Chapter Two
The flickering light from the hearth's roaring firewarmed the downstairs room, but it gave no solace to the two men who sat beside Johnny's bed, waiting for a sign that he was going to wake up.
It had been several hours since they moved the youngest Lancer into the bedroom and settled him in as comfortably as they could, with pillows cushioning his left arm.
Murdoch's thoughts were as turbulent as the storm raging outside. His own complicity in Johnny getting hurt trying to move that stump alone weighed heavy on his shoulders. His inadequate medical care, when his son needed the expert care of a trained doctor, added to his guilt. But above all that, the damn letter from the Pinkerton agency hung like a specter over his every thought. He could not, no...he would not believe that his son was an imposter. Surely there was a feeling that only a father knew…that feeling that his son carried his blood through his veins. Because as sure as he knew that God created this earth, he knew his boys were his.
Scott stood, wrung a cloth out in a cool basin of water and wiped Johnny's face. "We need to get him to drink some water soon. He's already developing a fever."
"I know." Murdoch tried to resettle himself in his chair, his back and leg protesting his sedentary position. "I'm afraid even that carbolic wasn't enough to stop the infection. Damn it, we need Sam."
"We wouldn't need him if you hadn't sent Johnny out to move that stump by himself," Scott snapped, regretting his harsh accusation the moment it passed his lips. "I'm sorry, Sir, I was out of line."
"No. You have every right to be angry. I'm angry with myself. We had been doing so good, then this morning…one thing led to another and words were said. Just so you know, I was wrong. And I will admit it the moment Johnny is well enough to understand my apology."
Scott looked over at his father and knew there was more than Johnny's injury and whatever angry words they had exchanged. And whatever it was had spilled over to include Arthur. He had seen it in the interaction between the two older men. There was something between them. And Arthur… the man could barely look him straight in the eye. As soon as Johnny showed some improvement he would talk to both of them. Murdoch and Arthur had been friends for too long to have something come between them.
Another clap of thunder exploded overhead, rattling the windows until Scott feared they would shatter. Johnny's head lolled to the left then settled again. Murdoch was out of his chair quicker than any man his age should have been capable of, bad back or not, brushing the hair from Johnny's forehead gently.
"It's all right, Son. It's just the thunder." Murdoch's voice was as gentle as a spring rain, and Scott had to wonder what kind of father he would have made if fate had not intervened and robbed him of his paternal rights.
Arthur appeared in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. "I don't think we've had a storm like this in ten years," he said, cringing as another clap of thunder shook the house like an earthquake.
"The horses!" Murdoch began to push himself away from the bed when Scott waved him back down.
"I took care of them after we settled Johnny in here. They're fine. I gave Barranca a couple of apples Johnny had stashed in the barn for him. I thought he deserved an extra treat." Scott re-wet the towel and folded into a square before placing it on Johnny's forehead. "I don't think Johnny would have survived if it wasn't for Barranca."
Murdoch combed his fingers through Johnny's unruly hair. "Johnny said Barranca picked him. I have no doubt that he's right."
Arthur cleared his throat and said from his position in the door way. "And I have no doubt that the both of you are starving. I took the liberty of raiding Teresa's kitchen and made a quick stew from the leftovers in the pantry. If you would both like to take a break I will watch Johnny for you."
"Thank you Arthur, but I want to stay here with Johnny. One of us should be here when he wakes up." Looking up at Scott, Murdoch nodded toward the door. "Why don't you take a break and have some of Arthur's stew. Arthur may be a lousy lawyer, but he is one hell of a cook."
Arthur bowed dramatically at the waist. "I will accept half that compliment." Turning to leave he poked his head back in the room. "But the other half I will consider the ranting of an overwrought father. I'll bring you up a plate in a few minutes."
Scott reluctantly followed Arthur out the door. It promised to be a long night. He was sure at some time Murdoch would need some rest himself and he wanted to be there for Johnny. There were so many questions swirling in his mind right now, but he knew now was not the time to try to get answers. When Johnny was out of danger. Then he would be every bit as formidable as Arthur Bell.
Sopping up the last of the gravy on his plate with a piece of bread, Scott had to chuckle to himself. What would his grandfather think of his lack of manners? Without a doubt he would be appalled. But the freedom he found here was a balm to his heart, and he couldn't see himself returning to the staid and formal life he led in Boston.
Pushing himself back from the table, he headed into the great room to look out the picture window behind Murdoch's desk. He had seen his share of storms, but this one was one of the worst. He could smell the ozone in the air, and feel the thunder pounding in his veins. This was Mother Nature at war.
Moving away from the window his eye caught the painting of his mother hanging on the wall, for a moment lit with breathtaking beauty by the lightening.
"She was beautiful," the voice came from behind Scott and he turned to see Arthur standing by the dining table, ready to take the empty dish back into the kitchen.
"Did you know my mother?" Scott asked. The knowledge that so many other people knew his mother when he had never met her haunted him.
"Yes. I was part time lawyer, part time swamper at the saloon when Murdoch and your mother arrived. Morro Coyo was little more than a one horse town...little need for a lawyer." Arthur smiled, "Cleaning spittoons put money in my pocket, what little there was, but the law fed my soul."
"You seem to be doing quite well now."
"At times, too well. I may need to take on a partner sometime in the future. I'm not getting any younger, you know."
"It seems to be a condition none of us can avoid."
"Well put." Arthur glanced up at Catherine's portrait again. "Your mother would be proud of her Harvard educated son. Ironic how capricious life can be. If your father had not sent your mother away for her safety, you would have been born here. And if Maria had not left with Johnny. Instead you both return some twenty years later, strangers to each other and your own father. I can't imagine how difficult those first few months were."
"It's been worth all the blood and sweat. I can't see myself anyplace but here now. Boston and Harvard are in the past."
