SEVEN

oooooooooo

During the night a strong wind had arisen. Lee was sure it was the herald of an approaching storm. She stood at the front window of her house, looking out, remembering. It had been five years before, nearly to the day, that Little Joe had arrived. Ben Cartwright, her late husband's old and dear friend, had sent his youngest to her place to bring her the money he claimed he owed Tom. She knew as well as Joe that Ben was merely being kind. The investment had failed and the rancher owed them nothing. Still, she'd been desperate and even though it was charity, it was charity clothed in a gown she could accept. She'd been hateful to Joseph at first, even accusing him of trying to take advantage of her. Love had given way to fear in the years since Tom had died and, though she craved a man's arms around her, she had done everything she could to push every man she met away, both the good and bad .

Until Trock.

Lee laughed as she dropped the curtain. In her wildest dreams she could not have cast herself in a less likely role – falling in love with an outlaw. But there had been something about Trock – a desperation that matched or, maybe even, surpassed her own. She knew as he rode away that day that Ben's boy wondered if she had lost her mind and yet, Joe was a kind boy and seemed to understand that desperate times called for desperate measures. He didn't have to testify in Trock's behalf. In fact, if he had wanted to, Joseph could have spoken for the prosecution. Trock's last misadventure had nearly cost the young man his life.

Nearly cost all of them their lives.

Turning back into the house, Lee went to the settee and sat down. She had a sort of restless energy about her; restless as the night. She had hoped – no, expected – Trock to have returned with Little Joe long before this. After all, she was just as sure that her husband was wrong and that Joe's head had merely been turned by a pretty girl. Little Joe would see her home and all would be well.

Or would be, if life was a fairy tale.

But it wasn't. And she wasn't a young frivolous thing waiting on her prince charming to return. She had chosen a complex man with a complicated past and she was only just beginning to understand what that meant. Trock was hers – in part – and yet, there was a part of him he was unwilling to share. It scared her at times. Not because she was afraid of him, but because she was afraid of what it might mean for him. Was she really naive enough to believe that the bank robbery Joseph thwarted – the one in which her husband had been shot – had been Trock's first crime? The road that led to such a bad choice was paved with even worse choices, even if the bricks it was made of were mortared with the best of intentions.

She only hoped his past had not come back to haunt them both.

Lee had just risen, intending to head to the kitchen, when there was a flash of light, followed by a loud clap of thunder. It echoed off the walls of the house and then rolled down the hills that banked it. At the same moment someone pounded on the door. Her heart leapt into her throat and her eyes went to the rifle Trock insisted they keep standing in the corner. She'd headed for it when she heard the most blessed sound in the world.

Her husband's voice.

"Lee! Lee, it's me! Trock! Open the door!"

Relief flooded through her. He was safe and he was home!

Leaving the rifle and turning to the door, Lee cast the bolt aside, turned the key in the lock, and threw it open. Then, she gasped. There was a man in Trock's arm. His dark brown curls were sodden and clung to his handsome face just as they had that first night, when the evil man named Gavin who had been with her husband shoved Joe into the house and the boy fell at her feet. Joe had been covered in mud then..

This time, it was blood.

Trock shouldered past her shouting, "Lock the door, Lee. and throw the bolt!"

"Trock, what?"

"Do it!" he snapped. Then, thinking better of himself, he glanced over his shoulder at her as he laid Joe on the settee she had just vacated. "Lee, please. Do it now."

She nodded, not knowing what to say, and ran to do as he commanded. Just as she reached the door a young girl appeared – bedraggled, overwrought –

Terrified.

"Trock?"

He glanced at her and nodded. "Her name's Hadley. There's no time to explain. Lock the door and then take her upstairs. The two of you need to make sure every opening into the house is secured."

Lee looked the girl up and down. Her clothes were soaked through and her hair was a tumble of black dotted with leaves and bracken. She appeared to be dazed. "Hadley?" she asked. When the girl failed to respond, she tried again, and when that failed to elicit a response, decided she'd best do it on her own. Walking Hadley over to a chair by the table, she sat her down, and then made her way upstairs. By the time she returned, the storm had hit in earnest. Rain struck the house with the force of an arrow let loose from the bow. The wind screamed like an Indian on the warpath. Lee went to the window and drew the curtain aside. What she saw made her draw in a breath. A cloying white mist had appeared out of nowhere, wrapping the house in a shroud.

