Murdoch was up at dawn the following morning and feeling strangely refreshed, all things considered, as he stood on the patio and took in the crisp air. It had to be his favourite time of day. Once it had been his loneliest but now, since the boys had come home, he rather liked the odd times he was up before the others. He'd discovered there was a great difference in solitude when you knew it was only fleeting. At times like this the peace of early dawn was something to be enjoyed, especially as his thoughts no longer echoed hollowly back at him like they used to.

Scott had been waiting for him when he got back the night before, clearly disappointed when he saw no sign of his brother.

"You didn't find him?" he asked abruptly, coming from inside the house apparently as soon as he'd heard the sound of a horse. He still wore his jacket and his horse stood ready by the hitching post, still saddled.

"Oh, I found him all right," Murdoch told him as he handed his reins over to Jelly, who'd appeared out of the darkness as soon as he'd ridden in.

"And?"

"Just let it be, Scott. What he needs now is a little time to himself."

Scott's expression softened. "So you talked to him?"

"An' he hadn't broken his fool neck?" Jelly added.

"No Jelly, from what I could see, Johnny's neck was in one piece."

"Well, he still oughtta had more sense than to go off like that," Jelly muttered as he led Murdoch's and Scott's horses away.

"You must be tired. Come on in and I'll pour you a drink," Scott told his father as they walked into the dimly lit house.

"That sounds pretty good about now," Murdoch sighed wearily, following his son.

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Murdoch, enjoying the comfort of the sofa, took a few good gulps of whisky before he let himself face his son who was standing in front of the fire, not doing a very good job of hiding his curiosity.

"Out with it, Scott."

Scott looked up from his glass with a rueful smile. "I admit I'm curious, sir, but I'm not asking for any confidences other than knowing that Johnny's all right."

Murdoch considered his answer. "Maybe not yet…but I'm thinking he will be."

Scott nodded. Staring into his glass he said, "You know Johnny, he seems to fall in and out of love pretty quickly…but with Lucy, I know it was different."

"Yes, it was different," Murdoch agreed heavily.

"Still, I'm glad it was you who caught up with him," Scott said, looking across at his father.

Murdoch raised his brows, not quite sure what to make of that comment.

Scott shrugged. "Johnny respects you and he knows you've had experience with what he's going through. I think if he was going to turn to anyone in all this, it'd be you." Scott smiled a little self consciously. "We've both noticed that you've got a pretty good head on your shoulders."

Murdoch shook his head, somewhat bemused but certainly moved. "That's high praise indeed, son, especially when I haven't been long at handing out fatherly advice."

"Well, you've probably got Johnny to thank. He gets into enough trouble to make up for lost time."

"You don't do so badly yourself," Murdoch reminded him.

"Well, I like to do my part," Scott admitted with a grin.

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There'd been no sign of Johnny when he'd finally taken himself off to bed. He'd told Scott not to wait up for his brother and Scott promptly told him he should follow his own advice.

The old mahogany bed with its deep burgundy quilt and plumped-up pillows looked fit for a king when he wearily trudged into his room.

He was touched to find a lamp burning by the bed – Teresa's hand no doubt.

He'd thought of Johnny, as he'd climbed into bed, sitting out there by the fire, alone with his memories…no, not alone, not ever alone now, he amended quickly. He was pretty sure that Johnny knew that, too.

The pillow felt incredibly soft when he put his head on it – and the next thing he knew, it was morning.

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So it was, some time around mid-morning, that Murdoch, watching through the window behind his desk, saw his younger son ride in at a gallop on a surprisingly docile paint that stopped when told and stood patiently to be unsaddled outside the hacienda.

Johnny swung down then turned around as Murdoch came through the front door.

For just a moment, their eyes locked. "He's looking good," Murdoch said softly, before waving Burke over to come and get the horse.

Johnny took off his hat and then wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. "Yep, I'd say he's got ridda that mean streak. He's as gentle as a …"

"Lamb?" Murdoch suggested.

