The days were so heat-sapping that by the time the brothers made camp each night they were too fatigued to make more than the shortest of conversations before they crawled into their bedrolls. Or maybe that was simply an excuse, as Hoss and Joe had a thousand questions to ask of their older brother. It was proving to be a struggle swinging the discussion around to the subjects they were so desperate to talk about. Each time they'd tried so far, they'd failed. Adam had merely grunted replies or claimed he was too tired to talk.

On the first night in the desert, Adam had asked why his father had returned to the Ponderosa. Many hours earlier they had stood on the ridge overlooking Darwin, and learning his father was not going to accompany him across the desert had cut as keenly as when he'd believed his father was dead. Ben had told him he had business at the Ponderosa. But what possible business could be so important he had to leave his newly discovered son?

Joe was sitting cross-legged on the hard earth when Adam put the question to him. He leant towards the gently crackling fire with a plate of beans in one hand, scooping them to his lips with a fork. With his mouth half-full, he turned his attention to his older brother.

"Adam, you remember that little boy in the wagon train, the one who followed you around like a little puppy?"

It was like a punch to his gut. Adam immediately recalled one of the images that had plagued him for months following the attack: that of a small body lying on his stomach, flat on the ground, unmoving; blonde hair gently rising and falling in the breeze. He stood sharply, not knowing where to turn and tried to busy himself with the fire, bending over to stab new wood unnecessarily into the merrily burning flames. "How could I forget?" he spat. "I saw him. He was dead!" Adam straightened and turned his back on his brothers, staring out into the darkness. With his arms wrapped around his body, he squeezed his eyes shut to keep out the memory of the lifeless child.

"No, Adam, you're wrong. Andy survived."

Adam swivelled sharply around at the hip to see Joe had lowered his plate to the ground and risen to his feet. Joe walked around the fire to face his brother.

"Andy's alive." There was laughter in Joe's voice as he smiled and nodded at Adam. "He was knocked out pretty badly, but he's a fighter. Like you, older brother." He slapped Adam on the shoulder as he stepped back to where he'd left his meal.

Adam could only stand there, shaking his head in wonder that young Andy Hunter had made it after all. But then he frowned and moved back to the flames, dropping easily to a cross-legged position in front of Joe.

"But what's that got to do with Pa's business?"

A piece of wood shifting in the blaze settled deeper into the growing blanket of ash, sending a spray of red sparks into the air.

"Andy is Pa's business," Hoss mumbled from one corner of his mouth as he chewed his beans; his large frame propped up against his upturned saddle. "All o' Andy's kin died that day. Pa took 'im in. He's been livin' with us ever since."

Adam dropped his gaze to the flames. "Pa adopted him." It was a statement, not a question.

"Sure did, Adam." Hoss licked his plate clean. He let it drop to his knees as he smiled. "I think he saw a lot o' you in that young 'un. Havin' Andy around helped Pa get through the worst of it." He glanced over at Joe. "Us too, I reckon."

Joe stretched backwards for Hoss' plate; he was on cleaning duties that night. "Pa doesn't like to leave Andy alone for too long. And we did sorta leave with little warning. So he's gone back to get Andy settled with Nancy Miller and her brood. He's gonna follow on."

Adam rose to his feet and walked to where the horses had been hobbled for the night. His brothers watched him as he stood in front of his mount, gently stroking the animal's soft nose. It was clear the subject was closed and there would be no more words that night. Joe looked over at Hoss who shrugged and raised his eyebrows. Adam had always been a hard cuss to fathom, but now he was even more impenetrable than before. Adam's questions to his brothers were infrequent, as though the answers could prove too painful a reminder of the missing years; a reminder of his failure to have searched out the truth of his family's alleged demise.

