Epilogue

Ben sat watching his sons, an amused look hidden behind the hand he leaned against his chin. Today was the first day Paul had let Little Joe out of his bed and you would have thought the boy was a prince come to call. Hoss had carried Joe downstairs. In spite of his protests, the boy was still too weak to take them on his own. Adam had been waiting with a blanket that he tucked around his brother with military precision, making sure there was no opening for the cold air to work its way into. Summer was gone at last with its scathing heat and hot, arid winds. It was October now and, though the changing leaves with their fiery oranges and golds were a painful reminder of what had almost happened, he welcomed them. Little Joe would soon turn fifteen.

Little Joe was still with them.

It had been a hard ride for the boy. Infection had proven inevitable. Joe had struggled with not one but two strong fevers that seemed bound and determined to take him where Levings McNaughton had intended. But Joseph was tough as the land that birthed him. He had been a fighter from the very beginning and he fought this as well, overcoming not only the infections that came from getting dirt and sand into his wounds, but the one that had come as a result of the spider bite. It was a funny thing, spider bites. He, Hoss, and Adam had had plenty of them, and with little ill effect. But Joseph was like his dear, beautiful, mother. Marie had reminded him of a piece of fine porcelain. She'd been put through the fire – at temperatures that would have destroyed many a man or woman – and had emerged a strong and capable woman. But porcelain had another property. Strike it too hard and it shattered.

He'd have to watch out for Joseph – without the boy knowing he was doing it, of course. Joe was like his mother in another way.

His temper was just about as hot as the fire in that kiln!

Shifting forward, the rancher closed the newspaper he'd been reading and laid it on the table before the fire. As he made to get up, Adam raised a finger to his lips and inclined his head toward his brother. Little Joe was sound asleep.

Good. The boy needed that. He needed to heal.

Glancing around, he looked for Hoss, but failed to find him. Adam seemed to sense what he was about and said, "I think he went to the barn."

They exchanged looks. No words were needed.

Hoss was spending an inordinate amount of time in the barn.

Joseph was well on the way to being healed. His giant of a brother was still in pain. Over the last few days it hadn't been Little Joe who had awakened them with nightmares, but his twenty-one-year old brother. Hoss could not escape what he had not witnessed with his own eyes. For him, Little Joe was still in that shack, being burnt alive.

"Do you want me to talk to him, Pa?" Adam asked softly as he came to his side.

"No, I'll –"

"Mistah Adam, Mistah Ben stay put. Hop Sing go talk to number two son. Sometimes father, brother, too close."

Ben noted Adam's look.

Somehow he had a feeling number one son had already had his talking to.

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"Mistah Hoss need not let yesterday use too much of today. You wallow like pig, you end up dirty."

Hoss turned sharply, nearly tossin' the brush he'd been curryin' Cadfan's coat with. He blew out a slow breath to steady himself. "Hop Sing, you oughta know better than to sneak up on a man like that!"

"Hop Sing no sneak!" the man from China replied indignantly. "He open door and walk in. It number two son who not in room. He let birds of sadness make nest in his hair."

The big man went back to curryin' the horse. It was somethin' he could do for Joe. He felt like he'd danged failed his little brother in just about everythin' else!

"Ain't you got somethin' to cook?" he snarled.

"Working on recipe right now," Hop Sing replied. "Need three ingredients. Only have two. One refuse to be with others."

Hoss scowled. "I ain't refusin' to be with my brothers. I'm just...busy."

"Mistah Hoss been busy every day, every night since Little Joe's fever break. Boy ask for him and he not there. Birds of sadness nest in Little Joe's curls as well."

Hoss looked at the little man over his shoulder. "Pa said Joe's gettin' along fine."

"Brother's body heels. But here," he touched his heart, 'he sick."

He turned toward the other man. Had their Pa not told him the truth? "How is Joe sick? You tell me!"

The man from China walked to the end of the stall. They had a rogue hen who liked to lay her eggs in the corner of Chubby's. Hop Sing picked one out of the nest. Crossing back to his side, he held it out to him.

