Hi readers...this is the last chapter. I have made a few edits as I wrote this a few years ago. I hope you've enjoyed this story. Thanks in advance to the guest reviewers, who I can't reply to directly. I appreciate hearing from you.

CHAPTER 19 - A PATCH OF GRASS

The longest way round is the shortest way home.
~ Proverb

The next day, Johnny was out of the house before anyone else had even arisen. He rode Barranca, for old time's sake, and when he did return, he was less talkative than usual at the evening meal. There was nothing he wanted to say, the conversation about the ranch didn't interest him. After catching both his brother and Murdoch casting worried glances his way, Johnny excused himself. He said no thanks to a game of chess with his brother, and went to bed early. The day after, he met Scott's eyes with more ease and the cloud that been hanging over him seemed to be gradually lifting.

With each subsequent day, Johnny felt a bit more like his old self. He rode up to the north pasture with his father and listened carefully when Murdoch explained about the improvements he'd made to the stock over the past couple of years. Although Johnny's back ached a bit the next morning, he realized he'd enjoyed looking over the family ranch, and was interested in learning more about the changes that had been made in his absence.

One evening, after Johnny had been home for two weeks, and the Lancer men were sitting around the dining table after their meal, Johnny said, "I've been thinking a lot the past couple of weeks."

"We were beginning to wonder if the wrong Johnny Lancer had come home," Scott joked.

Johnny chuckled and bowed his head in acknowledgement. "I know, I've been like a bear comin' out of hibernation."

Murdoch concurred with a grunt, and although he was smiling, Johnny could see that he was on guard, as if Johnny was about to impart some bad news. He knew that look – Murdoch thought he was leaving again and was trying not to lose his temper. Johnny wanted to assure him that he wasn't going anywhere, but this wasn't the time to make such a statement. They had some things to sort out first.

Scott raised his wine glass a little. "You've had a lot on your plate, Johnny. We understand."

"That's good," Johnny continued, "because I need to ask you something. You see, I'd like to come back. Back here to live." Both Murdoch and Scott immediately said yes, of course, but Johnny still felt the need to convince them that he was sincere. "I want to. . .I need to make the commitment to live and work here at Lancer. Permanently."

"Yes," Murdoch nodded. "We understand that, son."

Johnny wasn't sure that they did. "I'm never going to walk out on you."

Scott said adamantly, "You never did walk out on us, Johnny."

"All right, maybe not, but sometimes I think you expect me to up and leave if the goin' gets tough, or I if don't get my way or something." Johnny could see his brother shaking his head, but Murdoch was slow to respond. Afraid that the old man didn't entirely trust him, Johnny's heart sank.

Murdoch eyed his younger son then said with a knowing smile, "You're as loyal as they come, Johnny. I have faith in you to make the right choice."

Johnny dropped his gaze, not wanting is father to see how desperate he had been to hear those very words. "I want to prove to you that I'm going to work hard and–."

"You certainly are going to work hard," Murdoch cut in with a stern look.

". . . and we'll stick together like a family," Johnny added.

Scott looked from Murdoch and back to his brother, puzzled. "But we are a family, Johnny. There's never been any doubt about it. You've always been part of Lancer."

Johnny cocked his head a little to one side and suppressed a smile. "How much of a part?"

"One third, of course," was Murdoch's immediate reply.

Johnny laughed. "You know, a very long time ago, Scott asked me why I was all jammed up between four walls when I told him I wanted to be free." He looked at his brother who nodded as he remembered a conversation in a cantina.

"It seems a lifetime ago, brother."

"But," Johnny continued, "I now know why I never ran far from Lancer. These four walls contain everything I ever wanted, everything a man could ask for."

"Then, since you're so enthusiastic, Johnny, first thing in the morning you and your brother can start clearing the brush out of the ravine up near the falls," Murdoch proposed, looking happier than Johnny had seen in a long time. "It's blocking the flow of water to the lower pastures and God knows we need every drop we can get."

Johnny raised his hands and said, "Well, hold your horses, Murdoch. There's something more we need to talk about before we do anything else." Scott and Murdoch looked uneasily at him with raised eyebrows. "You see," Johnny continued, "we need to talk about making some changes around here."

"We need to make changes?" Murdoch asked, sounding a bit affronted.

Johnny said firmly, "I mean we need to delegate the way the tasks are laid out. And talk about how decisions are gonna be made, too. I have some ideas."

Murdoch opened his mouth to protest, but Scott reached out and laid a warning hand on his father's. After a moment, Murdoch waved his hand in a sweeping invitation. "You have the floor."

"I propose," Johnny said, leaning over the table eagerly, "that we divide the responsibilities between the three of us. Equal shares, equal weight."

Murdoch cut in, "What's wrong with the way we run the ranch now?"

