The Beauty of Darkness - EIGHT

oooooooooo

Adam knocked on the door and it opened. Behind it was a servant; a pretty young girl with a round face and a pair of wide, innocent eyes. That, he knew, could be a deception. He'd romanced enough doe-eyed beauties in his thirty-two years to understand that a heart black as pitch could lurk behind those glistening orbs. The man in black mumbled a greeting as the young lady led him into the drawing room of George Owens' house. Thirty-two years? He'd seen enough in the first ten years of his life to jade him.

Adam chuckled. Pa would have had a nicer word for it. Life had left him 'wary'.

Especially where those he loved were concerned.

The servant pointed him toward a chair and asked him to take a seat. On the way there, he fingered the small wooden horse he had tucked carefully in his pocket. He'd done that so many times on his way to see Jorie Owen's wet nurse, that he wondered if the pony would shine like a diamond when he finally brought it out. The horse reminded him of the ones his step-mother had given his baby brother the Christmas before her death. Marie loved horses as much if not more than her son. She'd done everything to encourage Joe's interest in them and then – oddly enough – been hesitant to allow him to learn to ride. People were funny that way. They seldom made sense.

Which was why you couldn't trust them.

Could he trust her, he wondered? This young widow and grieving mother whose job it was now to feed and care for a dead woman's child? What motivated her? What desperate need drove Melissa White to leave her home and the city she knew – everything she knew – to travel west to a strange house in a strange town? Pa said she was a friend of George's sister. The age gap between them pointed to the daughter of a friend and not the friend herself. He'd witnessed grieving mothers before; women whose babies had been left behind in a shallow grave along the trail to the West. Some of them lost their minds for a time and grieved forever afterwards. Others surrendered to fate or God, or whatever and soldiered on.

He wondered which Mrs. White would prove to be.

Adam looked around the well-appointed room before taking a seat – only to rise again as the lady in question appeared.

No wonder little brother had been bedazzled.

Melissa White was certainly a looker. The young widow was willowy and a little bit tall, with fair skin and nearly black hair. Her figure was lovely – slender hips and a small waist with a tightly corseted bust thrust high enough you couldn't miss it. Of course, she had a maternity corset on. He remembered that from Marie.

Access was what it was all about when you were nursing a baby.

Adam grinned as he remembered his step-mother's yelp when she didn't feed her petit Joseph fast enough to suit him and he nipped her!

"Did I miss something?" the raven-haired beauty asked, slightly puzzled.

"Forgive me," he said, tucking his smile back behind his full lips. "Just thinking of my youngest brother."

"Little Joe?" she asked. The look that accompanied the name told Adam his little brother had done it again.

Melissa was smitten.

"Yes. Joe. I believe you spent some time with him the other night?" he asked as nonchalantly as his amusement would allow.

"You're Adam then? The oldest brother?"

"I'm sorry. I forget myself." The man in black took a step forward and offered his hand. "Adam Cartwright."

The young woman's lips turned up at the ends. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Cartwright."

"Adam. And you areMrs. White?"

A shadow passed over her face. "I was. Just call me Lessy. Everyone does."

"Do you like it?"

She blinked. "Do I like what?"

"Your nickname."

She shrugged. "I don't mind it, now that I'm older. I hated it when I was a child. Most of the time it was turned into 'messy Miss Lessy'."

"Try living with Adam's…apple," he said with a wink.

That broke the tension and she laughed. "I suppose we all have our crosses to bear. Now, I understand you have come to see me specifically. What is it I can help you with, Mister…Adam."

He wanted to say, 'my distraught little brother', but instead dug deep into his pocket and produced the wooden horse. As he held it out to her, he said, "From my other brother – from Hoss."

Lessy took it. "It's beautiful," she remarked as she looked it over, and then looked up to meet his gaze. "For me?"

Her tone was puzzled.

"I'm sure Hoss would carve you one if you like. But no, it's for Jorie."

"Ah." She ran a finger along the horse's back. "A promise of some sort?"

She was sharp – that, or the subject had come up with her and Joe. Not a surprise considering it concerned a horse.

"Yes. Hoss made a promise to himself. He's going to catch that strawberry mare again and make sure Jorie gets one of her colts." Adam noted her look. "Is something wrong?"

A tear entered Lessy's eye. It glinted and then escaped as she turned her head. "I was just thinking of my late husband."

"Oh."

The young widow indicated a chair and then took a seat on the settee opposite. She stared at the horse for a moment before speaking. "What do you think of the promises we make when we are young?"

Considering she couldn't have been more than twenty, he wondered just how young she meant.