"Get a lamp," Trock said, breathless. As she hastened to comply, he added, "Damn fool kid!"

"Is Joe all right?" she asked as she returned.

Her husband reached up and positioned her so the light shone on Joe Cartwright's silent form. "All right?" he scoffed. "I don't even know if he's alive."

Lee sucked in a breath as the lamplight fell on Joe's face. It was pale as the mist outside. His lips looked blue.

She was afraid they really were.

"What happened?" she asked,

Trock's hands had been moving, checking Joe for injuries. "Do you still have your late husband's bag?" he asked without answering her question.

"Yes. It's with Tom's other things, in the spare room."

Her husband seemed to consider something and then dismiss it. "No. It's better we keep him here. Go get the bag, Lee. Or send Hadley."

She hadn't looked at the girl. She did now. Her stare was just as vacant as before.

Turning back, she said, "I'll go." As she turned, the light from the lamp fully illuminated Joe. He'd noted the blood before, but not where it came from. Now she could see that his exposed skin was marked with dozens of small cuts. "Who did this to him?" she asked. "Trock, do you know?"

Her husband glanced at Hadley and then at the door. "You locked it? And all the windows upstairs and down?"

"Yes. But why? Won't you tell me?"

Trock rose and walked over to the window. He pulled the curtain back as she had and gazed out, a troubled look on his face.

"Because Lee, sooner or later, the Devil is going to be at our door."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ben paused glanced out the window at the tempest that had come out of nowhere. Out of decency, they had taken time to bury Dan Tollivar before attempting to follow the trail of blood his son left behind. He'd felt a small service was necessary and had spoken the eulogy himself. Adam stood pale and silent throughout. His eldest hadn't spoken much since voicing his relief that his youngest brother was alive, if missing. Just about the time they were ready to depart, the wind had kicked up and within an hour they had found themselves at nature's mercy.

The rancher ran a hand over his face, wiping away tears, and looked down at the towel in his hands. He didn't know why, but he had to do it. It reminded him of what he had read about the women of ancient Israel – that the blood of their loved ones was sacred and when it had been shed, they would go and mop it up until nothing remained. While Hoss tended to the animals and Adam fell into a restless sleep, he had gone to the back room of the cabin with a basin of soapy water and a load of towels and begun to cleanse it of his youngest son's blood.

That was, until grief and apprehension and despair had overcome him and he found himself sitting on the floor with the bloody rags in hand crying like a baby. He told himself it was exhaustion and there was some truth to that.

There was also some truth to the fact that a man could only take so much.

He supposed as well that he had been hit not only by his the reality of his son's torment, but by the betrayal and loss of his old friend. The truth was, he had lost Dan Tollivar a month or so back when this all began – on the day he had gently tried to suggest the old wrangler step down. Oh, he had tried to pretend that the man he'd forgiven was the same man he'd loved and trusted, but in his heart of hearts he knew it wasn't true. For forty years Dan had been a friend to him. More than that, a beloved friend and an uncle to his boys. Adam was right. What Joe did – telling Dan that he was too old to go on the drive – might have been enough to make him not speak to the boy, but to engineer Joe's kidnapping, to put the boy's life in danger?

No, there had been something dark in Dan Tollivar that he had never known – or had overlooked – and it had almost cost Joseph and Adam's lives.

He was ashamed.

"Pa? Pa, are you all right?"

Ben sniffed. He thought about wiping away the tears again, but knew it was pointless. He'd been found out. He looked up to see his eldest leaning in the doorway.

"I'm sorry I woke you, son."

Adam smiled that smile of his, the one so like his mother's that formed little lines at the ends of his full lips.

"You didn't," hi son said as he made his way into the room and then stopped at the sight of the partially cleaned floor. "Pa, you shouldn't... You should have left this to Hoss and me."

He looked at the rags. "This blood is...a part of your brother. Maybe all I have left."

