney shoulder, trying to convey an apology in the touch. Jamie shifted, but didn't quite shrug him off. Joe sighed. "Look, why don't we get a late lunch before we head back?"
Now, Jamie did duck out of his grasp. "I ain't too hungry." Joe couldn't remember the last time that had been true. He considered calling the boy on it, but didn't have the chance. "I'm gonna go see Ted for a while and then head back later. If that's okay," Jamie tacked on, almost as an afterthought.
Time was, his little brother had jumped at a chance to spend an extra hour with him.
His own fault. Nobody else's.
Joe couldn't even mount a presentable argument, not as things stood. "Be home before dark."
"Yeah." Jamie nodded, and bade Artie Keller goodbye, and loped away. Joe watched him go, kicking absently at the rim of the near wagon wheel. He didn't even hear Keller talking to him until the storekeeper approached and tapped Joe's shoulder with his pencil.
"Joe? Anything else?"
"Oh, sorry Artie." Again! If he went home now, he'd probably end up in a ditch halfway there. Joe sighed, resettling his hat. "No, I think that's it. I'll get out of your way."
He climbed into the wagon and clucked to the horses, pulling around the nearest corner out of the main flow of traffic. Parking in the shade of a building, Joe tied down the tarp over their supplies and then started down the backstreet. A turn here, a couple of alleys and a jumped fence, and it would bring him out right at the rear of the Continental.
He wasn't ready to head home. It was all a week past now, and he still didn't quite know what to say to Pa.
What would I have done, if …?
When he reached the bakery, though, Joe hesitated, slouching against the wall and squinting up into the sky. Did he really want to be here right now, either? Lina was perceptive—too much so, sometimes. If he went in there now, she'd have him spilling his guts about the whole blessed ordeal in five minutes flat, with nothing more than a cookie and a silent smile.
How did she do that? And why did he let her?
He snorted softly. There were lots of answers to that question, all tangled up together in one big ball of chaos, but if he was honest, probably the simplest was that he just—
"Joselito!"
Joe hadn't heard the door, but her exclamation and the clatter of her broom hitting the floor jolted him from his reverie. Lina scurried into the alley and gripped his elbows tightly, dark eyes shining with concern.
"Oh Joe, I heard about your father at the prison. How is he? Is he well? Was he hurt?"
She knew.
Of course she knew. Why should that surprise him? Ben Cartwright had been taken hostage at the State Prison and had been rescued only at the cost of a riot and the beating of a loyal friend and custody of a new parolee. The gossip had probably made it halfway to Australia by now.
Don't think about Australia.
"No," he managed, offering what he hoped was (but knew wasn't) a smile. "Not hurt. He's fine."
Lina's eyes narrowed. "Candy?"
"He's fine too. A little sore, still, but back at work. Wouldn't have it any other way."
She nodded, her hands rubbing absently at his sleeves. Joe shuddered. He had always thrived on physical contact, ever since he was young, but since losing Alice …
It was too much. He didn't want her that close. He didn't want anybody that close.
Lina noticed (way too perceptive), and stepped back before Joe pulled away. She eyed him for a moment, then nodded suddenly. "Wait here." She ducked inside before he could respond, and was back again in seconds with a milk pail dangling from one arm. Lina locked the door, checked it, pocketed the key, then motioned with a tilt of her head. "Come along."
Well … okay. A walk would probably do him good.
"You think somebody's gonna steal your flour while you're gone?"
It wasn't the reason. Joe knew it wasn't the reason. He also didn't expect an answer—not a real one, not today. He did want her to know, though, that she wasn't fooling anybody.
At least, she wasn't fooling him.
Joe Cartwright might not be worth too much these days, but he had seen this. Catalina Marquez was his friend, and she was afraid, and he didn't intend to leave things at that.
Her voice was light—too light. "My broom. You cannot think I would leave it unprotected?"
"Ah, the broom." Joe tugged the pail from her and set it to swinging alongside like he was ten again, dashing out of school with his lunch in tow. "Of course."
Lina snorted softly. "Of course."