"They're made in good faith." He smiled. "That doesn't mean we can keep them, or that we should."

"I thought…." She sucked in air and started again. "When I was fourteen, I made a vow. I would find a man I loved and marry him and be his forever and never look at another man. I made the same vow when I married Brown and meant it. And then…."

"He died."

She nodded. "Most unfair of him, don't you think?"

"Pardon me if this seems too familiar, but what I think would be unfair is holding yourself to a vow you made as a child."

"There are girls who marry at fourteen."

"Yes. They're still children." Adam paused. "Is this about my brother? My youngest brother?"

Lessy looked like a deer caught in someone's sight. "Oh, dear! Is it that obvious?"

He laughed. "No. My brother is that obvious. When Joe feels something, the whole family feels it."

"Then, he…likes me?"

Attraction was a numinous thing. It happened in an instant and there was very little that could be done about it. The heart leapt and joined itself to another, never knowing if that other knew of its existence.

At least he could help her there.

"I think Joe likes you quite a bit, but you should know…."

"His fiancée just died. Yes, I know." She turned the horse over in her hands nervously. "Otie, Mr. Owen's sister told me about it. Her name was Laura, wasn't it? It's so sad."

"So, you both are…wounded, should we say? Maybe a little vulnerable even?"

Lessy shrugged. "Otie said that too. I know you must think me a hussy. It's just that Joe was so sweet to me the other night. So understanding…." She blushed.

Adam rose and went to sit beside her. He hung his hands between his knees and paused for a moment, thinking of what to say. "Let me tell you about my little brother. You won't find anyone who is kinder or more compassionate – unless it's my other brother." He laughed. "Joe is thoughtful and a hopeless romantic. He's also fiercely loyal and very determined. It's those last two that get him into trouble."

"Trouble?"

How much should he reveal, he wondered? Pa would say all, and to ask for prayers. He was less prone to trust so quickly, but it seemed Lessy and Joe had already come to some sort of understanding and she deserved the truth.

"Joe is missing."

Her eyes lit with fear. "Missing?"

"Yes. Joe has a friend. His name is Danny. I…." Adam sighed. "I didn't listen to Joe and left the pair of them alone on the range and they disappeared. There were signs of a struggle."

"Someone took them? Deliberately?"

"We think so. There's a man named Travis. He used to be a prison guard. He has a…beef against Joe. He's with another man, one who isn't too fond of Danny. We're afraid they're connected somehow. So, I need to get going." Adam rose to his feet. "I have to meet my father and Hoss so we can start looking."

"Have you involved the sheriff?"

Involving the sheriff was a double-edged sword, even when it was someone like Roy Coffee. The biggest problem was raising a posse – one you could trust not to gun down the first thing that moved.

He shook his head. "Roy knows what's going on, but we Cartwrights look out for our own."

"I see," she said, like she didn't. "Do you think these men will hurt Joe? Travis and…?"

He cast his mind back to his conversation with Roy. "Murdoch."

If you'd have asked him before it happened, he would have said it wasn't possible for Lessy to grow any more pale, but she did. Her hand crept to her throat as she whispered, "Murdoch? Jethro C. Murdoch?"

And then she told him her story.

oooooooooo

Adam glanced at his father where he sat across the fire from him. Hoss stood nearby, his hand steadily brushing Chubb's silky nose. He'd just finished telling them Lessy's story.

It brought silence.

And fear.

In his mind the universe was a strange place, full of coincidences. Of course, his father disagreed. The older man said there was no such thing as 'coincidence' and put everything down to the hand of God. When he was a young man in his teens, he'd challenged that. He'd demanded to know how a woman who went mad because her six-month-old baby had starved to death and been laid low in a grave along the trail could be the 'hand of God'? Or what about the two men who got into a fight over a scrap of food and shot each other, leaving two families bereft? How about that wagon that went over the edge of a cliff and took six people with it? Pa had been resolute. God was in control. 'Adam," his father would say, 'wouldn't you rather believe that everything – good, bad, and indifferent – happens for a reason? Is it better to believe that it is random and a whim of fate? If God isn't in control, then who is?'

He still didn't have an answer for that one.

