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CHAPTER 7 - A MATTER OF TRUST

There are some remedies worse than the disease.
~ Publilus Syrus, 1st c. B.C.

Spanish Wells had not grown at the same pace as Green River, but there were definitely some signs of progress. Wooden sidewalks extended the length of the business district, lampposts stood on every corner and there was even a man assigned to clean up animal waste in the street twice a day.

Scott pointed out some other changes in the little town as he guided the buggy along the main street, but Johnny wasn't listening. There was a clenching in his gut, but he told himself it was because he hadn't eaten breakfast and the previous night's excitement and his considerable consumption of alcohol had upset his stomach.

Johnny wanted to see Sam if he was around, but only as a friend. He didn't intend for the doctor to learn about his wound because he knew it would just open up a can of worms. His only hope was that Scott would avoid encountering the doctor in light of their apparent ill will. Something very serious must have set Scott off back on Founder's Day, but to still be harboring hostility towards Sam seemed strange to him. Johnny expected he'd find out what had transpired between the two men if he showed some patience. The problem was he didn't have much patience plus he didn't have a lot of time remaining in his visit.

Scott steered the buggy right up in front of the apothecary, which was situated on a side street next to the medical clinic. Johnny carefully extricated himself from the buggy and took a moment to look around while letting his hip and back recover from the ride. Despite the early hour, there were already several people seated on a bench in front of the doctor's, waiting to be seen. Scott nodded to them as he walked into the apothecary's shop and held the door open for Johnny.

"I'm comin'." Johnny could smell an unpleasant medicinal odor from out in the street. There was something about the smell of a druggist that bothered him and evoked less than pleasant memories. He'd had more than his share of encounters with various types of medical practitioners, most of them sawbones and not exactly what he would call highly skilled. But then Johnny realized he could also detect the aroma of tobacco so he moved forward to investigate. In the small display window, among the dark-colored bottles and show-cards advertising the apothecary's wares, was a variety of tobacco products.

Scott ushered Johnny inside, then they talked to the apothecary for several minutes. With some input from Johnny they put together the much-needed supplies for him, as well as some to restock the Lancer ranch's storeroom. When they were done, Johnny fell into conversation with the shopkeeper about the merits of various types of cigars and in no time he had arranged to sell the man a case of imported tobacco products. Johnny exited the shop with a big smile of satisfaction, but his good feelings didn't last long.

"Don't get in the buggy, Johnny. We have to go in here next." Scott indicated a sign in the window of the doctors' offices next door. "I see that Dr. Beauregard is in."

"How about I wait outside?"

"I'd like you to meet him. Just to say hello."

After looking with suspicion at his brother, Johnny reluctantly agreed to go along with him. Once inside, a blond nurse wearing a long white apron over her dark blue dress approached them. When Scott greeted her by name, she smiled pleasantly and asked them, in an Irish-tinted accent, to wait while she notified the doctor as to their presence. Johnny thought that if all nurses were so young and pretty he wouldn't mind getting sick or wounded now and then. Well, almost.

Dr. George Beauregard, as it turned out, was an agreeable man, and it was clear that he had a lot in common with Scott. Following some pleasantries and a little reminiscing about Boston, Scott said, "My brother here won't say anything to you, George, but he has a leg that needs attention."

Johnny stood stiffly and glared at Scott. "I bought what I need from the apothecary," he said stubbornly.

Ignoring Johnny's discomfort, Scott turned to the doctor and explained, "He's shy."

"And I'm allergic to pointy objects," Johnny added.

Dr. Beauregard nodded with understanding but opened the door to his examination room anyway. "We can just talk," he said persuasively.

Johnny glanced back at the few patients still waiting outside. "I wouldn't want to cut in front of anyone who's in real need of your services, Doc."

Beauregard laughed pleasantly. "Not a problem. They're waiting for Dr. Jenkins." He raised his hand in the direction of a short corridor with several closed doors, indicating that Sam was somewhere behind one of those doors. "Come in my office and we can talk in private. Come along. You're not scared of me, are you?"

Scott stood between Johnny and the exterior door, a patient look on his face. Johnny, outflanked, entered the doctor's room with an obvious lack of enthusiasm. Scott followed closely as if to ensure Johnny didn't bolt.

