Murdoch didn't eat supper. He just didn't have the heart for it - couldn't even bring himself to sit at the table. Neither could Scott, apparently.
Maria had bustled about and scolded them both, telling them roundly in her thick accent, that it was dinner time – men should eat. As if to prove her point, she insisted on serving Teresa at the dining table – her solitary meal looking almost as unhappy as Teresa when it was thumped down in front of her.
Even Jelly hadn't bothered to come inside and eat.
Murdoch walked out the front door and then stood on the patio, buttoning his jacket as the last of the sun's rays sank below the edge of his world. Somehow, his heart had been keeping pace with it all afternoon. Here it was dusk, and still no sign of Johnny.
Movement near the barn made him look in that direction.
"Jelly," he muttered under his breath, his expression softening as he saw the wrangler coming towards him in the half dark, leading two saddled horses.
Scott stepped outside just then. "You were one step ahead of me," he smiled at his father with a look across to the readied mounts as he strapped on his gunbelt.
"No, I think Jelly, here, was a step ahead of both of us."
Scott raised his brows, the smile sliding from his face as he looked at Jelly.
"Scott, he already feels bad enough," Murdoch murmured after catching his son's expression.
"If I find Johnny lying in a ditch somewhere he'll be feeling even worse. I can promise you that," ground out Scott.
"Scott." It was a mild growl. Apparently Johnny's absence hadn't been any easier on Scott as the day wore on. They both knew that Johnny was more than capable of looking after himself, but there was no doubt about it - it had been a bad fall.
He'd been walking towards the corral when it happened, drawn to watching Johnny – maybe just to reassure himself - and then out of the blue, the horse had reared and twisted and he'd known Johnny was going to fall even before he'd left the saddle. Again, he'd been taken unawares by that sharp twinge that came out of nowhere and seemed to grind into his very core the split second he'd seen Johnny hit the ground and lie there so still. Being a parent could be darned uncomfortable at times.
Scott took a breath and frowned at the ground, waiting for Jelly to come up to them.
"Jelly!" Murdoch called heartily to him, feeling a need to make up for Scott's obvious lack of enthusiasm. "Good thinking," he told him as he stepped off the patio and took his reins. "Scott?" Murdoch encouraged, gently.
"Yes, thanks, Jelly," Scott muttered, mustering up a half smile as he took his reins but turning away almost at once to check the girth.
Jelly, uncharacteristically quiet, watched him for a moment then turned to Murdoch. "Just let him know I'm real sorry, won'tcha, boss?"
Murdoch patted him once on the shoulder before mounting up.
Scott was the most energised Murdoch had seen him in days, speaking like he was organising a military battle as he pulled on his gloves and swung up onto his mount. "I'd say our best chances are Green River and Morro Coyo."
"I'll take Green River," Murdoch agreed.
"Morro Coyo is closer to Lancer," Scott pointed out, looking across at his father.
His eldest son should have been a diplomat.
"True, it is," Murdoch agreed blithely. "Enjoy your ride."
Scott threw him a look of frustration then, clearly giving in, turned his horse away from the house. He looked set to go but after a moment's hesitation he looked down at Jelly and said, "You know Johnny; I'll probably find him in town playing poker and he'll accuse me of keeping him waiting."
"Yeah, well if ya do, just give him a piece a' my mind for not gettin' back here an' finishing off his chores," Jelly blustered crankily.
"I'll do that, Jelly," Scott grinned before urging his horse to get moving. With a wave of his hand, he was gone.
Murdoch and Jelly watched him head out at a fast pace, then Murdoch turned to Jelly and said, "Well, I'll be seeing you."
"Boss, wait up a minute."
Without pausing to check if he had waited, Jelly headed back to the barn, Murdoch following leisurely on horseback.
"Here ya go, Murdoch," Jelly called to him, coming out of the barn side door.
Murdoch nodded when he saw what Jelly had in his hand. "He left it in the barn before he started workin' that horse. Reckon it's gonna be a bit of a chilly night."
Murdoch took Johnny's jacket from him and tied it behind the saddle. Jelly had packed a couple of bedrolls as well and the saddlebags looked to be suspiciously heavy.
"I'm only riding into Green River," he commented with raised brows.