When it came to experiencing the underbelly of life, Lessy White might have him beat. She started life as Melissa Faye Manners of Boston but spent most of her young life in Sante Fe. Her mother, Annette Manners, had been widowed in her early thirties. Her father, a much older man, had left his young wife two well-established businesses in his will – a thriving mercantile and a boarding house. There were just the two of them. Melissa was the only baby not to end up in one of those graves along the way West. She was fifteen when her father died. Her pa, she said, pampered her mother, and so the older woman knew nothing of running a business. Her banker told Annette she needed to find a manager, so she advertised for one in the local papers. A few days later when Melissa came home from school, she found her mother excited and optimistic. A man with all the skills needed had answered her advertisement. He was willing to work for a low wage plus a percentage of the mercantile's profits, which he said he would raise in no time. He'd been invited to supper that night. Lessy said that the moment she laid eyes on Jethro C. Murdoch, she knew her mother had made a mistake.

She just didn't know how big a mistake.

At first Jeth, as he told them to call him, was kind, soft-spoken, and mannerly – always the gentleman. He was good to her mother and that was good enough for her. By the time Melissa turned sixteen, things were going so well her mother decided to send her to live with a friend in another town so she could attend a finishing school.

Her first trip home was enjoyable, but by the second – at Christmas – she knew something was wrong. Her mother seemed to have forgotten how to smile and her movements had grown furtive. One day she caught the older woman with her blouse off and saw the bruises. Melissa tried to ask her about it several times, but Annette always put her off. She'd taken a fall down the stairs. She'd been clumsy and run into the edge of a cabinet. When she asked her about Jeth, her mother would smile and say the business was doing well. Jeth was taking care of it and her.

The way she said it sent chills down Melissa's spine.

She didn't come home again until summer, when the school year ended. This time the change in her mother was more apparent. Annette had grown thin and gaunt. She chewed nervously at her fingers and flitted about the house like a skittish bird. Jeth was away at the time and so she asked the older woman about him again, begging her to tell the truth. Her mother broke down and admitted everything. Jeth was stealing from the business. He used the money to gamble and drink and carouse with bawdy women. He would even bring them into their home at times to take his pleasure. Melissa begged her mother to leave him and to come to the town she was living in, but the older woman was too afraid. They stood there, in the parlor, clinging to one another and sobbing.

And then Jeth came home.

There was no way to prove what happened next. It was his word against hers and, in the West, men almost always had the last say in court. Jeth was drunk. He became angry the moment he saw them together and began to make threats. Her mother had obviously been through this before. She began to speak to him in a calm, soothing voice, trying to reason him out of it. It seemed to work at first, for Jeth quieted – but only for a time. Waking again into a violent rage, he took hold of Melissa's mother and threw her against the hearth. Annette hit her head and died.

The coroner ruled the death accidental.

Jethro C. Murdoch was known in the town as a good and upright citizen. What the townsfolk did not know – until much later – was that he was also a criminal with a record as long as their main street. The night after the funeral, when Melissa told him she was leaving and returning to school, he told her she was not. He would no longer pay for it. She said that was fine. She would get a job and manage it herself. It was at that point that Jeth informed her of the will her mother had left. The will – which, no doubt, had been forged – that made him her guardian until she came of age at twenty. Until then, she would do as he said.

Or else.

Over the next year Murdoch browbeat and cowed her until she didn't know up from down. Melissa told him she knew in her heart that he was grooming her for the day when he would enter her bedroom unannounced and she would take her mother's place – willing or not.

That was when God sent Brown Alphaeus White into her life.

The young woman had laughed then and made a comment about her "White' knight before going on. She was working in the mercantile under her step-father's watchful eye. That was where she met Brown. She tried to stay away from him when he came to shop, knowing what Jeth would say – and might do – if he found out he was interested in her. Brown didn't care. He'd sized up Jeth quickly and just as quickly offered to take her away.

He loved her, he said. More than his own life.

Her eighteenth birthday was on the horizon. Jeth had made it clear that day would be the end of her maidenhood. He talked then, as he often did, of balance. Her mother had been taken from him, so it was only natural that she be his.

In the end she decided that marrying a man she didn't know who had shown her kindness, was better than remaining with a man who didn't know the meaning of the word.

She was blessed, Melissa said. Brown proved to be everything Jethro Murdoch was not. He took her far away to Baltimore where, unbeknownst to either of them, Margie Owens' aunt lived. They'd married that autumn.

One month later they found out he was dying.

Adam could still see her, sitting on the settee; her tears dotting the polished white pine hide of the wooden horse his brother had carved for Jorie. Lessy had drawn a breath and looked up, her dark eyes wide with fear.

"Adam," she said, "go! Go now! You must find Little Joe and find him quickly. Jeth Murdoch is a devil. He has no conscience. He will kill him without a thought."

The color drained from his father's face when he heard that.

"Good Lord," Pa breathed. "I thought…. I knew your brother was in danger, but this?"

"We can't be sure that Murdoch has Joe…or Danny," Adam replied, his tone gentle.