"What's that got to do with Joe?" he asked.

"Egg have three parts. Hard outer shell to protect. Yolk for strength. White holds both together."

He caught himself before he could scratch his head. "So?"

"Like brothers. Mistah Adam strong. He protect younger brothers. Little Joe, he full of life; nourishes us all. And Mistah Hoss," Hop Sing paused. "Mistah Hoss hold all Cartwrights together." Without warning, the little man turned his hand over and dropped the egg. The shell shattered on the barn floor and the white and yolk separated. Their cook waited until he met his gaze and then, without a word, turned and left the barn.

Hoss stared after him a moment and then he snorted.

Point taken.

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It was a warm summer's day, not hot, but warm enough for swimmin' and maybe a little spoonin'. Joe was sittin' under a willow tree with his best girl. The long trails of leaves dangling down from the bows pretty much hid them from view. Her name was Kathy and she'd come to Miss Jones' school late in the year. Sittin' and watchin' her toss her red hair was about the only thing that held his attention. He'd told her once that she'd saved him a trip to the woodshed more than once 'cause Miss Jones thought he was lookin' at and listenin' to her.

Kathy sat in front of him.

He was leanin' back against the willow's trunk, as pleased as a little heifer with a new fence post. Kathy shifted. She whispered something in his ear and then went to do what nature called her to do. He would never think of followin' her, though he was mighty curious what girls had under all them petticoats of theirs. Of course, Pa would skin him alive if he did anything 'ungentlemanly'.

Joe lay there for a few minutes, lazily dreamin' about what life might be with Kathy at his side for all of it. Then, suddenly, he realized too much time had passed. He stood up, dusted off his dungarees, and ducked under the bower of leaves. Standing with his hands on his hips, he turned in a tight circle. Now just where would a girl go to do her business? Somewhere private. Out of sight.

Maybe like behind that clump of rocks and trees about a hundred feet away?

Walking slowly, Joe whistled as he approached, hoping to warn her. As he drew near, he thought he heard her call his name. Then, there was nothing – nothing but the sound of shoes scufflin' on the ground and one little whimper that let him know there was trouble.

Pa didn't let him carry a sidearm, but he had a rifle. It was back in the buggy he'd used to bring Kathy out to the lake. As he turned, ready to run for it, something made him stop. Whirling, Joe saw two figures emerge from behind the boulders and trees. One was Kathy. The other was a giant of a man with short-cropped pale hair, near-white eyebrows, and blue eyes cold as a witch's caress. The sight made his blood curdle. Something, Joe didn't know what, happened and suddenly he couldn't breath. He couldn't see either. It was like someone had tied a thick wet bandana around his head, cuttin' off his sight. Then he felt hands – they weren't Kathy's – take hold of his hands and feet and start to bind them, pulling the ragged strips so tight it cut off any feeling, any hope –

Any life.

Joe sat straight up and let out a scream loud enough to wake the dead.

Instantly, a pair of strong hands caught him. As one hand held him tightly, the other wrapped protectively around his chest.

"Hush, Little Joe. You're fine. No one can hurt you, boy. No one ever will again."

He'd expected his father. Unbelievably, it was Hoss.

Hoss whom he hadn't seen for more than a few hours in the week since he'd started to get well.

Rearing back on the settee, Joe looked at his brother, only half-believing he was there. He reached up a hand and touched the beefy face.

"You're...real."

"About as real as they come, little brother."

Joe sank back into his brother's strength. "Where've you been?"

"Oh, I been busy." Joe watched a parade of emotions pass on his brother's face. "No. I ain't gonna lie. I have been avoidin' you, boy."

Joe sucked in air. He knew it! Hoss was mad at him for gettin' spider bit and sick. "Hoss, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have –"

Big brother was shaking his head. "It's me who's sorry, Joe. I..." He paused to clear his throat of the emotion that choked it. "I nearly got you killed out there."

The curly-headed youth scowled. "You? Get me killed? I'm the dumb one who went and sat on a spider!"

