Hi all, here's part 3. Sorry so long in posting but real life's been demanding of late. Thanks go out to my wonderful betas Em, Lacy, Ros & Vickie. I hope you all enjoy this part.

Char :-)

The Gunman's Woman: Part 3:

The sun had set by the time they pulled into the yard in front of the quaint farm house. Johnny jumped from Barranca, dropping the reins as he moved to the wagon and lifted Jessie out. "Can you put up the horses, Boston? Please."

"Sure, Johnny," Scott said. He sat his mount and watched as his brother and Jessamie quickly disappeared into the house, and then he sighed before dismounting.

"This is the land Johnny sold last year," Murdoch mused aloud as he took the reins of his sons' horses and led them towards the barn.

"For the biscuits?" Scott asked as he started unhitching the wagon team.

Murdoch smiled slightly at the memory. Try as they did to plead and cajole Johnny into telling them what had happened in Cavitt Springs last year, all his younger son ever said was that he had sold the property to a nice lady after he had helped her out of some trouble. Trouble that had earned Johnny a bullet in the shoulder. He said he sold the land for what it was worth -- "a dollar ... and some homemade biscuits." Johnny's eyes had glittered with laughter as he extolled his shrewd business deal. Murdoch sighed and looked toward the small house. He wondered if his son's eyes would laugh like that again.

Johnny leaned against the door he had shut behind them and inhaled a deep breath. His eyes took in the wreckage of the room. "You put up a fight," he softly stated.

Jessamie dropped her head as her body began to shake. "But they still took Grady. I couldn't stop them. I couldn't protect him." She turned tear filled eyes toward him. "Johnny, what am I going to do?"

He crossed the distance between them in three short steps, then took her into his arms. "We'll find him. I'll find him and I'll bring him home. I promise you, Jessie."

"If he's alive!" She broke from his hold. "Why? Why'd they take him? Why, Johnny? He's just a little boy?" Anger mixed with despair as Jessamie gave voice to her questions.

"I know, I know. Jessie ... it's because of me. Those men ... the Strykers ... I killed one of them a couple of years ago. Sam Stryker sent me a note saying he took Grady. He had that picture we took in Sacramento last month in it."

She nodded. "They took that when they took Grady. I ... I didn't understand why."

Johnny paced around the room. "To prove to me that they had him, I reckon. They said they were going to kill my son like I had killed Eli."

Jessamie watched him, but her mind was having trouble comprehending him. The Stryker's were going to kill Grady. No. That couldn't happen. None of this could be happening. She was dizzy and swayed where she stood. Jessamie did not remember his strong arms wrapping around her waist, but she felt herself being moved toward a chair. "Your ... son. They think Grady's your son."

"Yeah. Jessie," he started kneeling in front of her, her smaller hands engulfed by his larger ones. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault." Johnny's heart broke as he watched large tears roll down her face.

Again, he embraced her and she held onto him, relishing the warmth and comfort his strong arms brought her. Warmth that helped, but could not fill the empty, gaping hole in her heart. "They can't kill Grady! Johnny, you have to stop them. Please, Johnny, please."

His voice was soft but confident. "If Grady's still alive, I'll bring him home to you."

"We'll bring him home," Murdoch's deep voice added. He and Scott had opened the door and watched the scene unfolding before them. His heart ached for the young mother. He knew all too well, the pain of having your child ripped from your life. He had endured it twice. Yet, neither time had he felt his child was in danger, at least not initially. Scott he knew was safe and secure in his grandfather's home in Boston. Scott, he knew, would never want for anything.

Johnny he had worried over.

When Maria had first taken their young son from his home, Murdoch did not worry that Johnny had someone to look after him and love him. Maria was many things, but she had loved their son in her own way. That had been the only comfort he had during those long and agonizing years immediately after their disappearance. He had other worries. Murdoch never knew if Johnny was cold or hungry and, after the Pinkerton's discovered and reported Maria's death to him, he had almost lost his mind worrying whether Johnny was safe. Whether he was even alive. Yet, despite it all, he never had to endure someone taking his child to kill them. Murdoch could relate to the pain that he knew had to be ripping out this young woman's soul.