"Always best ta be prepared," Jelly retorted sagely.
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Half way there and no still no sign of Johnny.
The thought crossed his mind that he might be in the saloon. He'd never known Johnny to use alcohol to solve his problems but he wasn't so sure if he might not choose the other type of comfort to be found there. Although, as far as he knew, Johnny's 'girlfriends' seemed to have been mostly in Morro Coyo.
Still, he could hardly barge into the saloon and start asking questions if his son was nowhere to be seen. He didn't think for a moment that Johnny would be overly thrilled if his father was the first person he saw when he came downstairs.
He could always try Val. He and Johnny were thick as thieves.
Murdoch's horse snorted and pulled a little on the reins as it cleared its nose, bringing Murdoch's attention back to his surroundings. Thank God for a full moon that hadn't wasted any time in rising. Already it sat low on the horizon, eerily orange in colour – so like its usual self but at the same time, so different.
Murdoch frowned. When were things ever going to get back to normal?
He noticed the pricking of his horse's ears first of all, then a slight difference in its gait.
Beginning to hope, he stared ahead, kicking his horse on that little bit quicker. He was still on Lancer land but it was Saturday night. It could be one of the hands out in front of him.
No doubt about it, he could see a rider coming towards him and he could pick out the splashes of white on a Paint's coat in the moonlight and what he hoped was the faint blur of Johnny's blue and white shirt.
A few yards further on and he knew it had to be Johnny.
"Murdoch," his son greeted him as soon as they were within talking distance. "You headin' into town for a bit a' Saturday night fun?"
Everything in Murdoch strained to catch the tone. He could hear the familiar teasing note but it was heavier, lacking the usual effortless humour.
"Not exactly," he answered dryly, swinging his horse around to walk alongside the slightly smaller Paint and then heading back in the direction from which he'd come.
There was something wary, almost uneasy, in the glance Johnny threw at him before he pulled his hat a little lower over his eyes. "Guess I had you worried, huh?"
It certainly wasn't the sun that was bothering Johnny. "Just a little," Murdoch admitted. "You rode off in a temper on a green horse." He let a hint of rebuke tinge his words – that would at least pay for some of the hours lost because his brain couldn't tally the figures and his eyes kept drifting towards the window and the white Lancer arch.
Johnny hung his head. "Sorry 'bout that." Murdoch accepted it with a nod, feeling the tightness about his mouth relax. There was always something particularly heartfelt about an apology from Johnny. It was not a set of words he used lightly.
"Jelly upset with me?" Johnny added, as if he already knew the answer but hoped he wasn't right.
Murdoch would have laughed aloud if he hadn't been so concerned. "No, John. He's not upset with you. Upset with himself, more likely."
Johnny shook his head, slapping a hand to his thigh. "Nope, I shouldn't a' gone off half cocked at him like that. Don't know what got into me."
"Jelly understands."
Johnny didn't reply and Murdoch let a feeling of relief soothe him, content for the moment to listen to the steadying sound of hooves on the firm packed dirt with that strange orange moon becoming more yellow the higher it rose in the sky, happy to have his youngest in one piece and riding by his side.
Strange how a sliver of memory could sneak in like that; out of the blue he had a glimpse of a dawn covered with mist and two big old whiskered draft horses ponderously pulling their wagonload of cider barrels up the cobblestone hill. His mother used to make up a silly song to match the rhythm as each shoe hit the wet road with a metallic ring.
Suddenly the rhythm dissolved as the Paint shied at some imagined terror, but Johnny's firm hand and a few soothing words held him to his path. Murdoch smiled to himself - maybe the Paint had seen those giants in Inverness too.
"Somethin' funny?"
Murdoch raised his brows fractionally. He never let on how this side of Johnny never ceased to confound him. The boy never missed a trick.
"Just an old man's memories," he smiled back.
"Yeah?"
Murdoch's ease slipped away as quickly as it had come. Something in the tone definitely wasn't right. This wasn't 'his' Johnny. For the first time since all this had happened he silently cursed both the sheepherder and Lucy. Jelly was right; his son didn't deserve this – any of it.
In the palish light, Murdoch could make out a dark shadow across Johnny's cheek. He quickly scanned the rest of his son. The boy looked to be sitting pretty straight in the saddle but he could almost hear the ache in Johnny's voice when he spoke.