Once inside, Johnny removed his hat, turned on his older brother and hissed, "I ain't taking my clothes off, doctor or no doctor. You'd best remember that."

Scott leaned against the closed door, looking on as Dr. Beauregard sat casually on one corner of his desk and surveyed Johnny. "You look hale and hearty, Mr. Lancer. I hear you're in the importing business these days. What is it, wine?"

With some caution, Johnny replied, "Scotch whiskey and cigars mostly."

"You must enjoy sampling them, I'm sure." The doctor smiled understandingly.

"Some." Johnny looked beyond the doctor to the window. It was big enough that he could easily escape that way, if the need arose.

"Have you had any problems such as coughing or difficulty urinating?"

Johnny looked straight at the doctor with a deliberately blank expression. "Not at the same time."

Laughing, the doctor lightly clapped a hand on Johnny's shoulder. "I see your sense of humor is intact. That's the best medicine. Would you care for me to check your. . . was it your leg. . . before or after I talk over some business with Scott?"

"How about I just go and get myself some breakfast and leave you two Boston boys to talk?" Johnny sidled towards the door.

Scott crossed his arms over his chest. "How about you get this over with, brother?" He leaned forward, close to Johnny, and said in an undertone, "You know as well as I do that you need professional care of that wound. Don't waste the doctor's time."

"I ain't about to be suckered by the two of you," Johnny declared loudly.

"Johnny," Scott warned.

Becoming angry, and having had enough of Scott playing around at his expense, Johnny shook his head. "Nope. No way. Usted no puede forzarme. He tenido bastantes. Nunca confiaré en a doctoro! A excepción del Doctor Jenkins. I've had enough!"

There was a sharp rap on the door and it opened a few inches. Scott stepped out of the way and Dr. Sam Jenkins stuck his head in. "I thought I heard a ruckus in here and said to myself, it can't be those Lancer boys. Johnny's not in town, is he?" He pushed the door all the way open and surveyed the scene, giving the three men a stern look. "You're frightening the patients with all the shouting." He clasped Johnny's hand in a warm handshake. "Good to see you, son. Scott, you too."

Scott barely nodded then turned away to pick up a heavy medical book and flipped through the pages.

Dr. Jenkins asked Johnny, "How about we leave these Easterners to battle it out among themselves while we take a nip of some bourbon back in my office?" Dr. Beauregard mumbled something between an apology and a protest but Sam quelled him with a look. "You should both know better than to corner an angry gunfighter." Sam winked at Johnny and, with a hand at his back, urged him down the hall to his office.

Once safe in Sam's own office, Johnny sat on the only place available, which was, unfortunately, a leather-cushioned examination table. Suddenly feeling very hot, he removed his jacket, loosened his string tie and undid the top button of his shirt. "I tell you what, Sam, I'll make a bargain with you. You talk to me about Scott and I'll. . ." His voice trailed off.

The doctor handed Johnny a tumbler with a couple of fingers of bourbon in it, then sat back in his creaking wooden swivel chair and sipped at his own drink. "Fine Kentucky bourbon," he said appreciatively. "What makes you think you have something to bargain with, Johnny?"

"Maybe I don't, but I'll lay my cards on the table." Johnny only hesitated for a moment, then let out his concerns about his brother. "I heard you went nose to nose with Scott, and I know it ain't none of my business, but my brother isn't. . .well, he is not the same man he was just a couple of years ago. I know we're all gettin' older."

Johnny gave a small sideways smile and met the doctor's eyes. "Believe me, Sam, nobody knows that more than me, but there's something going on with Scott that just ain't right." He took a sip of the bourbon, even though he would have preferred a beer. Bowing his head, he said, "He's just real sad and it . . . it hurts to see him like this. It's as if he's given up. Yesterday, when he didn't know I was watching him, I saw him sitting all hunched up like he's got a pain deep inside." Johnny looked at the glass in his hand. "This can't only be about Jenny dyin'."

Sam took a moment to reply. "Son, what happened between your brother and me was an unfortunate misunderstanding. I can't tell you all that occurred, but suffice it to say that he was quite upset. Founder's Day was the anniversary of his wife's death, after all."