Pa's black eyes were misty. "Can't we?"

Adam's lips quirked, not with a smile, but as an acknowledgment of what they both knew.

It was Little Joe.

Yeah, they could.

oooooooooo

In the morning, they talked it over and decided to split up. There was a lot of territory to cover and no real indication of which way to go. Whoever had come unawares upon Joe and Danny had been careful, not only to erase their tracks, but to lay down new ones. Hoss counted at least a dozen horses. Their riders had trampled down the grass surrounding the camp and then taken off in four different directions. They knew the trail leading back the way they'd come was a false one. That left three paths and there were three of them, so they said their goodbyes and took off, their intention to meet back where they'd begun come dark.

Hopefully with Joe and Danny in tow.

Adam kicked himself as he kneed his mount's sides and demanded more speed. If not for his own self-absorption, he would have seen the fallen fence for what it was – a set-up. Thinking back on it now, the signs were clear. There was too much destruction for a simple wash-out and yet, in other ways, the site was clean.

Where was the debris?

To be honest, though, self-interest had been only half of the problem. The other half was something Hoss called 'older brother syndrome', which was a polite way of saying that he could be an ass simply because he was the eldest. He had to admit it. He still saw his youngest brother as a child. Joe wasn't. At twenty, he was a man. A young and inexperienced one, but a man. Adam chuckled. He was still having trouble adjusting to the fact that the kid had a thought that wasn't his.

It was almost impossible to believe that thought might be right!

They'd been moving at a steady pace for a good fifteen minutes, so when he reined his borrowed horse in, the sturdy animal snorted with impatience. "Hang on, boy, I just need to check something out," he said as he dismounted. An incongruous spot of pinkish-brown on the green grass had caught his attention. With one eye shut against the beams of early morning light that penetrated the trees, he knelt and picked it up – and knew it instantly.

It was a piece of his kid brother's shirt.

Adam rose and turned so the light fell on the scrap of cloth. Yes, it was Joe's. He'd recognize the high quality cloth and color anywhere. For a moment, hope swelled in his heart. Then he noticed something else. The cloth looked to have been cut away and not torn. He remained where he was, puzzling that out. If Joe was being held captive, would he have a knife to cut it with? And if someone cut it off of him, why was there no blood? Knowing his younger brother, he would have fought like a tiger unless….

Unless he couldn't.

The man in black swallowed his fear.

A second later, it overcame him.

Adam began to shake, and then to tremble as images of his brother's torture flashed before his eyes. Joe beaten, bruised, cut and bloodied; tormented and made to suffer not by Travis Mudge or the mysterious J. Crockett Murdoch.

But by Peter Kane.

He fell to his knees and his fingers clutched the tall grass, shredding it and pulling it out by the roots as he watched Kane pick up an axe handle and strike Joe over and over again, feeling each blow as if it fell on his own body. Saliva thickened and spilled from his mouth. He retched. And retched.

And retched again.

"No, God, no," he breathed. "I will not…. You will not win!"

Kane was there. He was always there, lurking on the edge of his psyche – that leering face, those intense insane eyes; the cruel mouth that taunted without words. Adam knew in his heart that Kane would always be there. Somehow….some way…he had to learn to live with the Devil.

He had to learn to live.

Adam lifted a hand to wipe the spittle from his chin. He'd closed his eyes, waited, and then opened them again. This time there was no leering Peter Kane. Just trees, and the grass and late autumn gorse.

No, that wasn't right. There was something else, and he saw it clearly for the first time since his ordeal. It was the thing that brought him back from the brink this time, just as it had on that day in the desert when he'd felt a familiar hand touch his shoulder.

Pa. Hoss. Little Joe.

The man in black rose shakily to his feet. He straightened his back and then tugged his coat into place. Peter Kane had no power. Peter Kane was nothing.

Family.

That was everything.

oooooooooo

"Whoa, boy. Come on, Chubby. Whoa!"

Hoss Cartwright hauled back on the reins one last time and managed to bring his horse to a standstill before dismounting. Chubby sure wanted out of this place! The big man looked around, puzzled. It was a pretty autumn day with a slight chill in the air – the kind that made a man want to sit by the fire and warm up with one of Pa's sea-faring toddies.