"Scott ridin' into Morro Coyo?"
"We split up," Murdoch admitted. Johnny had guessed as much already.
"Murdoch, I wanna get on with life. You don't need to be watchin' me no more," Johnny announced in that soft drawl of his, looking across at Murdoch with the flicker of a self-conscious smile.
"There isn't any hurry," he suggested mildly.
"I know there ain't. Still, never was any use in flogging a dead horse."
Murdoch nodded, pondering the statement.
"Which particular dead horse would that be, Johnny?" he eventually asked, looking across at his son. No, something still wasn't right. Call it a parent's intuition maybe – sometimes he even surprised himself at how well he'd come to know this son of his.
At that moment, the paint took exception to walking so close to the other horse. Baring his teeth to show his displeasure he then took a nip at Murdoch's mount who promptly retaliated in kind, causing the newly broken pinto to do a sudden side step and twist his head away.
Murdoch thought little of it until he heard a string of words in Spanish – the ones Johnny never used in front of Teresa and not too often within hearing of his 'old man' – and a definite grunt of pain.
That was enough for Murdoch. He reached forward and grabbed the reins of the paint near the bridle and brought it to a halt. Looking up he found a seething son.
"Now, what the hell did ya do that for?" Johnny ground out, as the paint danced around on its hind legs, refusing to stand still even though Murdoch still held his grip.
"He's got a mean streak in him, that one. He'll never make a good cowpony," Murdoch commented blandly instead.
"Yeah, well maybe a mean streak suits me just fine right now, Murdoch," Johnny growled back.
Murdoch let go of the paint's reins and straightened in the saddle, calmly surveying his son. He hadn't missed the lengthening of the drawl or the added huskiness in the voice. "Looks like a trip to town, if that's where you went, did nothing to improve your disposition."
Johnny snorted, the saddle creaking loudly as he leaned forward. "If that means what I think it means, then nooo, it didn't," he agreed forthrightly, before turning the uppity paint in a tight circle until he faced his father again.
Murdoch continued to calmly study his son, long enough for Johnny to look at him then grumble, 'Well, what's wrong now?"
"Come on. The creek's just over there. I've seen you fall off a horse already once today. I don't intend to see a repeat performance."
Without waiting to see Johnny's reaction, Murdoch turned his horse and headed into the brush on their right, making a beeline for the small creek that flowed through this part of the ranch. The bushes caught on his stirrup as he rode through them, but he had no problem picking out a path in the moonlight.
He was taking a risk but he was pretty sure he knew his son…at least he hoped he did in this instance. He doubted very much that he'd get another chance to deal with what was bothering Johnny and his instincts told him to strike while the iron was hot.
Letting his horse pick its way around yet another prickly bush, Murdoch concentrated on listening instead.
Even when he heard no obvious sound of being followed, he still resisted the urge to look back.
Well, maybe he was wrong. Perhaps pushing Johnny…
"What's got into you, Murdoch – not as if I go round fallin' off a horse every minute of the damn day!"
"No, that's true, Johnny," Murdoch agreed soothingly, allowing himself a private smile of victory as he heard the paint's movements hot on his tail.
He just wished he knew exactly what he was going to do and say to this troubled son of his, once they got to the creek.
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It didn't take long for Murdoch to get out of Johnny that he hadn't eaten since breakfast.
Wondering if the cold and hunger were as much a part of his son's problem as anything else, he handed Johnny his jacket, then made him sit down while he fossicked in his saddle bags to see what Jelly had packed.
Out of the corner of his eye he watched Johnny struggle to get the jacket on and the pain the action seemed to cause him. Just another thing for him to think on while he gathered up some twigs and dried brush.
Before long, he had a small fire blazing, and had then shoved a thick sandwich, chock full of ham, towards Johnny with the stern word, "Eat."
Johnny, sitting silently with his back against a tree, looked at it, then flicked an upward glance at Murdoch before taking his hat off and balancing it on his drawn up knee. Only then did he reach out and take the sandwich with a mumbled, "Thanks."
Murdoch didn't wait to watch him take an actual bite – there was coffee to be made and after that he led the horses to the creek for a drink and a silent thanks to be made to a crusty wrangler back at Lancer.