She set out with a purpose then and he followed, letting the subject drop. There would (probably, but not always) be another time. They wound through main roads and back streets and alleys—Virginia City's layout these days resembled nothing so much as a prairie dog city—and anyone less familiar with this corner of Nevada would have been instantly lost. Joe had grown up with this town, though—had been here longer than Virginia City, even. He had seen it balloon from nothing to tents and shacks to a thriving mining community. He had seen it burn and rebuild into something he didn't quite recognize and wasn't sure he wanted to. He had drank here and fought here, bought merchandise from practically everyone around with something to sell, attended church and festivals and dances here. He had married here (don't think about that). There was no section of the city that he didn't know—much of it well, some just in passing—and no place that someone didn't know him.
He hadn't been to the Mexican quarter for a while, but it held good memories. He and Mitch had stumbled across a nice little cantina years past, run by an elderly couple and their granddaughter. It served hot food and decent beer, and they had been regulars for a good little bit. Course, that was before he and Mitch had fallen out, and then Mitch had moved on down to Santa Fe with his new wife and her pa. There was also no telling if the place had even survived the fire.
Still, good memories.
Lina led him to a low storefront tucked into a row of buildings, its front posts strung with loops of peppers—chilis, poblanos, and jalapeños. A barrel of dried black beans sat on one side of the doorframe, a bin of avocados on the other. Next to the avocados, an elderly señora reclined in an even older rocking chair, the length of a half-embroidered shawl tumbling from her lap as she watched their approach. Lina smiled and greeted her. The woman replied, motioning into the store, then turned raised brows on Joe. She flashed a grin, eyes sparkling as another burst of Spanish passed between the two women. Lina giggled.
"It seems you have an admirer."
"Yeah?" Joe grinned at the old woman, and dropped a wink. She laughed, clapping her hands together.
Lina snorted. "Come. Your head will grow too large for your hat."
"Hey, you're the one who brought me," Joe protested, chuckling for the first time in a week. He tipped his brim. "Pleasure to meet you, Señora."
The woman caught at Joe's sleeve, offering one weathered cheek. Lina smirked at his startled glance. "You were the one flirting."
Yeah. Guess he was, at that.
Shaking his head, Joe bent to peck the worn cheek. Before he managed it, two wiry hands seized his face. A firm kiss landed one corner of his mouth, then the other, and then the señora released him. She sat back, looking entirely pleased with herself.
Joe gaped.
Lina nearly collapsed into the avocados, gasping against her laughter.
The señora returned to her embroidery, humming softly.
"Jest can't help yourself, can you, little brother?"
He couldn't help it—Joe burst into a cackle. Lina's eyes widened (either because she couldn't breathe or because she'd never heard him really laugh), and she sagged against the wall. The old woman's wheezing giggle joined them. A middle-aged man appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on his apron and fixing them all with a bewildered stare. Joe propped himself against a post, gulped back his laughter, and doffed his hat to the old lady.
"Señora …" What did a man say to something like that? "Gracias."
Lina's giggles rose again. The storekeeper crossed to the old woman, speaking rapidly. The señora waved him off with a casual flap of her hand, picked up the shawl, and bent to her sewing.
Apparently, she was finished with them all.
The storekeeper threw up his hands and stalked back inside. Joe crossed to Lina, murmuring, "Should I feel used?" She snorted, snatching the bucket from him.
"I have never seen her do anything like that."
"Well." He crossed his arms and quirked a grin. "I guess I'm just irresistible."
"Joseph Cartwright …"
The storekeeper stuck his head back out the door, and Lina scurried inside. Joe shook his head and followed. He tucked himself into a corner, hovering out of the way while Lina purchased goat milk, chilis, and cinnamon. He stepped up when the storekeeper handed over the full pail, taking it before she had a chance. She dimpled her thanks, paid, and left the store with the package of chilis and cinnamon tucked under her arm. Joe fell into step, settling the pail into a comfortable hold. Lina was still chuckling softly, and somehow the rock that had lodged in his chest since last week's disaster at the State Prison seemed to have lightened considerably. He took a long, easy breath, and began to tell her about that day as they wound their way back to the bakery.