"But it must be hard sometimes to find stimulating conversation."
Scott walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself and Arthur two fingers of Murdoch's good scotch. "If you mean the staid conversation with pompous politicians or Harvard teachers with overblown egos…then no I don't miss it a bit. In fact I would much prefer to sit down with Johnny and talk over a couple of beers. Most people don't know just how smart Johnny is. They find it hard to see past the cowboy or the reputation."
"He means a lot to you."
Scott turned toward the hallway that led to Johnny's room. "I never met anyone quite like him. I'm not sure I would have stayed at first if it had not been for Johnny. Murdoch may have needed his sons to help him fight Pardee, but Johnny needed a family more. I couldn't walk away from him, no matter how hard he tried to push us away."
"It must have been quite a surprise to find that you had a brother after all those years growing up alone with your grandfather."
"Surprise is an understatement. I thought I was prepared for what I would find here…"
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Did your homework before you came?"
"You could say that. But I only had my grandfather's slanted view of my father and this ranch. It turned out to be so much more. I…"
Murdoch's voice trailed away on a clap of thunder, but Scott had heard the call and was half way down the hall before Arthur had a chance to react.
Scott found Murdoch leaning over the bed trying to calm Johnny as he tossed and turned in a fit of delirium.
"Hold his legs," Murdoch ordered as he held Johnny's uninjured shoulder against the mattress. "He'll rip those stitches in his arm."
The thunder and lightening raged over the house as Johnny fought a storm of his own.
Arthur lumbered into the room beneath the weight of a large bucket of water. "Take those covers off. We have to cool him down." Grabbing the top sheet, Arthur dunked it into the bucket and pulled it out dripping wet. "Lay this over him. We have to get that fever down."
Scott covered Johnny with the soaking sheet then raced to the bureau and pulled another sheet from the drawer. He soaked that one in the water while Murdoch kept changing warmed towels for cold ones to lay across Johnny's forehead as his fever continued to rise.
For the next hour not a word was spoken. Scott kept soaking the sheets in cold water as quickly as Arthur could refill the bucket from the kitchen. Murdoch kept replacing towels until he suddenly stopped, feeling Johnny's forehead.
"Thank God," he breathed.
Scott placed the back of his hand on Johnny's forehead, and smiled and nodded. "He's cooler." The feeling of relief almost staggered him on his feet. He felt like every ounce of energy was depleted from his body. But they still had work to do. The mattress was soaked and Johnny's body had sunk into the center of the soggy bed. "We'd better get him to a dry bed."
Arthur shook his head. "It will take too long to get the fire going in a cold fireplace. We need to bring a new mattress here."
Murdoch gave his old friend a grateful smile. "I'll get Johnny ready to move and get this floor dry while you and Scott bring the fresh mattress."
It was another half hour before the three exhausted men could sit back and relax. The soaked mattress had been tossed outside and the new mattress now supported a dry and cooler Johnny. Even though his face still was flushed from fever, it was not the life threatening inferno it had been earlier.
Murdoch sat in a chair, his feet spread in front of him, his weary body almost too heavy to hold his head up. Scott caught Arthur's eyes and nodded toward his father. Arthur nodded back and gently, but firmly, coaxed Murdoch out of the chair and over to a cot that had been brought into the room for him.
"Rest," Arthur said as he laid a blanket over his old friend. "Johnny will sleep most of the night. He will need you rested in the morning."
Murdoch nodded gratefully, but suddenly reached out and grabbed Arthur's arm. "What we talked about before," he whispered, "stays between us for now. Promise me. I want Johnny healthy before we start asking questions… Promise me."
Arthur nodded, patting Murdoch's shoulder before pulling the blanket up over his chest. "I promise. We will talk about it when you are ready. However, that doesn't mean years down the road. We will settle this as soon as Johnny is able."
Murdoch closed his eyes. The inevitable taunted him, but exhaustion commanded his body and he fell into a deep sleep even as the house shook with thunder and the room lit up like daylight as each streak of lightning raced across the sky.
It seemed like only minutes since Murdoch had closed his eyes, but the crick in his neck told him he had laid too long in the awkward position on the short cot. He looked over toward the bed and saw Johnny sleeping, his face still flushed, but nothing like it was earlier. They had dodged that bullet…he hoped there would not be another one before this damn storm let up and Sam could get there to give him the proper medical care he needed.
Scott was also asleep, his head listing forward, moving just slightly with each breath he took. It had been an ordeal for all of them. He was proud of the way his son worked under fire. He wasn't sure if he could have saved Johnny if he was alone. It had taken all three of them, working together to get Johnny through the crisis. All three…He had forgotten about Arthur for a moment. Damn the man and his principles. Murdoch knew his old friend would never let this rest. Why couldn't he understand that both these boys were strangers to him, and imposter or not, they were both his sons. If truth be told, he would leave things as they were. He loved them both.
Struggling to lift himself up from the cot he stretched his cramped muscles and moved his head around trying to loosen the crick in his neck. The storm still raged outside. It was impossible to tell what time it was with the dark clouds still blotting out the sky. He would check the old grandfather clock in the great room later. Time really didn't mean anything at the moment. He walked over to the bed and looked down on Johnny. He looked so incredibly young when he was sleeping, and the flush to his cheeks made him look like the boy Murdoch had envisioned as he counted off the years they had been apart.
Now, at last, they were together. But all too soon they would be torn apart again. He sighed heavily. Arthur was right. If his son was an imposter, where was his real son? Alive somewhere… or dead? And if he was dead, how had he died? Natural causes, or at the hands of a man who wanted to steal his identity? His eye caught the portrait of Johnny and Scott on the nightstand. A chill went down his spine. At best he was looking at a criminal, at worst he was looking at a man with murder on his mind.