And Johnny's.

Murdoch felt helpless, unable to save his son from this pain.

Johnny looked over Jessie's head and his eyes met his father's. Murdoch's voice carried such an air of confidence and authority. Johnny prayed that the words he spoke were true. They would bring Grady home. Alive, God willing. He spoke again. "We'll have to start in the morning. There's no moon to track by."

Jessamie nodded. Sniffling, she pulled herself up. "Let me fix you something to eat. You'll need it for the trip tomorrow."

"There's no need to put yourself to that trouble, Mrs. --" Scott started and then stopped himself, unsure of how to proceed.

Johnny stared at his brother before sighing. He stood and moved beside Jessamie taking her hand and motioning toward the table. "It's ... Lancer. Jessamie Lancer."

"Johnny," she started as their eyes locked and she understood. She squeezed his hand and turned to Scott. "It's been Lancer for almost nine years."

"I see," Scott replied curtly as he turned away.

"No. You don't," she interrupted. "My name's been Lancer a long time, eight years before I met Johnny. When I came here and found this deserted farm and a name on a gate. A name I needed for my baby. For ... Grady." The name choked in her throat and she turned away from the men. Jessamie could not hide the tears that rolled down her cheek.

"Ain't what you might be thinking, neither," Johnny added as he enveloped her in his strong arms. "Jessie, well, he forced her."

"And then I killed him," Jessie said whirling back to face them. "I killed him and I came here."

"The law?" Murdoch asked as the implications weighed down on him.

"Cleared me. Self-defense. But his brother had other ideas."

Johnny picked the story back up. "Hired a man to kill her. The man ... Clovis Harner ... found her last year."

Realization dawned on Scott. "The trouble you had last year when you came to sell this place." He watched his younger brother nod. "Johnny, why didn't you tell us? Why the secrecy?"

Johnny sighed, ducked his head, and scuffed his foot on the floor like a child. "I'm sorry, Scott. But it won't my secret ta tell."

"And we have been trying to figure out what to tell you ... to tell Grady," Jessie added. "It's just so complicated and it's all my fault."

"Ain't all your fault. Ain't your fault at all."

"No, it's not your fault," Murdoch said agreeing with Johnny. His eyes met his young son's. "I had almost forgotten that I had bought this place. There was no way that you could know that you would ever meet a Lancer," he paused carefully watching his son and the young woman before finishing, "much less that you'd fall in love with one."

Johnny looked down, his hands still holding Jessie's. He contemplated his father's words. Yeah, how could they have known?

"So Grady? What does he know?" Scott asked leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed across his chest.

Johnny released Jessie and watched as she moved to the stove busying herself with dinner. Johnny paced around the small room. "That he's Grady Lancer. That his Pa died before he was born. That my name is Johnny Madrid and I drift in from time to time to help out. Fix what needs fixing."

Scott couldn't stifle his laugh. "Johnny Madrid. Fix-it man. That's an image."

Johnny ducked his head and a crooked grin spread across his face. "Yeah, well, Grady also thinks that I rob banks on the side."

"Johnny Lancer!" Jessamie turned and shot him a mock glare.

"Well, I didn't tell him that ... he just decided. 'Course, I didn't tell him no different," Johnny shrugged.

"He thinks different now, Johnny," Jessie asked softly as she threw the stew ingredients into the pot. "I don't know how or why, didn't get the chance to ask him, but Grady thinks you're his Pa. Told his friends in town."

A loud sigh escaped Johnny's lips. "That's why they all think he's Johnny Madrid's son. Boy, oh boy, I've made a mess a things. Stryker must'a heard that. Must'a known Johnny Madrid and Johnny Lancer are one and the same and knowing Grady as Lancer ..." He ran his hand through his thick, unruly hair before his fist hit the wall. "I should've killed those Strykers when I had the chance." His voice was different. Harder. Colder.

"You don't mean that," Scott said moving to his brother's side.

"Don't I?" Johnny growled. "An eight year old boy wouldn't be danger if I had."