The following night had been much the same. They'd spent the day strung out along the trail Adam had picked out, working the animals hard in the unrelenting heat of the day. And that night there had been idle chatter about the family's latest ventures and updates on friends and townspeople Adam knew. But any questions that went beyond the surface, that punctured the tightly bound memories Adam was burying within him, were avoided. All three brothers knew talking about what had happened to Adam would bring them around to the one question he wanted to avoid at all costs, and which Hoss and Joe so anxiously needed an answer to: why had Adam not come looking for his family?

And now, here they were, three days into their journey. They had made camp in the lea of a low sloping ridge, amongst a scattering of waist-high boulders. Joe had unenthusiastically prepared yet another meal of beans and jerky. He was struggling to swallow down the same dull taste he'd had to endure for the past week. Only the welcome break in Darwin had broken the tedium. In contrast, Adam had not tasted beans in nearly two years and relished every mouthful that passed his lips. When Joe had dropped his half-eaten plate to his knee and shoved it in an offhand way out-of-sight, Adam had asked him whether he intended on finishing them. Joe had replied that Adam could be his guest.

Joe was too beat to even attempt conversation and had soon lay down, turned onto his side and tugged his blanket over his shoulder. It was not long before Adam and Hoss were to do the same.

It was several hours later that Adam was woken by the quiet soothing tones of his middle brother. Lifting his head in the direction of the disturbance, he saw Hoss kneeling next to Joe, a hand resting gently on his little brother's shoulder. Joe was quietly whimpering in his sleep, his head twitching and his hand clawing at the earth in front of him.

"Shh, Joe," whispered Hoss. "Sleep now, little brother, you're safe, ain't nobody gonna hurt you." His solid hand kept up a warm pressure on Joe's arm until gradually Joe settled and his breathing calmed.

Hoss rose to return to his bedroll to see Adam had awoken and was feeding some more kindling into the ashes to revitalise the dying flames.

"He ain't had a restless night like this in over a year," said Hoss quietly, as he pulled his blanket around him and sat hunched by the warming fire. "Fer months followin' what happened, he had nightmares." He stared over at the still form of Joe, unmoving now that his mind had rid itself of the demons that had tormented him. "His body was fixin' but his mind...well, I guess he was still comin' ta terms with what happened to him out here." He looked over at Adam who was staring intently at his youngest brother, a crease wrinkling his forehead as his brows drew together in a frown. "Outta all of us, Joe was the most hurt. So many bones broken, his skin ripped to shreds from where those bas…" Hoss paused and took a deep breath, "those men had dragged him over the ground." He followed Adam's gaze to Joe's slumbering form. "But you know Little Joe. Not even having mosta ya bones broken at the same time can keep him down for long."

Adam rose smoothly to his feet and padded over in his socks to where Joe lay sleeping. He bent over his brother's now motionless body and studied the dozing man's face intently. He cocked his head. "Mimiteh has his ears," he mumbled.

"What's that?"

Adam straightened up, still looking down at his youngest brother. "Mimiteh. She's got Joe's ears."

"Yer baby gal."

"Umm." Adam returned to his saddle and lay back. He stared up at the legion of stars flickering in the sky above.

"I still cain't believe you're a daddy. I cain't wait to see her."

Adam continued to stare up at the sky, his attention many miles away on the other side of the desert. There hadn't been a single moment when Kia and his daughter hadn't been at the front and centre of his thoughts; even during that time in the sheriff's office in Darwin when he'd felt blindsided by coming face-to-face with his father and brothers, and had briefly considered returning with them to the Ponderosa. But he'd come to his senses, realising with despair that this was only the first of what might be many occasions when he'd be split between his two worlds. He'd desperately wanted to go back to the ranch, to feel the comfort associated with the only place he'd ever truly considered home—until the Ute had found him, that is, and made him one of their own. But now there was a stronger draw. His wife and child called to him; their pull was even more powerful than that of his beloved pa and brothers. So when Hoss and Joe had offered to accompany him on his search for his young family, his heart had leapt with joy. His two worlds would be joined. For how long he didn't know; but for now it was enough.

