Chapter Three
Scott startled awake as a clap of thunder exploded right overhead.
"It's just thunder, Boston."Johnny's voice came weakly from the bed.
Scott bolted from his chair, both angry with himself for falling asleep, and happy that Johnny had at last awoken.
"How do you feel?" he asked, noting the flush of fever still dusting Johnny's cheeks and the glassy, not quite focused eyes. There was a tightness around his mouth that told Scott his brother was in a great deal of pain. "And I want the truth."
Johnny lifted his head just enough to see the thick bandages binding his left arm to his chest and sighed, letting his head fall back into the softness of the pillow. "I've felt better," he said with a grimace.
"I should hope so. Here."Scott gently lifted Johnny's head up a little higher to sip at a glass of water. "Drink as much as you can, it will help with the fever."
Johnny swallowed a couple of sips then shook his head. "Enough."
"All right, for now. But you're going to have to drink a lot more than that. And you're going to take this." Scott held up the dreaded brown bottle of laudanum and Johnny shook his head emphatically.
"Sorry, Brother, but I'm pulling rank. You need this, and you are going to take it, one way or the other."
"I'd listen to him, Son." Murdoch's voice hitched on the tail of a loud clap of thunder, making the suggestion sound like an order from the Gods.
Scott waited, bottle in hand, as his father walked across the room. "I won't pull any punches here, Johnny. Your arm is broken, you have a gash clear down to the bone that I sewed together as best I could, and at least two broken ribs. We have a storm out there that is hell bent on blowing us to kingdom come, and no way to get Sam out here to tend to you. We've done all we can, now it's up to you to do your part. That means staying in this bed and taking the laudanum."
Sheepish is the only word Scott could think to describe the look Johnny gave their father. Taking advantage of Johnny's unaccustomed acquiescence, Scott poured a liberal spoonful of the opiate and watched him swallow the medication.
"That should take effect in a few minutes." Scott rinsed the spoon in a glass of water and laid it next to the bottle for the next time.
Johnny looked around, confused. "How did I get here?"
"Barranca was bringing you home when Scott spotted you."
"Barranca?" Johnny suddenly tried to sit up, gasping at the pain. Both Murdoch and Scott quickly pushed him back down,
"Lie still," Scott admonished. "He's fine. I brushed him down and gave him two apples from that barrel you have stashed in the barn. If Teresa knew where her best apples were going."
Johnny smiled. "He's worth it. Best horse I ever had."
Scott watched Murdoch gently pull the covers up over Johnny's chest and then brush his brother's flushed face with the back of his hand. "Something I learned a long time ago," Murdoch said softly. "A horse is a good judge of character. Barranca is no exception. He picked you for a reason."
Why was it that Murdoch could find the perfect words to say to his son when he was hurt or sick, but those same words never passed his lips when Johnny was healthy? Scott remembered the talk he had planned to have with his father. He would add that one to the list of questions.
"Can you tell us what happened?" Scott asked, noticing the look of guilt in Murdoch's eyes.
"I was pulling that stump out at South Creek. Don't know why, but the rope broke and the block nearly took my head off."
"You never should have been out there alone in the first place." Scott shot his father an accusing look. "There was still two feet of water left in that creek. He could have drowned."
"I'm sorry, Johnny, I pushed you into it," Murdoch said softly
Johnny sighed. "I was just being stubborn. I should a known better," he said, his words slurred as the laudanum started taking effect.
Murdoch combed his fingers through Johnny's thick black hair. "I would never do anything to cause you harm."
Scott hoped Johnny heard those last words as his heavy eyelids slid closed. They had come so close, once again, to losing Johnny. But they were a family now. Nothing would pull them apart…ever again.
Arthur stood in the hallway listening to Murdoch and his sons. It made him question the Pinkerton's report. But it was there in black and white. Had the imposter played the game so well that he now thought that he was truly Murdoch's son? And why the deception? He had made no overt acts, so far, to suggest he wanted to take over the ranch. Was he simply in need of the love and trust he found here? Perhaps he had other plans when he first came here, but found himself accepted almost without question. Surrounded by a father and brother that was not his by birth, but now his by desire?
He knew he was asking a lot of Murdoch. His old friend had waited years to be this happy. Damn, he should have been sure. He owed it to Murdoch to search for the truth before handing him the Pinkerton's suspicions. But Murdoch needed to know. If there was another man out there who truly deserved to be here, then what right did he or Murdoch have to deny him what was justly his?
And if his son was an imposter…they could all be in danger.
Clearing his throat, he stepped into the bedroom. "Was that Johnny I heard talking a minute ago?"
Murdoch nodded. "He came to long enough for us to get some water and laudanum down him. He'll sleep for awhile. Hopefully this storm will blow over soon and we can get Sam out here."
"I was hoping I could have a minute of your time, Murdoch." Arthur ventured carefully.
Murdoch looked at him suspiciously.
"Go on, Murdoch," Scott said, sitting back in his chair. "I'll watch Johnny for awhile. It looks like you could use a strong cup of coffee."
"Yes, I could. Can I get you anything?"
"A cup of that coffee sounds good. The stronger the better."
Murdoch patted Scott's shoulder. "Consider it done."
Arthur studied the two brothers again. Could it be possible?