His eldest lowered himself into the chair that was pushed up against a table. The two pieces were the only furniture in the room.

"You can't give up hope, Pa."

He snorted. "I can. But I am trying not to."

Adam was silent for a moment. "You know, Pa, this is why I went away."

He drew in a breath. "I know, son, and I'm sorry."

"Sorry? What do you have to be sorry for, Pa? It's me." His voice rose. "It's me! There's something wrong with me!"

"There's nothing wrong with you, son," Ben said, his tone soft, "that's not wrong with the rest of us."

"But Pa, I..." He drew a breath. "I don't...feel. I look at this..." Adam indicated the blood. "And I...it..."

"Hurts. I know." Ben closed his eyes. 'That's why I'm sorry." Ben looked at his son, so handsome, so strong – and so desperately wounded. "I made you what you are."

"No one made me what I am but me."

Ben shifted so he could lean his head against the wall. He didn't relinquish the bloody rags. They seemed, at that moment, symbolic of his life. "I loved your mother so, son. It was like I couldn't breathe without her. And when she died giving birth to you..."

"You resented me. It happens, Pa. Women die giving birth and the men who love them blame the child they –"

His eyes shot open. "No. Never." The rancher paused. "I didn't blame you. I blamed myself...and God. And a man who is angry at God and himself has nothing left to give." He looked at his son. "I saw the book in your room. The one by Maudsley."

"So?"

"I've read the journals he writes in. He advances the theory that what a man is, is formed by the age of five. Son, you knew nothing of security or acceptance or true love until I met Inger and you were long past five."

"Psychological poppycock," Adam pronounced.

He glanced at his son and they both shared an uneasy laugh.

"What about Joe?" Adam asked. "Marie died before he was five. Is he scarred?"

It was meant to challenge him, but instead the questions brought him grief. "Deeply," he sighed. "If you remember I abandoned him. You became his world, Adam. In many ways, you still are."

"Me? Pa, seriously? Maybe when he was five, but Joe resents the Hell out of me, especially since I've been back."

"Your brother loves you more than you can know. You are his hero."

"No, Pa. That's you."

"I'm a poor hero for any boy," he admitted. "Harsh, overbearing, demanding, with such high expectations no young man could ever hope to reach the bar. Flawed to a fault."

"You forgot to add distrusting."

He looked sharply at his son. "What?"

Adam smiled again. It meant more this time. "Of God, Pa." His son straightened up in the chair, shifting his weight and clearly showing that his shoulder hurt. "God is sovereign. Everything is either caused of permitted by the Almighty and has a purpose and a reason. Isn't that what you drilled into us?" His son paused. "Are you abandoning your faith?"

Was he?

Could he?

Ben rose to his feet and walked over to the window. They had found an old piece of glass and put it in place using the nails and boards that remained – a good thing too since the storm was raging. He thought about the trail that had been lost due to that storm – a trail written in the blood he held in his hands. If it hadn't been, they might have found Joseph by now. He would be with them and safe. Could there be a purpose in the Almighty keeping them apart? Something for him? He glanced at his son who was watching him. For Adam?

Or perhaps for Lee and her new husband?

Suddenly, he chuckled.

"What is it, Pa? Please tell me. I'd like to hear something funny."

"I'm just laughing at me – at your old man. I think I'm so wise, and here you are, teaching me."

"Well, if it helps any, Pa, I just think you're a man." Adam paused. "One of the best, but still a man."

Ben turned to look at his son. If the storm had not come, they wouldn't have had this talk.

God did work in mysterious ways.

He walked over to Adam and placed a hand on his uninjured shoulder.

"It's okay, Pa. Whatever it is, I forgive you."

Tears filled his eyes.

"I love you, Adam."

His son's hand covered his. "I love you too, Pa."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Where's...laudanum? He's...to...around."

Joe shifted and then groaned aloud as pain exploded in his head and in just about every other part of him.

He'd been half-conscious for a few minutes and had lain listening to the crash and boom of a storm raging around him. At first he'd been confused and thought he was back at the Ponderosa. He'd been frightened of storms as a little boy and first his mother, and then Hoss and Adam would always sit with him, holding him until they passed. In that way the memory had gone from one of fear to safety. Now when he laid awake at night watching the white fire light the sky and heard the thunder rumble, he considered himself blessed.