"Ya ain't spoken much about your wife, Adam. What's she like?"

Adam's gaze was fixed on the stars, but it wasn't the sparkling firmament he could see. In his mind's eye was a raven-haired woman with eyes like black pearls. Each morning Adam awoke before dawn and watched as the sun crept above the eastern horizon. The burning globe would rise over the land, its light-giving rays spreading evenly through the dawn sky. And as the light reached out across the desert, creeping up Adam's feet and legs and torso until his body was warm and he was blinded by the glare, he would feel a resolve warming in his veins. For she was the fire, the guiding light that drew him, and he knew by following the morning sun he would find her.

"She's why I breathe."

Hoss's blue eyes widened at his brother's candour. After several days of little, or no, information from Adam about his experiences, this was more than he had expected.

"She saved my life. Not in a medical sense, you understand, but…" Adam paused. Talking about those dark days when his body and mind had been so damaged he'd nearly lost the will to carry on was like tearing open a long-healed scar. He sat up, resting his elbows on his knees, but kept his vision fixed on the ground in front of him. "I was led to believe you and Pa and Joe were dead. I...struggled for a while to...accept it."

"And this is when you were with the Indians?"

Adam nodded. "A Ute called Cameahwait found me in the gorge." He smiled briefly. "Now he really did save my life. I had a bullet in my thigh; I had been badly beaten. Then I developed a fever." He rolled his eyes. "He took me back to his people."

"But why, Adam? Why'd he do that? There were other folk there who needed help too. Why only you?"

Hoss was answered with a heavy sigh. "I don't think even Cam knows why."

There was a shuffling behind them, the sound of Joe turning over in his bedroll. His brothers both looked over at him as he stretched, opened a bleary eye and wiped the heel of his hand in the other.

"How's a guy supposed to sleep round here with you two jabberin' on all night?"

"Little brother, you could sleep with a herd of stampedin' cows tramplin' past your head," answered Hoss wryly.

Joe snorted. "Well, I don't sleep well here." He shook his head. "The desert isn't a place I like to be anymore."

It was a sentiment shared by Adam. He had suffered one too many bitter happenings in these dry, hostile lands. And the sooner they were across it, the better.

Hoss moved his attention back to Adam. He was buoyed by how open Adam was being tonight. "So ya ended up with this band o' Ute, and married yer'self a little Indian gal."

Adam's eyes flashed and his voice was harsh. "It wasn't like that, Hoss." He took a deep breath, his voice quiet once more. "It wasn't like that. She cared for me when I was…sick. She made me well again."

He heard a quiet snigger and noticed Joe had a grin stretched across his face as he exchanged a look with Hoss. "The ol' nurse patient thing, huh, doncha think, Hoss?" His teeth were bright where he grinned. But his smile faded when he saw Adam jump to his feet, a frown darkening his face.

"No, Joe! It wasn't like that! It wasn't like that at all."

Joe levered himself up onto his elbows. "Well, why don't you tell us, older brother?" He sat up straight, his voice rising. "We've been back together four days now and you've told us next to nothing about anything that happened to you. We had no idea where you were, whether you were alive or dead. It near killed Pa. And then we discover you've been living with a tribe of Indians, got yourself married. But could you be bothered to come looking for your real family?"

"Why would I look for a family I thought were dead?" Adam's voice was loud and unforgiving; his eyes blazing streaks as he glared at Joe.

"Well, you seemed to get over the loss of your beloved family pretty darn quick."

Hoss sat upright on his blanket. "Now, Joe, ya know that ain't fair."

Joe twisted to look at Hoss. "Why not? He's got a kid, for God's sake. Work it out, Hoss. No set period of mourning for older brother here."

Adam took a step towards where Joe was still sitting on his blanket, his chest expanding with every fierce breath that he inhaled through flaring nostrils. He unclenched a tight fist to point a finger at his younger brother and spoke through gritted teeth. "You weren't there, Joe. I grieved for you."