It niggled at him, while the horses lowered their heads to lap at the water, that Scott would return from Morro Coyo and finding Murdoch not back, quite possibly head into Green River.
Well, there wasn't much he could do about that, he decided philosophically as he led both horses the short distance back to their camp and tied them to the branch of a nearby tree.
He could feel Johnny's gaze on him – he didn't even have to look up to know for sure. The question was could Johnny sense his unease – know how unprepared he felt for all this; how little he knew about being a father?
In his own youth, it was his mother who'd always had the right words for him when he was growing up. She could take one look at him with those grey, kind of sad eyes of hers, and know exactly what was troubling him.
His father, meanwhile, would still be going through his routine of noisily clearing his throat, painstakingly filling his old briar pipe, although he'd somehow forget to actually light it, and putting another log on a fire that already burned bright; all this as a prelude to finally mumbling out his query in an uneasy, round about way that was sometimes barely intelligible. His face softened as he looked back. Well, he had sons, now, himself – maybe he had a bit more sympathy for his father these days than he had back then.
He sighed silently. Maybe the Lord above knew what he was doing when he'd ordained it took both a man and a woman to bring up a child. Right about now, he'd even forgive Maria her lies to his son if she was still alive and knew how to bring the smile back to Johnny's eyes.
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"See. I told you it wasn't bad," Johnny said with some exasperation after Murdoch declared his shoulder and back looked to be badly bruised but fortunately, nothing else.
Murdoch left Johnny sitting with his shirt and jacket half off his right shoulder while he squatted by the creek and wet a small towel Jelly had packed, thankful he didn't have to go about popping any joints back into place.
The moon was high in the sky now, casting a silvery film across the river that shimmied every time a breeze blew. The night seemed a little friendlier now that the moon was back to its usual colour. A rustling sound in the bushes told him there were a few night creatures about – probably wary of the owl that hooted in the branches above their heads. No wonder it was such a mournful sound; how much evil did it witness on its nocturnal rounds? He'd come across plenty of men like Porter who used the darkness to cloak their miserable deeds. He threw a troubled look at his son as he stood. Good God, how many men like that had Johnny had dealings with?
Noticing Johnny about to ease his shirt and jacket back up his arm, he called to him, "Wait a minute."
Johnny's eyes were on him as he walked over to the tree and their small fire. "Let's get this cold cloth on it. Might help with the bruising."
Johnny gave in without a word and submitted to the doctoring, flinching just the once when the cold hit his skin or maybe Murdoch hadn't been gentle enough.
Gently taking hold of Johnny's chin, he turned his son's face a little so that the moonlight fell full on it. "This has been doctored. You see Sam?" he asked, suddenly suspicious that Johnny hadn't told him everything.
Johnny pulled his head away. "'Manda did it," he answered shortly.
"Lucy's friend?"
Johnny picked up a twig then began scratching at the dirt with it. "Yeah."
"What's she doing about her wedding? I heard she was putting it off."
"Just for a few weeks," Johnny told him, throwing the twig into the bushes with an impatient gesture.
"Must be hard for her."
Johnny closed his eyes and put his head back, not commenting. Eventually he murmured sleepily, "Thanks, Murdoch."
Murdoch studied his face and saw a lot to frown about. Maybe Scott was right – perhaps he'd let this go on too long. He sighed loudly. Johnny wasn't a kid and he, of all people, would always handle something like this in his own way.
"Sorry, Murdoch."
A wry smile crossed Murdoch's face. The boy must be a mind reader.
"There's nothing to be sorry for, Johnny."
Johnny opened one eye and squinted up at him. "I've got you worryin'. Keepin' you up at night…" He grinned knowingly. "Pretendin' to read."
"No worse than you pretending to eat," Murdoch returned easily.
"Guess we're a bit alike." It cheered Murdoch to see that slow, easy smile spread its way across Johnny's face; he'd left the words 'old man' unsaid but no doubt he'd said them in his head.
"Yeah, I guess we are," Murdoch agreed softly, taking the towel off Johnny's shoulder so that he could wet it again. No matter what Johnny told him, his son was in pain and it ate at him that a wet towel was never going to ease it.