But he wasn't at the Ponderosa and he felt anything other than blessed.

"What...to...him? ...wounds?"

"...wrong. ...move him..."

"...clean wounds...fever."

Joe felt a woman's hand where a woman's hand shouldn't be and he came up off of whatever it was he was laying on like a dust devil rising out of the desert floor.

"Joe! No!"

Everything around him was a blur of motion and light. A woman was shouting. Another was screaming. A man's voice – deep, sure, commanding – told him to stop fighting, that it was all right – that he was all right. He didn't believe them. He had to...fight.

No one was going to do to him what had been done to him again!

"Joe!" the woman shouted. "Joe, stop! You'll hurt yourself worse!"

How? How could he be hurt any worse? As he staggered, falling over furniture in an attempt to escape, it all came back to him – all of it. That man – the one who was after the whale – he'd hurt him. So had the woman...the woman from the Bible...the one God had damned and destroyed.

But not fast enough.

Not...fast...enough.

Hands caught him just as he reached the door. They were strong. They drew him back. The male voice – the one like God or his father – told him again to stop struggling. Assured him again that he was safe. The man after the whale had told him the same thing just before he...

Before he...

Joe slumped and began to sob.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Lee Bolden was on one side of Ben Cartwright's young son. Her husband was on the other. Both of them looked like they had been through the wars. Trock's face was cut from where Joe's knuckles had made contact. Her hair was in her eyes and her blouse ripped and falling, exposing the underpinnings beneath. The young girl – Hadley – had given a shriek when Joe stumbled off the sofa and headed for her and run up the stairs. She could hear her now, moving about, slamming doors, even as Joe lost the will to fight and he gave in to sobs. They wracked his slender form in wave after wave of despair.

What the Hell was going on!?

Her husband knew – maybe not all of it, but some of it. He'd wanted Joe sedated.

For Joe, or for himself?

Shame flooded through Lee, blushing her cheeks as she realized she was doubting him.

God. She was doubting him.

She looked into Trock's eyes and she saw that he knew it.

"Lee,' he breathed hard. "I promise I had nothing to do with this."

She glanced at Joe who had fallen silent – and maybe unconscious. "I want to believe you," she whispered as she tightened her grip on his arm.

"Believe me. It's true. The man who did this – I admit, I knew him before – but I had no part in this."

She indicated Joe with a nod. "You knew a man – a monster who could do this!?"

Trock's lips twitched. "I was a monster who could do this," he answered quietly. "Until you saved me."

It was a strange position to be in, staring into her husband's eyes with Joe held tightly between them, but she did and she saw no deception in them. After a moment Lee nodded.

"What is it we're facing?" she asked. "Tell me straight."

"Ahab," Trock paused, "Malachi Tollivar. He's a madman. We were...partners once upon a time. I helped him fleece a few rich men by kidnapping their sons and demanding ransom."

"Rich men's sons like Joe," she said, disgusted.

He nodded. "I'm not proud of it. Back then, well, I had no one to live for but me." Unexpectedly, Trock laughed. "Damn you and this kid..."

She couldn't help but smile back.

"One day, well, Ahab went too far. He took the money and promised to give the kid back, but he killed him. I...ran. Went to Mexico." Trock held her gaze. "You have to believe me when I tell you I never saw him again until today."

Lee hesitated. "Like I said, I want to believe."

Trock reached around Joe and took her hand. "It's the truth. When I heard what had happened to Joe, I realized that he was here – that Ahab was here." He glanced at the stair. "He always had a girl with him he called 'Jezebel'. Hadley's the latest one. She was helping Joe escape when I found him."

The disheveled girl went up a notch in her estimation. "She seems...odd."

"I think she's lost. She's been controlled for so long." Trock looked down at Joe where he hung between them. "Seems our young charmer here worked his usual magic."

Lee touched Joe's forehead. "He's so hot. Those wounds near his groin are infected." She paused, chewing her lip. "I don't like how he reacted when I touched him...there."