"For one thing," Johnny retorted, "you're running it like it's a dictatorship, and I've seen enough of the old hacienda rule to know what that looks like. Everything el patrón says is the law, no matter what."

"Scott and I have been equal partners, in case you don't remember," Murdoch replied sharply.

"Then why are you always over-ruling him?" Johnny asked with his voice raised.

The older man objected, "I do not–."

Johnny turned to his brother and demanded, "Tell him, Scott. Or you want me to do it for you? You need to tell him that–"

Scott intervened, "Johnny, hang on. After you left back in the spring, Murdoch and I came to an understanding." He glanced at his father and received a nod of accord. "We now discuss our problems and work together to solve them, but we both agree there has to be one boss. Murdoch has always had the last say, right from the start."

Johnny said fervently, "But that's what I'm talking about. Just because it's been that way doesn't make it the right way." He leaned over the table and said to his father, "No disrespect, sir, but I don't think you understand that Scott needs a free rein to work on this ranch the way he sees fit." Murdoch protested but Johnny continued as if he hadn't heard him. "It's time you understand that if the three of us are going to live here – and I mean live, not simply exist – we have to work this out. We need to pursue our own interests as separate businesses within the ranch. Now, Murdoch. . . "

Glowering at his son's tone, Murdoch stood abruptly, his hands hitting the table hard enough to make the glassware rattle. "You're talking as if I don't know what's best for this ranch. I've been raising cattle since before you were born, young man! This is my ranch–."

Johnny brought his right hand down on the table with equal vehemence that made his plate jump. "Our ranch! Ours, and you haven't treated my brother and I like we're equal at anything since the day we both set foot on Lancer!" He took a breath and said more calmly, "All I want to do is make a proposal, Murdoch. And Scott and I would like you to listen to it without you chewin' our heads off."

Murdoch did not like to be talked to in such a manner, even by a son he loved dearly. But when he looked at his two boys' faces, both as firmly set as he imagined his own was, he paused. If he didn't at least hear Johnny out, he was sure his son would walk out, this time forever. He was too old to deal with the pain that would cause. Scott, his gray eyes, so direct and ever so slightly fearful, were on him. He was waiting, Murdoch realized, for him to say the wrong words, words that would send Johnny packing. And Johnny, his blue eyes alight with anticipation, appeared to be enjoying the confrontation. Murdoch sat down slowly and hid his clenched fists under the tablecloth. "I…I shouldn't have interrupted you, Johnny," he said in a tightly controlled voice.

With a nod, Johnny accepted the implicit apology. He sat back in his chair again. "All right. Just consider what would happen if we divided the running of this ranch into responsibilities that suit our skills. We'd have total control over our own portion. Let's say that Scott here takes on the land management, including the mining and timber concerns. Maybe the crops, too. I could handle the livestock, the cattle and horses, but we all work together to get them to market. And Murdoch, you would have control of the rest: the buildings, hiring and care of all the ranch hands, purchases, the book keeping. You'll hire someone like Cipriano's nephew to help out with that part. He's just finished schooling and is good with his numbers, isn't he? Maria would still be in charge of the household, but with you as overseer." Johnny stopped to take a breath and poured himself a drink of water.

Murdoch and Scott were just looking at him, faces not betraying any emotion, their eyes almost blank as they did mental calculations.

Scott was the first person to move. He rose and stood next to the table. He picked up his wine glass and lifted it in a salute in Johnny's direction. "Here, here, brother," he called out with a grin. "And I propose we accept your proposal."

Johnny smiled back, but he tensed up as he watched for Murdoch's response.

From his chair at the head of the table, Murdoch glowered at Scott. "Now wait a minute! Don't I have any say in this matter?"

"Actually, Father, what you have is a vote," Scott offered as he took his seat again. "Since Johnny is obviously in favor of this plan, and as I agree, with the reservation that we discuss the details further, that's two to one."

Murdoch started to rise from his chair, but thought better of it. He looked at his sons, mentally weighing each of their strengths and weaknesses. He rested his hands on top of the table, still clenched in fists, but very slowly his hands relaxed and his fingers extended over the white linen tablecloth. "We'll need to have a weekly discussion, a meeting just to keep abreast of each other's plans. I want to keep this all above board. No secrets, no hidden agendas. And we will vote on all major issues, and on anything we don't all agree upon. This will need a lot of planning. We can't just jump into such a huge change."

Johnny raised his glass to his father and brother, and as he did so he knew without a doubt that not only had he made the right choice in coming home to stay, but that he and his brother would find success together. "To Lancer," he said with a laugh.

"To Lancer," Murdoch and Scott agreed.

A few days later, over a drink at the cantina in Green River, Val filled Johnny in on some of the local news. "Once Junior Granger recovered from the holes you and Scott put in him, I had to release him from jail, and he went back to that pig farm of his."

Johnny looked into his beer and didn't turn a hair.