Murdoch had moved behind his son. He clasped his large, strong hand on Johnny's shoulder willing the boy to take strength and comfort from his presence. "Grady will be all right, Johnny. Remember, Lancer takes care of its own."

Johnny nodded. He started to turn around when the nearby window shattered. Jessie screamed at the sound of gunfire that peppered the room. Scott grabbed Jessie, pushing her to the floor. Johnny's gun was instantly in his hand. He pressed his body against the wall waiting for the shooting to slow up enough to let him fire back. "Scott, knock out that lamp." Quickly, he broke out the remaining glass with the muzzle of his Colt.

Scott nodded and did as his brother asked. Then he scooted across the floor to come up on the other side of the window, his gun at the ready. "Any idea how many are out there?"

"Two."

"You say that with such conviction," Scott replied as one eyebrow quirked upwards. He knew Johnny was right. He always was when it came to situations like this. His brother's uncanny ability to garner so much information from the mere sounds of firearms in use still amazed him. Amazed but not surprised.

"Just a fact. You can tell by the timing of the reports from the rifles." Johnny ticked off a count in his head before he turned and fired off six quick shots toward the direction the shots came from. "Pick it up, Boston, while I reload. You've got about ten seconds before they start firing back."

Scott nodded and started firing. He pulled his hand back and flinched as bullets whizzed past him shattering the remnants of the window pane. "Murdoch, can you --" he stopped as his eyes focused on the prone form that lay near the remnants of the table. "MURDOCH!" Scott cried as he moved to his father.

Johnny turned and watched his brother go to their father. His eyes narrowed as a cold calm enveloped him. Johnny snapped the chamber of his newly loaded gun, snatched open the front door and headed into the black night. He would use the moonless night to his advantage. He knew this land ... better than the Strykers or their men ... he had been working this land for a year now. Johnny sprinted to the well and dropped to a crouch behind it. His dark blue eyes took in the direction the shots came from and he thought of how best to get around the bushwhackers.

Deciding on a course of action, Johnny made his move. He dived for the cover of the nearby woods firing off his six-shooter as he moved. Once in the safety of the trees, he started snaking his way in the direction of the shooters, reloading his gun as he went. He closed himself off from worrying about his father's condition. There would be time for that later. He listened to the sounds of the forest, letting them wash over him until he could pick out the faint traces of voices in the night.

"Just throw the damn rock Keller," a gravely voice said. "Let 'em get Stryker's message and let's get the hell outta here."

"Nervous, Short?" the other man asked.

"Hell yeah. That's Johnny Madrid down there. I seen him when he almost killed Davey Stryker. Seen him kill some men down around the border too a few years back." Short said as he moved toward his blue roan. "We done enough, time we rode back."

Keller shook his head and laughed. "You're scared of a damn jackrabbit, Short. Go on back if ya wanna. I'm staying a bit."

"Just don't let Madrid kill ya. I heard tell he killed a man for snoring one time," Short said as he mounted his horse.

Keller scrunched up his mouth and turned to his companion. "That was Hardin I think."

"Well, it was one of 'em. They're all alike." He turned and started to ride away from the small clearing they had set up as their surveillance site for the small farm house. Short's blood ran cold when he heard a soft drawl coming from the woods.

"Hardin or me ain't never shot anyone from ambush," the soft voice said. "So that puts us a might better than you two."

Keller spun clawing for leather. His gun never cleared his holster as Johnny's bullet hit him square between the eyes. Short kicked his horse into a hard run trying to put distance between himself and the gunfighter. His body jerked as a bullet tore into his right shoulder. He leaned over his horse's neck trying to keep his seat on the steed to ensure his escape.

Johnny watched the man ride away. A small smile spread across his face. Tracks would be easier to follow with blood mixed in them. He walked over to Short and knelt down. He picked up the note covered rock that lay near the body and started heading back toward the house. Johnny lost the smile as memories of Murdoch lying still on the floor crossed his mind. Picking up the pace he ran to the house. "Scott, it's me," he called out in warning, announcing his presence to the occupants of the house. He almost jumped onto the small porch, his heart pounding in his ears, and he threw open the door. Anxiety filling his entire body. "How's Murdoch?"

TO BE CONTINUED . . .