Trock gave her a look. "I happen to be pretty happy about it."

She cuffed him on the head. "It was like he was...afraid."

Her husband nodded. "Some of Trock's girls, well they had, special...talents."

Lee paled. "Oh God! Joe's so young..."

"And strong. He's a Cartwright. And from what you've told me, they are amazing men. Here," he said, leaning Joe against her, "brace him until I'm on my feet."

Lee did and, as she wrapped her arms around Joe and his curls brushed her cheek, she was struck by a memory – something she had completely forgotten. Ben had come to visit Tom and her often. Only once did he bring Marie and their young son. The two of them hit it off right away. She'd been Tom Bolden's scandalously young wife and Marie had been Ben's. Joe was just a toddler. That had been a little over fifteen years before. Now Joe was a young man and a fine one and she wanted nothing more than for him to be all right. He had been his mother's pride.

He was hers too, in a way.

"Here, I'll take him," Trock said as he bent down. "I think, since he's developed the fever, we better put him to bed. It will be easier for you to take care of him there."

"Me? What about you?"

He had Joseph in his arms now. "I have to defend my own."

"Trock, no. We're safe here. All the doors and windows are locked. No one can get in."

"No one human, but I'm not so sure that Ahab is that." Her husband sighed. "Seems to me he's a demon come to plague me."

She shook her head. "I won't let him hurt you."

He turned toward her. "Lee, you may have no choice."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hadley Jones stood at the top of the staircase and watched the two strangers who spoke softly near its foot. It was obvious they cared deeply for one another and even more obvious that the woman – she was a slender beauty with raven-black hair just like her – was in love not only with the man she called husband but with the man her husband held in his arms.

With Joe Cartwright.

That was understandable. She was in love with him too, even though he hated her.

Hadley sighed. She wasn't even sure it was the love of a woman for a man, though Joe was handsome enough to make her feel things deep within. She'd lost sight of what that kind of love was long ago. Ahab had taught her that love was about getting or having or escaping or surviving. For him, love was a hunger that had to be sated; an empty belly that cried out to be filled. For her it had become an empty, cold black tangle of trees and leaves that threatened to swallow her whole.

Here there was something different – some sort of a love that she had no experience of. The man was willing to – probably going to sacrifice himself for the woman. She was just as willing to die for him.

And both were willing to give their lives to keep Joe Cartwright alive.

It shamed her.

For so long her thoughts were for no one other than herself. After the first betrayal she had shut down. She trusted no one and nothing. Not the first man who had used her, the hundred tricks in-between, or Ahab, though she had come to depend on them to keep her alive. She had willingly done whatever they wanted and she supposed, in a way, she had thought that was what love was about. She had given and men had taken.

It had never occurred to her that love might be about someone giving back.

At the sound of footsteps on the stair, Hadley retreated into the shadows. The man came up the steps carrying Joe and the woman followed him into a large room on the left. She'd explored it. It contained a bed and a dresser and a few other things including a wardrobe full of men's clothes. They didn't look like they'd fit the man, so she guessed they belonged to someone else. The couple paid no attention to her as they placed Joe on the bed and went about making him as comfortable as possible. A few words passed between them and then the man began to undress Joe even as the woman left the room.

She tried to fade into the shadows but didn't move fast enough. The woman saw her.

"Hadley?"

She swallowed over her fear and stepped into the light. "Yes."

"My name is Lee," she said. "This is my home."

"Okay."

"Trock said – that's my husband – that you were with that man. Ahab."

Hadley nodded.

"What did you..." Lee stopped and started again. "What did he tell you to do to Joe? Why is he afraid of my touch?" When she said nothing, the older woman's jaw grew tight and anger entered her eyes. "I want you to know that that young man in there – who, by the way, is fighting for his life – is one of the kindest, best souls I have ever known. If you have harmed him, I..." Lee drew a breath. She paused as i counting to ten to contain her temper. "I'm sorry. I'm sure you didn't know what you were doing."

"I knew," she admitted. "It's what I do. It's...what I am."

The older woman looked stunned. "And what is that?" she snapped.

Hadley's eyes flicked to the room where Joe Cartwright lay.

"Damned."