"Really, Adam? You grieved." Joe shook his head. "Just how old is your daughter?"

Adam frowned but then sighed heavily; his shoulders dropped as he closed his eyes. "Ten months."

"Ten months." Joe spread his palms and started to count using his fingers. "Let's see now, ten months plus nine months makes nineteen months. Remind me, Hoss, how long was brother Adam missing?"

"Joe." Hoss's voice held a warning.

Joe rose to his feet and skirted the fire to stand in front of Adam. He stared unblinking at him. "I'll tell you exactly how long our brother was missing, Hoss. He was missing for one year, nine months and two weeks. I was never that great at arithmetic, but I think that's about twenty-one months, wouldn't you say? You grieved for two months, Adam."

Adam looked away; it was hard to argue with Joe's faultless logic.

He flopped back down on his bedroll and leant heavily back against his saddle. "You make it sound very simple, Joe." He threw a glance at his younger sibling. "But you don't know what I went through."

"Well whose fault is that, Adam? You won't tell us a goddamn thing." Joe stalked back to his blanket and flung himself down. "I know you're not one for divulging sometimes, but dammit, Adam, you can't expect us to understand if you don't talk to us." Joe's voice had quietened, frustration taking the place of anger.

There was silence in the camp, broken only by the sound of wood crackling and spitting. Hoss watched his two brothers—Joe flicking sand with his index finger and Adam staring out into the blackness of the desert—and, assured they weren't going to go for each other, he lay back against his saddle.

"You're right." Two heads turned rapidly towards Adam. His eyes reflected the golden glow of the flames as he looked first at Joe and then at Hoss. He sat up. "You're right." He pulled his legs up and rested his arms around his knees.

Adam was quiet. His brothers watched and waited.

"When I woke up in the Ute village, not knowing where I was, or why I was there and whether you were alive or dead, I was weak, confused…scared." One eyebrow rose with his admission of fear as he looked from Hoss to Joe. "I didn't know why they had taken me there and left everyone else, but they saved my life and for that I was grateful." Adam's eyes were drawn to the fire. "I decided to stick around long enough to get my strength back and then I'd escape, somehow. But then they told me you were all dead. They were very convincing, and I believed them. It…" Adam paused, struggling to find the right words. "It affected me more than I could have realised." I wanted to die. "I'd always thought that I was strong, in my mind. I'm mean, I've experienced more than my fair share of tragedy. Not knowing my mother and then seeing Inger and Marie die in front of me. Having to kill my best friend… Well, after all that, I thought I could survive anything… But then you died." Adam shifted, dropping his head for a moment. He brought his eyes back to his brothers and smiled wryly. "Well, I thought you had." Adam swallowed. "I was not myself for a while." I gave up. "Kia looked after me during that time, although I wasn't aware of her. I learned later that she had been there every day, seeing to my wounds, bringing me food." She had to listen to my ramblings, soothe me when I cried like a baby. "Later, as I tried to…adjust…to a life without…" Adam flicked his eyes at his brothers. "Well, I decided to stay with the Ute until I had decided what to do. But Kia became increasingly important to me." She was a flame where there was no other light. "And I fell in love with her." He brought his eyes up to meet his brothers' and shrugged. "I fell in love."

"Adam —"

"It's okay, Joe. You didn't know. I didn't mean to shut you out. It's just…those early days…I just wanna forget them."

Adam stared deeply into the flickering flames. "Kia gave me hope, a future. She gave me a purpose again. She saved me in many ways." He looked across at his brothers who sat silently listening. Their absorbed expressions encouraged him, and for once he didn't feel embarrassed sharing such intimate thoughts. He smiled again. "But I think I saved her too. When I first saw her she was kinda sad, beaten down by something that had happened. I learned later she was in mourning for her husband." Adam's mood cheered as he talked about Kia, the anger of moments ago forgotten. "She wore a mantle of melancholy because it was required of her. And then she started to share her true self with me." Adam picked up a strand of scrub and rolled it between his fingers. "I found out she's funny. She's sharp, heck, she knows what I'm thinking before I do. She's compassionate. Endlessly curious about my life before. And she's strong, so strong. Life might have trampled on her a bit, but she didn't give up. And then I came along; she knew what she wanted and went for it." Adam's cheeks dimpled as the corners of his mouth rose in a smile.