"I know, I know. But if I don't understand, how can I help him?"

The doctor was quiet for a moment and then said carefully, "Perhaps I can tell you, Johnny, that Scott was disillusioned with the medical profession as a whole, and with my performance in particular as regards to Jenny's death."

Johnny objected, "But you try harder than any doctor I've ever known, and I've known my fair share, Sam."

The doctor smiled his thanks but explained, "He was entitled to be upset, son. The circumstances surrounding her passing were definitely not as any of us would have wished. But the aftermath of our falling out was that Scott worked hard to bring improved medical services into this community. He did more than anyone around here ever accomplished in that regard."

"But he's not bein' what I'd call friendly with you, Doc."

"You need to ask Scott about this, Johnny. I'm sorry. . ."

Johnny was afraid he wasn't going to get any more out of the doctor about what had caused Scott to become an angry and changed man. "All right, but I've also seen him shy away from being around Teresa and Val. At first I thought maybe he was jealous or somethin' but it's like he can't stand to watch anyone bein' happy. And he won't even talk to you, Doc, and you haven't done anything to deserve that."

"If he still finds it difficult to face me, then allow him that one thing. He deserves some leeway in the matter. The loss of a wife. . .it is one of the worst things a man can go through. Simply, it will take him time, but I'm sure he'll recover." He leaned forward, patted Johnny on the knee and said kindly, "He's lucky to have you to watch over him."

Sam still hadn't shed any light on why Scott seemed to be avoiding his own family, so Johnny determined he'd have to face his brother if he wanted any answers. Shifting uncomfortably on his seat, Johnny said with regret, "But I can't stay at Lancer to keep an eye on him, Doc. Not much longer anyhow. I'm leaving in another week."

"No, I guess you can't be expected to stay on. Murdoch tells me your news, when he has any to impart." Sam stood and finished his bourbon. "Your father misses you terribly, you know." He smiled and went to a hand basin in the corner to rinse his glass, then washed his hands. "Not that he'll admit it. Murdoch is a stubborn man in many ways. Much like your brother, and that goes for you, too."

Johnny hopped off the examining table. "Well, it was good to see you, Doc. How about you coming out to supper at the ranch?"

"That would be pleasant." Dr. Jenkins faced Johnny and ordered, "Drop your drawers."

Eyes wide, Johnny halted, wondering if he'd heard the doctor right. "Drop my drawers?"

"Go ahead, young man." Sam scoffed, "You think I couldn't tell you're having trouble with your leg the moment I saw you? Or would you rather that I hand you back to Dr. Beauregard?"

"But I. . ." Johnny could see that it was no use. He couldn't avoid it any longer. "Oh, hell." He made short work of unbuttoning his pants and pulling them and his long johns down far enough for the doctor to take a peek at the bandaged wound on his hip. Sam lifted a corner of the dressing and made a noncommittal sound. "Hmmm."

There was something unsettling in his tone. Johnny asked, "It's not that bad, is it?"

"Sorry, son, but this needs a good cleansing. It's going to hurt like the dickens, but you should be used to that."

"That don't mean I gotta like it."

The doctor suggested, "You might as well take your shirt off so we don't get any blood on it." Sam watched with interest as Johnny unbuckled his shoulder holster and laid it aside. "Is that the rig you used last night when you shot down Hal Granger? Oh, don't look surprised. I was over that way in the small hours and saw his body. The deputy's body, too. . . poor young fellow."

"I don't regret killing Granger, Doc. He threatened folks. My folks." Johnny shucked his boots, pants and long john bottoms. "Someone had better tell Scott I'm being held hostage in here or he'll think I took off." He got back up on the table wearing nothing but his socks.

"You sit there and I'll be right back."

Within a couple of minutes, Dr. Jenkins returned with Scott.

Johnny said caustically, "I wasn't expecting an audience."

Sam donned a pair of spectacles, pushed them down the bridge of his nose and looked over the glasses at his patient. "I can invite a nurse in here if you prefer."

Johnny crossed his bare arms and scowled.

"I thought not," Sam said.

