4

Johnston heard the front door open and softly close. His eldest son had finally decided to put in an appearance.

After Jake shut the door, he leaned heavily against it. Suddenly, he started when he suddenly realized he was not alone. "Dad. It's late. You're still up. I would have thought that Mom tucked you in hours ago."

Johnston remained silent staring at his prodigal son.

For the third time today, Jake's stomach did a slow roll. He knew that look and it was not a good one. It was the look that happened right before he and his father had a knock down, drag out fight. He so did not want to get into it with his father tonight.

The two held their respective positions. A battle of silence ensued. Finally, Jake shifted his weight and looked down at his feet.

Johnston grunted in satisfaction, having won the first round. Now he could speak. "Sit down," he commanded.

A small flash of defiance crossed Jake's face but after the merest hesitation, he walked over and sat on the shaker rocking chair across from his father.

Johnston studied his first-born's face in the flickering firelight. "You still look like crap."

"I still haven't slept."

"I heard what happened today."

"I'm sure you did. Eric is a fount of information. And willing to share." Jake leaned his head back in the chair and briefly closed his eyes. "Where's Mom?"

"Home. Safe. In bed. Exhausted. Worried. About you," Johnston shot back.

Jake opened his eyes. "Well, she shouldn't be. I can take care of myself."

Johnston snorted. "Like you took care of things today. Geez Jake. It was one screw up after the next."

Jake quickly rose from the chair. "We're not doing this," he declared.

"Oh yes we are. Sit down," his father growled.

Again, the two men locked in a battle of wills and once again, Jake backed down and sat.

"For cryin' out loud Jake. What didn't you get in 'we do not take the law into our own hands'?" barked Johnston in full sergeant major mode.

Jake wasn't prepared for a full out assault from his father. His head throbbed, his stomach hurt and his vision was blurry. He tried to formulate words to refute his father but they would not come.

"Why did you go looking for Mitch after I specifically told you not too? Did you think I was kidding? Going out to the airfield by yourself. Did you stop and think that if the horses were there maybe the person that took them would be there too? And maybe not in the mood to give them back? Of all the stupid things you have done. Here I think you have changed and then you go out and do something totally irresponsible.

Jake's adrenaline rose, blocking out the rest of his physical infirmities. He rose from his chair and answered defiantly, "Perhaps, if you hadn't taken my gun away we would not be having this conversation now. Perhaps, Mitch would be answering for his crimes."

"Or perhaps," Johnston shot back, also rising from his chair, "You'd be dead."

The two men stood face to face. The tension could be cut with a knife.

Johnston shook his head. "I don't get you Son. You come home after five years. Five horribly long years where your mother worried about you day and night. Prayed that you were safe and would return." Johnston chuckled mirthlessly. "And one day you do show up. And, by golly, your mother was so relieved to have you home again safe and sound."

Johnston's voice turned to steel and as much as Jake desperately wanted turn away, he was held in that vice. "And you know what Son? It seems ever since you crossed that border into Jericho, you have gotten yourself in one dangerous situation after another. And your mother," Johnston snorted, "I think she is more worried about you now than when you were away. It seems to me, and I think it has occurred to her, that you are more likely to get yourself killed here, at home, then out there."

Jake closed his eyes, swallowed hard and involuntarily took a step back.

Though his heart pained him to see the agony in his son's expression, Johnston soldiered on with his harsh words. He had to get through to his son.

"Jake, if you have a death wish, I would appreciate if you went some place else to carry it out. Your mother deserves better than to see you kill yourself on her doorstep." And with that biting remark, Johnston went upstairs, his heart breaking.

Devastated, Jake stood there. Anger and despair warred in his soul. Anger, that his father should say such things to him. Despair, because he knew the old man was right. Jake didn't think his life was worth much and maybe he did have a death wish. All the people he'd hurt, killed. Why did he deserve to be alive when so many people he cared about were dead?

Jake remained standing alone in the dark, as a solitary tear traced a path down his face.

The End