Hoss released his brother, careful to make sure he was propped on the arm of the settee where he'd been sleepin' before lettin' go. "I never should have taken you out into the desert, Little Joe." Pa had done let him know what he thought about that particular choice. "It's too dangerous."

Joe's lips twitched. "And I suppose workin' with horses and ridin' drag in a cattle drive is safe as escortin' Miss Jones to a cotillion?"

Hoss chuckled but sobered quick enough. "I should of brought you home and then gone after Adam."

"I would have followed you."

"Not if I turned you over to Pa."

Joe was shaking his head. "Still would have. Pa has to sleep sometime." He shifted his body carefully and leaned forward to place a hand on his brother's arm. "Look, Adam needed us. In the end it was him Levings McNaughton wanted to hurt, not me."

"No. He just wanted to kill you," Hoss said softly.

"Yeah, well, he didn't," he said as his eyes began to close and he slid down toward the pillow. Just before sleep claimed him, Joe realized his brother hadn't replied. Opening one eye he looked. Yep, Hoss was still there, staring at him.

"What else do you want, you big galoot?" Joe asked, his own voice breathy with fatigue. His lungs were better, but they still weren't clear. "I need my beauty sleep."

Hoss remained silent a moment. Then he grinned. "Well, we can't go disturbin' that, now can we? I mean, it's the ugly ones who need it the most."

"Hey!" Joe protested, coming awake.

"What's the matter, sleeping beauty, can't take the truth?" Adam asked with a wry grin as he descended the stair with their father at his heels.

"It ain't fair, Pa! They're gangin' up on me!" Joe whined.

" 'Isn't', Joseph," their father sighed as he moved toward the settee. "I won't have the people of Eagle Station thinking my boys were raised in a barn."

"But we were, Pa," Hoss protested. "At least, a good part of the time."

"You two may have been. I, for one, was reared in the elegance and refinery of Marie's sterling silver and china palace."

The mention of his mother made Joe frown.

Adam saw it. "Sorry, little brother, I didn't mean to –"

"It's okay, Adam," he said, meaning it. "If I don't talk about her, well, it's like mama never existed."

His father sat down on the table beside him and reached out a hand – first to check his temperature, and second, to ruffle his curls. "There will never be any doubt that your mother existed, Joseph. She's here with me every day in you."

Joe nodded but remained sober. "Pa, I...well...I kind of feel sorry for Mr. McNaughton."

There was a collective gasp. "How, Joseph? After what that man tried to do to you."

Joe looked at his family surrounding him. He knew they loved him and would do anything for him. He couldn't imagine life without his brothers.

"I don't know. I guess 'cause he lost his little brother. I don't know what I'd do if I lost one of mine."

"Well, I know what you would not do. You most certainly would not kidnap a young boy and hold him hostage against the man who had hurt your brother, or threaten to kill him."

Joe's lips were pursed. He nodded, but deep down inside he wondered what would happen when that day came – when it was him who had to defend Adam or Hoss instead of the other way around, even if it meant taking a life.

"Joseph?"

"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir."

"Thankfully this time none of us had to make that choice, between defending our own and the law. Levings McNaughton died by his own hand and God will be his judge."

"Mistah Cartwright, numbers one, two, and three sons, come to table. Supper ready."

Joe blinked. He wanted to eat with his family – it had been about a week since he had – but he was awful tired.

"I think I'll just stay here, Pa," he said, his voice soft.

A glance, unseen by Joe, passed between the older men in the room. A moment later his father turned toward the dining room and called out, "Hop Sing, I think in honor of Joe's first night downstairs, we'll eat in the great room."

"Yes, sir, Mistah Cartwright. I bring plates to you."

"Thank you, Hop Sing."

Though he was tired, Joe inched up a bit and looked at their cook. "Hey, Hop Sing!"

"Yes, Little Joe?"

"What'd you fix?"

The man from China answered him, but was looking from Adam to Hoss.

"Eggs and humble pie."