~.~.~.~.~
"Now we've actually got him at the Ponderosa, he's settled down some. He still ain't actin' like he's too excited to see the outside—I get the feeling 'cowhand' isn't exactly his pick of careers—but he's keepin' his head down and stayin' busy. I guess he'd rather be here than prison. Candy thinks he'll stay put for now, at least, so …" Joe shrugged, and set the milk on the counter beside the package of cinnamon and chilis. "Guess we'll see what happens."
Lina was already rummaging in a side pantry. "I am so very thankful that Griff decided to help your father and Candy, rather than join with the other prisoners. To think what could have happened …" Her voice was muffled, but Joe detected genuine relief all the same. He understood—he'd been pretty relieved himself, when it was all over.
"Yeah. I have."
He'd wondered, too, long and often since that day—what would he have done?
If his pa had been … killed, if Candy had been killed …
What would he have done?
He snagged his usual chair (the only chair in the room, actually, but Lina rarely stopped moving long enough to sit anywhere) and flipped it around to straddle backward. Joe crossed his arms along its back and rested his chin on top, watching as she mixed milk and sugar with a thick bar of chocolate in a pan on the tiny stove. Even barely melted the smell made his mouth water, but it wasn't enough to distract his roiling thoughts.
"What would I have done?"
"What do you think you would have done?"
He hadn't realized he'd spoken out loud.
Lina added the cinnamon and chili (chili in hot chocolate?) into the pot. The thick, rich scent wrapped around him, warmed him. She stirred patiently, silently.
What did he think he would have done? There was a solidity to her question that his own lacked, and he considered for a long moment.
"I would have gone back home, I guess. Jamie still … needs me." Joe snorted, and looked away. Who was he kidding? What good would he have been to his little brother if the worst had happened? He had barely managed himself over the past week, with it all just a bad memory.
Suddenly, the wreckage of his life repulsed him.
"What?"
Somehow, she saw. Lina lifted an eyebrow, most of her attention still fixed on the thick chocolate that she was dividing into two battered cups.
"I'm tired of it. I'm tired of people leaving me." Joe gripped the chair, knuckles blanching white against tanned, weathered skin. "I'm tired of not being able to stop it. My Mama. Adam. Hoss. Al … Alice." He rattled the battered wood. "Our baby." Lina sucked in a quick breath—he hadn't told her before. Joe caught a shimmer in her eyes, and looked away. "I feel so helpless, and I don't … I don't do helpless!" He shook the chair again, a vent for his anger and pain. It groaned in protest. "You hear me? I don't do helpless!"
"Everyone does helpless." Her words were calm, her eyes … distant. Weary, in a way that had become only too familiar to him. It lived in his own heart every day. "Do you think you are God, Joseph Cartwright, that you should be able to control everything and save everyone?"
He snarled. "Of course not!"
"Then what are you saying?"
"I'm sayin' …" The burst of anger had exhausted him. Joe sighed, dropping his chin back onto his crossed arms. "I guess I feel sometimes like I left right along with all the rest of them. I know I can't get them back, but I don't even know if I can get myself back."
Lina studied him—sympathetic and affectionate and … understanding. Finally, she crossed to him, holding out a cup of chocolate. He took it automatically, still lost in his own thoughts, and jumped when her hand closed over his.
"Joselito."
Joe gathered himself. "Sorry."
Her fingers tightened. "No. But perhaps …" Lina sighed, and looked away. "Perhaps you are searching for the wrong Joseph."
"I don't—"
"Perhaps, instead of trying to bring back a Joseph who does not wish to be found, you should try learning who this one is, now." She tapped him gently, and then retreated to her own cup of chocolate.
Her words brought … relief, though he wasn't sure why.
They also stirred a dozen questions that it was far past time for him to ask. "Lina. Will you tell me?"
She smiled faintly, and sipped her chocolate. "Not today."
"Lina …"
"I will." Lina met his eyes. "I promise. But today is yours."
All right. He would accept that for now … but not for much longer.
Today is mine.
Yeah. Maybe … maybe it was.