He looked up to see grins on his brothers' faces.

Hoss reached over to throw a small branch on the fire. "And I bet she's beautiful too, huh, Adam?"

"Now what sorta question is that to ask a man about his wife?" Adam smiled. His eyes softened. "To me she's perfect."

The hour was late. Joe yawned. "And then you had yourself one of them Indian wedding ceremonies with a sacred fire and exchanging baskets with gifts?" He settled back against his saddle.

Adam raised his eyebrows and looked down when he recalled his own initiation into marriage. Kia had come to him in the night; unable to wait after Cameahwait had freed her from her mourning earlier that evening. They had made love in the light of the dying fire; and as the flames faded, their love had ignited. The following day Adam was told Kia was now his wife. It had been a shock; but Adam had been more than happy to be told he was now forever joined with this woman. "Ah, not quite like that, Joe."

"And now you're a pa." Hoss was fascinated by the idea of being an uncle. "What's her name again, Adam?"

In his mind's eye, Adam could see his little tabboots—his little rabbit, as he liked to call her. Her face still had the chubbiness of babyhood, but her character was starting to shine. She was inquisitive, her tiny hands always reaching out to touch, grab, pull. It was a trait that had already led her into trouble when she'd nearly made off with Adam's razor. Retrieving the item gently but firmly from her fist had led to a wail of frustration and annoyance. But it hadn't been long before she was laughing again. Thinking about her heart-warming giggle and the love that shone unconditionally from her eyes, brought a smile to Adam's face.

"Mimiteh. It means 'new moon' as she was born on the day of a new moon." Adam regarded Joe teasingly. "I thought she was perfect, but, now I see she has your ears, little brother…" He ducked as a spray of sandy earth flew in his direction.

It was a start, for all of them. Adam had struggled to open up and share his experiences with his brothers, particularly what he had endured at the beginning of his time with the Ute. As they'd begun the journey across the desert, he'd catch a glimpse of Joe's pinto out of the corner of his eye, or observe the long shadow of Hoss's huge hat beating the earth besides him. The shame had been so overpowering he'd had to kick his animal ahead to lose them from his line of vision. He thought he had come to terms with what had happened. And to a certain extent, he had. He had accepted their deaths, moved on with his life. But now, here they were, alive and vibrant, and so close he could reach out and touch them. Adam had asked himself over and over, why had he taken Cameahwait's word for it and not done everything in his power to find out the truth for himself? The evening camps had been difficult as the shame plagued his thoughts. He had tried to contribute to the chat around the campfire, but more often than not he'd feigned fatigue and crawled into his bedroll. Or he had taken himself away into the blackness to sit and think, and pray to the Great Spirit to keep Kia and Mimiteh safe.

But tonight had been different. Joe's fiery temper—always so quick to surface—had spilled out, exposing the impatience and exasperation he was feeling at being kept in the dark. Joe had pushed and pushed until Adam had realised keeping his collapse into desolation a shameful secret was doing nothing more than creating a rod for his own back. He would never be able to tell them everything: of how he had withdrawn from the world and let his mind retreat into blackness; of how he had let guilt, shame and despair consume him. He would never tell them of how their stubborn brother had become a compliant puppet; letting strangers undress him, bathe him and help him with his most private ministrations. No, that he would never tell them. But what he had shared had quietened Joe's bitterness towards him. And if Joe now believed that Adam hadn't willingly turned his back on his family, then perhaps Adam's most shaming secret would never see the light of day.