Murdoch led Arthur to the kitchen then turned on him, their friendship strained to its limits. "I told you I didn't want to discuss this until Johnny was better."
"Murdoch please, just hear me out." Arthur deliberately took his time pouring himself a cup of coffee and Murdoch was losing his patience rapidly.
"Get it said, Arthur. Then not another word."
Arthur nodded. "We've been friends for a lot of years, Murdoch, and we've been through our share of highs and lows. You more than I. I just don't want to see you hurt again. But you have to face facts. If there is a chance…You have to speak to Johnny."
Murdoch slammed his coffee cup down on the butcher block table in the kitchen, spilling the hot liquid onto his hand. "And tell him what?' Murdoch roared. "Johnny, your brother isn't really your brother. He's an imposter."
"It has to be done. Murdoch, think about it. Do you have any proof Scott is who he says he is? Do you have a picture of him?"
"I showed you the picture of him standing next to General Sheridan."
"You showed me a picture of someone standing next to General Sheridan. How do you know that is Scott Lancer? Because he told you so? Do you have any pictures of him standing next to his grandfather? Do you have anything solid to prove that Scott is who he says he is?"
Murdoch shook his head, striving to find answers to Arthur's damnable questions. If he asked, and he was wrong, would he lose Scott forever? Scott was a proud man. To have his identity questioned, to have his own father question who he was could drive him away in a heartbeat. And once the question was asked, it could never be taken back again.
"Scott looks so much like Catherine."
"Because you want him to." Arthur reached across the table and laid his hand atop Murdoch's. "Whether you want to believe it or not, Johnny could be in grave danger, if Scott is an imposter waiting for just the right moment to strike. Murdoch, why did that rope break? I know Johnny has had his share of accidents….but have they all been accidents? Did that rope have help breaking?"
"That's nonsense. Ropes break. A ranch is a dangerous place to work."
"More so if there is someone trying to get your share of the ranch."
Murdoch stood, the chair scraping the tiled floor. "I've heard enough, Arthur. I don't want you saying a word to either of my boys, do you understand?"
"You're making a mistake, Murdoch."
Murdoch leaned forward, his knuckles on the table. "You brought me this information as my attorney, not as my friend. It will stay between lawyer and client. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes. But I hope for Johnny's sake, you are making the right decision."
Murdoch strode out of the room, angry at Arthur for pressing him on the matter, and angry at himself for having a niggling doubt about Scott's identity."
Murdoch was down the hall before he remembered Scott's coffee. The tumultuous weather outside couldn't hold a candle to the feelings he had inside. Damn Arthur and his Pinkerton report. The idea was ludicrous. And yet…
Murdoch stepped into Johnny's room. The drapes were pulled tight against the ferocious storm outside. Still the room lit up with each streak of lightening, playing shadows against the walls.
Scott sat by Johnny's side, book open on his lap, but his eyes were glued to his brother. His brother…was he?
"How is he?" Murdoch asked. Could Scott hear the hesitation in his voice?
Scott leaned forward on the chair and resettled the covers over Johnny's chest. "He seems to be sleeping comfortably. I checked his arm a few minutes ago, no new bleeding. You may have missed your calling, Sir. You should have been a surgeon."
"With these?" Murdoch held up his huge hands.
Scott smiled. "I'm not sure size has anything to do with it. Some people just have an innate skill. I'm just glad you knew what to do for Johnny. I think he will be all right until Sam can get here. His fever hasn'tgone back up and his fingers are a healthy color and warm to the touch."
"It could have been so much worse. Thank God that block didn't hit him in the chest or the head. It could have killed him. I can't believe that rope broke like that."
"It does seem odd. I know Jelly checks all the equipment every time it's brought back to the tack room. If it was frayed I'm sure he would have noticed it. And if he hadn't, Johnny should have. I guess that's why they call them accidents…"
Murdoch looked from Johnny to Scott. "Accidents?"
"You know that Johnny is accident prone. Sometimes I think he goes about things with so much enthusiasm that he forgets to be careful"
"A man doesn't survive the life of a gunfighter by not being careful." The coldness in his voice surprised him. Murdoch saw Scott raise an eyebrow but said nothing in return. He couldn't let himself fall into the trap of second guessing every word Scott said, dissecting his every movement. Either he trusted Scott or he didn't. He couldn't walk the tightrope of suspicion.
Clearing his throat, he gently laid his hand on Scott's shoulder. "You didn't get much sleep last night. Why don't you get a cup of coffee and try to relax? You know what a handful Johnny can be when he thinks he's better. Save your strength for the fight ahead."
Scott smiled, so reminiscent of Catherine's smile. How could this not be his son?
"I think I'll do that, Sir. We're still looking at a few days before Sam can get here. Even after this rain ends the roads will be impassable."
"That last time we had a storm like this, it was a week before anyone could travel. I'm afraid this one is worse. But we have plenty of food and a strong roof over our heads, we'll ride it out. And with God's help, Johnny will too."
Scott took one last look at Johnny before smiling at Murdoch. "Knowing my brother, he will do just that. Call me if there is any change."
"I will, now get some rest."
Scott turned down the hallway leaving Murdoch to ponder exactly who he had just been talking to.