Johnny looked at him for a beat before he ducked his head; Murdoch held his breath but he could see the smirk spreading across Johnny's face before he'd even looked up. "Actually, I was gonna say 'kitten,'" he told Murdoch, meeting his father's gaze without the least hesitation.

"Kitten it is then," Murdoch agreed, as they walked toward the door. Murdoch opened it and then herded his son into the house.

The tension that had been eating at Murdoch the last few weeks finally gave up as he watched Johnny walk inside, spurs jingling, with that certain confidence in his saunter that was unmistakably him.

From the looks of it Johnny was obviously sore of body and still probably sore at heart but there was no doubt now that he was healing – and Murdoch was more than content to let it run its course.

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"You can't leave him stewing for too long about this, Johnny. It's been a few days, now."

Johnny looked around from the pillar he was lounging against to see Murdoch coming out the front door. Once he would've felt an urge to stand up straighter as his father came and stood beside him, but instead he simply threw him a casual grin as he continued to rotate his sore arm, his left hand kneading the top of his right shoulder.

"Yeah, I was just thinkin' that," he agreed, looking across to Jelly.

Jelly was sitting on a wooden stool under a tree a little way from the house. In front of him was a crate filled with broken tack. Even from here he could hear Jelly muttering away to himself as he examined each piece and set it aside to be mended or thrown away.

"No time like the present," Johnny decided aloud.

"Just remember how badly he feels about it all," Murdoch cautioned as Johnny stepped off the patio, pulling his hat lower over his eyes as he got out in the sun.

Johnny threw his father a backward wave as he walked away. He knew exactly what he was going to say to Jelly.

"Well, hi ya, Johnny," Jelly greeted him as soon as he was close enough.

Johnny put on a frown – the one he used when the sum was too hard or he simply pretended the sum was too hard because he wanted Murdoch to finish the bookwork for him.

"Jelly, I've got a problem," he announced thoughtfully, scrunching up his face.

"What's that?"

"Well, it's when you can't work something out…"

Jelly's harrumphed. "Okay Mr smarty boots – I mean, what's the problem you got! I know what a dang problem is!"

Johnny didn't beat around the bush. "Well, it seems that our Maria has never cooked lamb."

"She ain't?"

"Nope."

Jelly looked puzzled first of all and then he looked suspicious. "Aw, come on, Johnny. You're havin' me on – surely she's cooked mutton."

Johnny shrugged. "I don't know Jelly but she's tellin' me she ain't!" he asserted again, putting his hands to his hips as he stared at the other man, helplessly.

Jelly took a big breath and then swallowed hard like there was a pine cone stuck in his throat. "Well, I reckon I could ask next time I'm in town. The Widow Hargis is a real fine cook. Why I'm sure she could just about cook up anything, an' make it taste real fine, too. I bet I could get a recipe off a' her for Maria."

Johnny stared at him with wide-eyed surprise. "Would ya do that for me Jelly? Now why didn't I think a' that!" he added, clapping his hands together.

Jelly nodded and gave him a sickly grin. He looked as excited as a man going to his own hanging.

Johnny saw the look and slapped Jelly on the back enthusiastically. "Yes sirree, why, Jelly – that'd be real…" Suddenly the words died on his lips and he stopped mid sentence – a serious grimace replacing the smile.

"Well what is it?" Jelly asked him, jumping to his feet, looking worried. "You jar yer shoulder with all that clappin' or somethin'?"

Johnny shook his head, frowning at the ground, as he stomped one foot forward. "No, it ain't that, it's just that…" He stopped again, squinting up at the sky as if the answer was up there somewhere and then he regretfully looked down again, shaking his head. "Noooo, maybe it won't work. You know what the widow's like. I heard tell she just about keeps a lock on her recipe book she's so serious about those prize winnin' entries a' hers in the Sacramento Fair."

"Well, it would take me some time," Jelly admitted. "She's not an easy woman ta convince."

Johnny looked at him as if he was seeing him for the very first time. "Jelly!" he rapped out in a tone of admiration, "Would you do this for me knowin' that the widow's tried to shackle you any number of times these last eight months or so?"