"Why's he in here?" Johnny nodded towards his brother.

"He said he wanted to be here to support you," the doctor said.

Scott hung back and stood by the door, but Johnny could feel his eyes on him. He didn't really care if his brother wanted to waste his time watching the examination, but there was a tense air in the room and Johnny found it unnerving. Sam had probably asked him to be present in case he needed backup during the procedure. "I'm not runnin' for the door, okay?"

Scott's lips twitched in the beginning of a smile. "By the time the doctor's finished cleaning out that hole, I'll lay a bet you won't be running anywhere."

"Lean over on your side, Johnny," instructed the doctor. He removed the bandage and began to wipe away the ointment that Scott had applied that morning. "Good thing you brought him in here, Scott." The doctor spoke without looking at the blond man behind him. "This is more grave than I thought."

Scott said to Johnny, "I told you so." To the doctor, he unnecessarily pointed out, "Johnny is just plain stubborn about some things."

Hiding his smile at his brother's words that described all the Lancer men, Johnny briefly met the eyes of the doctor. What he saw in them made him serious again. His heart started beating faster and he began to sweat. Sam took care in treating the wound and reapplying a bandage, but it still hurt like hell.

"You can sit up now. Almost done." Sam pulled out his stethoscope and held it to Johnny's chest. He went through the usual routine of checking his patient's vitals, and all the time Johnny became more and more concerned. There was something in the doctor's demeanor that he, and even Scott, could sense, but whatever it was, it was not good news.

"Did you eat breakfast today, Johnny?" Sam concentrated on Johnny's pulse.

"No. Can you hear my stomach rumbling?"

"Mmm." The doctor gently touched Johnny's lower spine. "Hurt much down here?"

Unsettled that the doctor could tell that he'd been having twinges in his back, Johnny nodded. "Sometimes."

"Sometimes more than other times? Maybe after riding a distance, or. . . er. . .doing strenuous labor?" Sam was going to ask his patient if he felt pain in his back after engaging in sexual activities but spared him the embarrassment.

"I guess so."

"Any numbness or pain in your legs?"

Johnny wondered how the doctor knew so much. "Some," was the reluctant reply. Sam eyed him and waited for further explanation, so Johnny laid his hand on his left thigh. "Here. It's more numb than pain."

"It's been getting worse?"

"I thought you were only gonna to clean up my little bullet wound. It's over here on my right hip."

"I know, I know. Don't rush me, I'm just an old country doctor." Sam glanced over his shoulder at Scott as he spoke.

Scott changed his position and looked uncomfortable and Johnny knew that somehow Sam had struck a nerve with his comment.

The doctor's fingers probed a spot on his patient's lower back and suddenly Johnny felt a stab of excruciating pain. He yelped and almost fell off the table. Scott rushed to his side and held his shoulder, and while he was recovering Johnny blindly gripped at his brother's arm. After a ragged intake of air, Johnny opened his watering eyes and rubbed them. "What . . .what the hell was that for?"

Appearing quite apologetic, Sam said, "I barely touched the muscle in the area where you appear to have an older scar from a bullet."

Scott took a look, frowning with interest at the round, puckered scar on Johnny's lower back. It was to the left side, not far from where Pardee's bullet had been removed several years earlier. "Another angry whore?" Scott asked.

Frowning over his shoulder at his brother, Johnny shifted on the table and retorted sourly, "No." Both of the men gazed at him and waited for an explanation. Johnny heaved a sigh. "A couple of years ago I had a bit of an argument with a Southern trader. Not a big deal. Just over prices, but he'd heard of my old reputation-."

"As averse to your new one?" Scott quipped.

Paying no heed to his brother, Johnny continued, "-and I guess he got scared I'd finish the argument with my gun, so he took a shot at me from behind. I just never had the bullet taken out." He looked square at the two men. "I expect I did lean on him a bit hard. But the bullet was only a small caliber."

The doctor laid a hand on Johnny's shoulder. "Johnny, It appears that little piece of lead you've been carrying around has taken a walk and is pressing on some nerves back there. Right now it isn't doing a lot of damage, but it's heading towards your spine, from the looks of things. It has to come out."

***–***TBC