"You don't hafta do that again," Johnny told him, eyeing his father as he prepared to stand.
"We'll give it one more shot, I think. See if we can make you a bit more comfortable for the rest of the ride home," Murdoch told him, touching him lightly on his good shoulder before getting to his feet. At least this way he felt like he was doing something for his son.
"You think you can make my head 'comfortable' too, while you're about it?"
Murdoch looked down at him, taken aback by the request. The tone was whimsical, but there was nothing funny about what played underneath. It took him back that this self sufficient son who always handled everything his own way, was actually asking for some help. So rarely did either of the boys need to come to him for advice – unless it was something to do with ranching and even that less and less lately.
He frowned as he considered what to say. Those wise patriarchal words that flowed so perfectly in his head with all the Wisdom of Solomon seemed to be nowhere around when they were really needed. It troubled him that, when it came down to it, all he had to offer his son was honesty.
He shook his head with a great deal of regret. "I'm not sure I can, Johnny."
"Well, worth a try," Johnny shrugged lightly but the despondency in his tone made Murdoch try again.
"Maybe it would help if you tell me what you're feeling," he suggested, feeling like he was walking on spongy ground.
"Try, 'mad at the world,'" Johnny confessed without looking up, tugging at a clump of grass.
"That's understandable."
"I busted my guts doin' all that hackin' and hammering, building those dumb pens; had the whole valley on my back all the while I did it. Then I take Lucy out to see the lambs and she's real taken with'em and starts spendin' her days out there…an' all the time I'm wonderin', you know?"
Murdoch didn't wet the towel again. Instead he sat down on a log close to the fire, opposite Johnny.
"You ever get a real bad feeling about something and you don't go and check it out because you figure the knowin' might be worse than the wondering?"
Murdoch bowed his head. He'd lost this boy in front of him to that very same mistake.
Johnny's hand stilled; a small sprinkling of torn grass scattered the dirt by his knee.
"I gotta tell tell yah, Murdoch - when I saw Lucy come out of Gabe's tent, I wanted to choke the life out of 'im. Maybe I would've a few years back," he added, letting out a slow, uneven breath that seemed to catch in his throat.
"No, Johnny. I doubt it."
"You didn't know me back then."
"I know you now. A man can't change what's deep inside him."
"For a lotta years…all I had was hate and killin' deep inside me," he admitted quietly, pulling his shirt and jacket back up before putting his head low on his chest.
"Johhnnnny," Murdoch remonstrated, a world of regret and concern in the drawn out syllables. "That's all past now." What more could he say without bringing his own guilt into the mix?
Johnny looked at him and he was sure he saw a slight softening in his son's eyes before he put his head down again.
"Amanda said somethin' in town today," he murmured into his chest, "about maybe me an' Lucy not being right for each other. That…uh…maybe even if Gabe hadn't come along, it might not have worked out between us."
"Did it help?"
A wry smile tugged at his mouth. "Nope. Just made me see that the person I'm really mad at is me," he stated flatly, tugging at a new patch of grass.
"Why be mad at yourself? None of what happened was your doing."
Johnny looked up at his father. "Murdoch, I could take it that Lucy and me weren't right for each other. It'd hurt – but these things happen. I know that. You can't change a person's heart. But I let her down. If I hadn't been so mad with her, I would've been out there, checking that things were okay. An' if I hadn't got all angry with the boys, they woulda told me what Porter was up to."
"Johnny, that's not anger - that's guilt."
"Same thing," he stated irrevocably.
"Johnny, you can't hold yourself responsible for what happened out there."
Johnny looked straight at Murdoch. "I've never shirked somethin' like that," he said, decisively. Murdoch felt cold - like he always did when he got a glimpse into Johnny's past.
"John…"
"Murdoch," Johnny appealed, shaking his head," I knew what Porter was like. You told me yourself 'bout the type of man he was."
Murdoch tossed the dregs of his coffee out. "If Porter knew you were out there, he would have sent guns to stop you, not a bunch of drunken cowboys - and then maybe it would be me who'd be grieving." Murdoch's voice dropped a level as he stared into the empty cup. "I'm selfish enough to say that I'm thankful that's not the case."