"I thought you were gonna press charges," Val grumbled.

With a slight shrug, Johnny said, "Not much call for that. Scott and I plugged him with lead, and preached him a sermon. He hasn't caused any more trouble, has he?" Val compressed his lips so Johnny added, "Didn't think so."

The sheriff made a derisive noise. "All of a sudden everyone is bein' mighty forgiving around here." He motioned towards the bartender. "Señor Tortuga over there told Junior he'd take a side of hog to cover the damages. And without you or your brother's say-so, I couldn't do more than fine him for disturbin' the peace."

Johnny grinned. "If you were able to collect a fine from Scott and me every time we disturbed the peace hereabouts, you'd be a rich man, Valdimar."

Val scowled at the use of his given name. "Shush," he said in an undertone. He looked over his shoulder to make sure nobody had heard, then said, "I'll tell you something else that'll tickle your ribs, Johnny. About a month after your little shoot-em-up with Junior Granger, he paid me a visit up at the house."

Johnny's head came up at that, instantly alert. "He what?"

Raising his hands, Val said, "Now, don't get in a pucker. He wasn't out for blood or nothin'."

Johnny sent an uncertain glance Val's way. He'd been confident that Junior Granger had grasped the point of their conversation. "He'd better not be causin' trouble," Johnny said with a growl.

"No, no, not at all," Val said. "It turns out that our boy Junior came over to tell me he was aimin' to do the right thing. He took his time about gettin' it out, but after fidgeting about as much as a dog with fleas, he said he wanted to apply for the position of my deputy." The sheriff smiled at Johnny's look of amazement. "I tell ya, I was bowled over. I don't know what you and your brother said or did to him when you had him to yourselves, but it must have kicked some sense into that lug head of his."

"You didn't…? Please tell me you didn't consider him for a job, Val!"

"Well, deputies of any kind are real hard to find around here, Johnny," Val explained. "Besides, he's under my wing and he's been toein' the line. He's had his nose to the grindstone. Works real hard. Enjoys his job. Plus being so big is a good thing in a deputy."

Johnny shook his head and threw up his hands. "Don't, don't tell me any more."

"Well there is more, but if you don't want to hear it. . ."

Johnny drank the rest of his beer and then slammed the glass down on the counter. "All right, all right. Spit it out then."

After taking a deep breath, Val said, "You might have heard that a few months before you killed old Hal Granger, his wife ran out on him." Johnny nodded. "When she left with her little girl," Val continued, "Hal's mean streak really came out. Now, I know that Junior is a real big boy, but Hal was always heavy-handed. He beat on his son real bad from what I've been hearin'. Once his father was dead and gone, Junior became sorta. . . human again. I'm telling you this because I think he deserves another chance, and you of all people know how much influence a family has on a man. You were just lucky with the draw, Johnny, and Junior plum wasn't."

Johnny nodded. He did indeed know he was lucky that his family was so fine. They were loving and loyal and supportive and he'd die for any one of them. He had always returned to Lancer because it was the place where he'd been born and he was drawn to it, but it would be nothing more than a patch of grass to him if his family had not been there to welcome him back. "I know I'm blessed, Val. I know."

"Junior said his mother used to help folks out and he just wanted to be like her. I know there is some good in him." Val said convincingly.

Fiddling with his empty beer glass, Johnny tried to picture the woman who had run out on her husband and son. He wasn't sure that he remembered her. "They lived out in that rundown place at the end of Portrero Road?"

"Yup. Mrs. Granger was a real nice lady. She often took baked goods and the like to sick folks. Don't know how she put up with Hal all those years. Can't blame her for lighting out and taking the poor defenseless kid with her. The little girl, she was a cute one."

"How old was the little girl?" The image of his own mother running off with him when he was barely two, came to mind.

"Maybe ten or so." Val stood up and took a deep breath. "Look, I've gotta go, but see you for Sunday dinner, right?" The sheriff had only taken a few steps towards the door when he turned on his heel. "You know, I seem to recall Mrs. Granger was real friendly with Jenny. I saw them walking together a couple of times, once along the river up near Lancer." He shrugged and went on his way.

Once Val had left, Johnny turned back to the bar and ordered tequila. It was only when he had taken a bite out of a lemon and had thrown back his second glassful that Val's words about Mrs. Granger struck him. She helped out sick folks. She'd known Jenny. She had a little girl of ten.

Johnny's mind shot over everything that Scott had said, about the midwife, the woman he'd scared off at the last Founder's Day picnic, and the little girl who had liked Mrs. Lancer so much and told Scott she was sorry that she had died. Dios, it must have been her! Mrs. Granger – she was scared of Scott, of him knowing that her potion had killed his wife and unborn child. It wasn't just that she run out on her husband, she had run because of what she had done to Jenny.