Jelly puffed out his chest. "Well, this feller's been dodgin' women fer a mighty long time now. There ain't a trick I don't know when it comes ta dodgin' a female."

"Still, it might take a good while for you to get the recipe," Johnny said thoughtfully, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand as he considered the problem.

"Well what's the problem with that, Johnny? We got a few months up our sleeve – no need to cook up Matilda just yet. Don't see what the darned rush is all about."

"Well, I guess," Johnny agreed, letting his hand drop and looking a bit happier about things. "Thing is," he stopped and turned to look back at Murdoch who was watching from the shade of the patio, then he stepped a pace closer to Jelly, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "we hafta do it when Murdoch ain't around."

"Well, why…" Jelly began loudly, breaking off as soon as Johnny frantically shushed him. "Well, why the hell do we hafta do that?" he repeated, in a whisper that was almost as loud as his voice had been.

"Jelly," Johnny said with a tilt of his head, as if the older man should have known better than to ask, "Murdoch's the President of the Cattlemen's Association. He can't be seen eating Ma…mutton," he quickly amended at the last minute.

"T'ain't mutton – it's lamb," Jelly grumped. "Didn't they teach you anythin'? 'Sides, Murdoch visits Aggie Conway once a week. We could eat her…I mean 'it'…that night, when he's out."

Johnny scratched at his cheek, carefully considering his options. "We…ell, I guess that'd work," he drawled finally.

Jelly's face dropped but he said gamely, "Good…sounds real fine…now get outta here an' let me do my work."

Johnny slapped him on the back, all smiles. "Yep, that sounds like a fine idea Jelly," he agreed before turning to walk back to the house.

Jelly watched him go with a hangdog look.

Half way to the house, Johnny turned and called back loudly as if he'd just thought of something, "Nope. It ain't gonna work."

Jelly had only just sat down again and now he looked up, clearly annoyed. "Well what's eatin' ya, now?"

Johnny walked back to him, lifting his hat to let the air flow through his hair before dropping it back on his head. "It's T'resa. Thing is, she took this notion into her head that she wants to knit Murdoch a scarf next year."

"She does?"

Johnny almost pouted, digging his heel into the dirt. "An' Scott hates lamb. Says ole Harlan used to make him eat it all the time when he was a kid and now he can't stand the stuff."

"Yeah – that'd put a feller off anythin'," Jelly agreed.

"Yeah, I guess it would," Johnny muttered, drumming his fingers on his thigh while he considered the ground.

Jelly held his breath.

Johnny sighed and shook his head.

"Well spit it out. I ain't got all day ya know," Jelly finally remonstrated.

"Jelly…"

The old man closed his eyes for minute.

"We…ell," Johnny began, putting his hands on his waist and arching his back to stretch his shoulder out a little. "I guess…I guess we'll just hafta keep her," he finally decided in a rush of words.

Jelly spluttered. "Well any dang fool coulda worked that out. Took you long enough ta think of it."

"'Sides," Johnny added with a grin, "I never could eat an animal that had a name."

For a very small moment, Jelly was speechless as he stared at Johnny, taking in the smirk on his face, and then he quickly found his growl. "Why you good for nothin', low down…If you weren't Murdoch's son, I'd…"

Johnny slapped him on the back, grinning widely now and then steered him towards the barn with an arm around his shoulder as Jelly continued to bluster.

"Come on, Jelly, I wasted so much of your time, I'll help ya with your chores."

"I should make ya do'em all!" Jelly growled back at him.

"Yeah, I'd do that for you Jelly, but, boy, my shoulder's still real sore…"

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"What's that all about?" Scott asked as he came out of the house, his eyes following Jelly and his brother as they walked away.

Murdoch hadn't heard all of Johnny's conversation but he'd certainly got the gist of it. That youngest son of his was incorrigible, no doubt about it.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked out at his ranch, past the dusty corrals, and the pastures and the bawling cattle and the fences to the hills that rose from the valley and then along the ridge that he knew held the grave and the simple wooden cross.

It looked like the seasons were already doing their weathering.

"Oh, just things returning to normal around here," he told his older son with a smile.

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The End

November 2007