Johnny put his head down, watching the grass scatter a little with the wind as he picked it up and then let it drop from his fingers. "Can't say I'm not glad you feel that way," he admitted softly, adding with a long sigh, "but it don't help me none."
Murdoch nodded. Well, who was he to think he could break through a code of beliefs that had been forged under the most trying of circumstances - the very reason he was wary of offering Johnny any kind of advice. He'd made mistakes with Johnny since he'd come home – Stryker…Warburton. He hadn't handled Johnny well either time - could very well have lost him.
"You want some more coffee?" he asked, stubbornly reluctant for the moment to end. Johnny wouldn't come to him for help again on the matter. He'd lock it all away, declare himself done with brooding and get on with roping and fence building and branding and trips to town with Scott and teasing Jelly. But every time he ducked his head and that spark faded in his eyes Murdoch would be wondering what it was that set him off…made him sad. Just like it was when he first came back.
Johnny stuck a finger into the tin mug by his side. "I let mine get cold," he admitted, tossing the contents into the bushes with a slight wince as the movement tugged at his shoulder. Murdoch watched it spray across the leaves then promptly drip steadily to the ground like black tears. He watched them bleakly for a moment, not really thinking a thing, until unexpectedly he began to be aware of something taking shape in the nothingness of his thoughts.
In that instant, he knew what he had to tell his son. He just wasn't quite sure how. How do you tell your son you've been a fool – not once, but many times?
The unease that came with the thought spurred him into action. He stood and then moved across to take Johnny's cup from his unresisting fingers. Johnny didn't look up – he looked about as lost as Murdoch had felt a few moments ago – so he cleared his throat as a prelude. "Son, I made a few mistakes when Catherine died and then…when your mother left and took you with her."
He knew he had Johnny's attention now. His eyes followed Murdoch - the rest of him was completely still.
"Johnny, have you ever seen a woman go through grief?"
The question seemed to surprise Johnny but when he answered it was with a soft certainty. "Sure. Mostly she cries a bucket load a' tears. Then when she's all cried out, she sorta gets on with livin'."
Murdoch nodded, almost distracted from his aim. He had to pretend to concentrate on pouring the coffee so that Johnny couldn't see how much he wondered if it was Maria's grief he'd seen and over whom? "That mostly seems to be the way of it," he managed to agree quietly, passing Johnny back his cup.
Johnny stared into it but he didn't take a sip.
"It's there for drinking," Murdoch urged gently, looking down at him.
"Only if you sit down again," he told his father with the grin of old. "You're givin' me a crick in my neck."
"Sorry."
"You were sayin'?" Johnny prompted, as he watched his father settle his frame again on the ground by his side.
"Johnny, I don't know what it is about us men, but we seem to find it easier to get mad than…"
"Than what?"
"To let the feelings in," Murdoch confessed quietly. "I remember how much it hurt to remember…things. It didn't hurt nearly as much to be angry. In fact, it felt pretty good most times."
Johnny swallowed something down in his throat. "Who were you angry with after…um…after my mother left?"
"Her…myself…some days, both of us together."
Johnny nodded. "I know what that feels like."
"I don't know if what I'm saying makes much sense but women seem to be able to go back and think about the past and face it and have their cry."
"Maybe they're a bit braver than us, huh, Murdoch?"
"Yeah. I guess they are."
"It's hard rememberin'," Johnny confessed.
Murdoch reached over and tapped him on the leg. "I know, son. I know."
He didn't know how long they sat there in silence, both staring into the flames, but after a good while, Murdoch could feel the cold seeping into his bones, stiffening his joints.
It wasn't easy to break the silence but eventually he forced himself to say, "I think I'm ready to go back," as he got stiffly to his feet. "How about you?"
Johnny continued to stare into the flames. "No, I think I'll stay out here a bit longer," he said, but there was something in the gentle drawl that gave Murdoch hope this time.
"Well, we've got a couple of bedrolls here and plenty of coffee…"
Johnny looked up at his father and Murdoch held up his hand in defeat. "Okay…but promise me you'll sleep and have some more to eat," was his only proviso.
Johnny looked at him with affection. "I don't know how you filled in your days before you had Scott an' me to fuss over."
Murdoch shook his head, with a wry grin. "Johnny-my-boy," he said warmly, "can't say I know, either."
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To be continued…