Johnny stayed at the bar, drinking his tequila slowly and methodically. He kept his head down to conceal his dark expression and nobody dared to bother him. After some time he decided there was no point in disclosing what he had learned, not to Val or anyone else. Scott and Dr. Jenkins probably knew the identity of the midwife, and now it was all in the past.

But Johnny wondered if Scott had gone into the Moralto Hotel alongside him and Val, gun drawn, knowing that Hal Granger's wife had killed Jenny and the baby, even if inadvertently. Had revenge been on Scott's mind? Had he shot at Junior in the cantina, not only to help Johnny, but to hurt the only remaining member of the Granger family still around? Almost as soon as the thought flitted across Johnny's mind, he dismissed it. No, it was impossible. His brother wasn't that kind of man. He'd never act out of revenge, not even revenge for his wife's death.

Johnny still felt that Junior Granger was a poor choice for a deputy, and that the big young man would probably end up back on his family's rundown farm once he realized that doing good for folks was harder than he expected. On the other hand, Junior had survived a childhood with a dreadful, brutal man for a father and had come out of it intact. Time would tell.

Johnny and Scott climbed the hill overlooking the hacienda and lay down in the shade under the spreading arms of an ancient oak tree. Their occasional comments were casual and no more than a way of passing the time of day, until Scott asked cautiously, "I've been meaning to ask you. . ."

The hesitant tone in his brother's voice put Johnny on edge but he turned his head to view Scott through the long, dry grass. "Mm?"

"Whatever happened to all your fine city clothes, Johnny?"

With a chuckle, Johnny fingered the buttons on the red shirt he was wearing. "'Fraid I burned all my suits and even my big black Stetson. Had a great big bonfire out in my back yard in Frisco. I got in a foul temper and tossed some of Natalie's stuff into the heap, too, and almost burned down the outhouse. Lucky for me, it started to rain or San Francisco would have had another Great Fire." Johnny absently ran the edge of his finger across his upper lip.

Scott eyed his brother's face. Johnny looked younger without any facial hair, and the creases near his eyes suggested character rather than age. "And what happened to your mustache?"

That elicited a big laugh. "Just shaved it off. Same day. Sorta like I was cleansing myself, I guess. I shoulda tossed it on the bonfire, too." He was silent for a while, then said, "I grew it on a whim but only kept it because Natalie hated it so much." He sighed. "The things we do in the name of love." Or out of hate, he thought.

"Do you still love her?" Scott dared to ask.

Johnny shrugged and the tall grass moved when he shifted his hips. "I loved the girl I married, sure. But the woman who lived in my house. . .she was someone else. I thought it was all my fault. That I changed her somehow."

"No, Johnny," Scott protested.

"Changing your ways is not an easy thing to do, you know, but I tried to become the kind of man I thought I was supposed to be. My wife ended up with a husband nothing like the one she thought she'd married. I guess we both lost something in the bargain."

"You changed for her, because you loved her."

"I did it because I thought it was the right thing to do, but it seems like the harder I tried, the less I fit in. I got so I almost didn't recognize myself."

"But you can't force that kind of change, Johnny. You are who you are. I blame Natalie for her actions, and for not believing in you, Johnny." Scott would never understand what had driven Natalie to commit adultery. Johnny might forgive her, or perhaps not blame her, but he never would. He asked angrily, "She didn't know you at all, did she?"

"Aw, no. Don't say that. We both made mistakes, and I don't know if we had it all to do all over again if we'd be able to change anything. Seems like we're destined to go down certain roads, and would most likely repeat our same actions." Johnny smiled crookedly. "I'm fine, Scott. You see, my road always leads back here, to where I was born." He picked up a piece of grass and chewed on it. "Let's not talk about this any more, okay?"

Scott nodded. "Well then, Johnny, what do you want for your birthday? This is the big one coming up tomorrow - thirty years of age."

Johnny stretched and watched the clouds go by. "What do I want? Nothing," he replied. "I have family and friends that truly care for me, a fine ranch to live upon, plenty of work to do, two fine horses who love me, a twenty dollar coin in my pocket and a patch of grass to lie back on. I've got everything. No, I want for nothing. I have it all, brother." Except women, Johnny thought with a chuckle. Maybe someday the road would lead to the love of a good woman, and a family, but hell, he had plenty of time.

***–***The end***–***

Home is where one starts from. As we grow older
the world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated
Of dead and living. Not the intense moment
Isolated, with no before and after,
But a lifetime burning in every moment
And not the lifetime of one man only
But of old stones that cannot be deciphered.
There is a time for the evening under starlight,
A time for the evening under lamplight
(The evening with the photograph album).
Love is most nearly itself
When here and now cease to matter.
Old men ought to be explorers
Here or there does not matter
We must be still and still moving
Into another intensity
For a further union, a deeper communion
Through the dark cold and the empty desolation,
The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters
Of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning.

T.S. Eliot 1940

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