Hoss chuckled as the thought kindled a memory long buried. Pa and Hop Sing was gone somewheres. He and Adam took Little Joe out in the snow to play – without askin' Mama's permission, of course. Marie had mentioned somethin' the night before about how much fun she'd had as a young'un when she visited some northern kin and got to do the same thing. Bein' little 'uns, that was permission enough. It was early on in the winter and not all that cold, so they shed their jackets as the day wore on and left them behind on a rock as they scampered through the woods. Come afternoon, a herd of clouds moved in and the temperature plummeted 'til it was cold as a well-digger's toes. All three of them caught cold – and got a good scoldin' once Mama bundled 'em up in blankets and made sure they was okay. Hoss smiled at the memory. Marie never could stay mad long though, so by nighttime she'd forgot all about it. Then, Little Joe started coughin'. Then he started sneezin' and Adam's throat got sore, and by the next day they was all sick as dogs.

Hoss' smile broadened as he remembered what happened next.

Mama did her best to take care of them, but by bedtime she was plum wore out. About midnight she headed for Pa's liquor cabinet where he kept a bottle of fine French brandy. Marie put the bottle on the table in front of Adam, who watched her with bleary eyes and little interest, and then vanished into the kitchen. About twenty minutes later she came back carryin' a silver tray with an enamel pot and four china cups. All of them – even Little Joe who was only three and a half – watched as she filled each cup with tea and added a dash of the sweet liquor. Brother Adam's eyes went wide as she handed him his 'dose' and he said something' about not wantin' to be there when Pa came home and found more than half of his brandy gone! Him and Joe was just little kids. All they knew was they was doin' somethin' they weren't supposed to do and it was fun.

Mama was fun.

He sure missed her.

The big man ran a hand under his nose and sniffed. Just like he missed Margie.

Dang it, if that gal hadn't broke his heart in two and taken half of it with her to the grave! He'd loved her with a love as fierce as the one he had for his pa and brothers and, even though she was gone, he still loved her, just like he still loved Mama. Bein' dead didn't do nothin' to stop love. In some ways, well, it made it even stronger. In a way, bein' alive reined someone in – just like he did Chubb. It kept them in one place. When they was dead, they became a part of you and was everywhere at once. In everythin'. Hoss shook his head as he looked around at the trees and tall grasses. Thinkin' that way didn't stop the hurtin', but it did help the healin' a little bit.

And he was healin'.

Slowly.

Chubb shied again and almost pulled the reins from his fingers, returning Hoss to the present. His big black was a pretty sturdy and sensible feller. Whatever it was makin' him afear'd, must be somethin'! He tethered the animal to a tree, patted and reassured it, and began to nose around. The tracks what led him to this place had been left by three riders who'd headed west out of Joe and Danny's camp. There was no way of knowin', of course, if this trail was false. After all, two out of the three of them had to be. He was kind of hopin' his was the true one 'cause he was sore worried about his little brother, but then he knew Pa and Adam was thinkin' the same thing. Little Joe was mighty special to them all and the idea that some no-good low-down skunk of a man might have hurt the boy was….

Hoss stopped. A chill ran through him.

He'd just spotted a pair of tan boots stickin' out from under a bush.

Everyone who knew him said he had a heart two sizes bigger than most men. They was right, 'cause it had done leapt into his throat and stuck there and he couldn't breathe.

The big man closed his eyes and whispered a quick prayer. Then he steeled himself to go over and take a look. The tan pants almost got him, but a second later relief washed over him like a flood. The dead man had black hair and a lot longer legs than shortshanks.

It was a dang shame they had the same taste in boots!

The big man sat on a nearby rock and…breathed. He remained there for a couple of minutes, thanking his lucky stars and the Man upstairs. Then he rose and returned to the dead man's side and turned him over. He was a pretty tough lookin' feller, so that said somethin' for the man what took him out. The dead man wore a dark blue coat with two rows of buttons runnin' down the front. The hat layin' beside him looked like the kind the men who drove trains wore. Hoss thought a moment longer and realized that, even though he didn't know 'who' the dead man was, he knew 'what' he was.

A prison guard.

"Damn," he cursed softly.

Travis Mudge had his brother.

oooooooooo

Travis Mudge had his son. Ben was sure of it.

The rancher's jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the rocky, gorse-covered terrain before him. He'd chosen to take the northern trail that crossed the river and led up into the hills on the other side. There was very little to follow.

Except his heart.

He knew. Somehow he knew this was the way the outlaws had gone. It was hard to explain 'why' to his oldest sons when he didn't know the answer himself. He was connected to all of them, heart, soul and blood, but with Joseph there was something more, Something almost visceral.

Most likely, because the boy needed him so badly.

Ben's lips twisted with a smile as he negotiated a tumble of rocks in his path. Not that Joseph would ever admit he did. While his youngest boy was more than affectionate and open with his love and praise, he was wary of anything that alluded to weakness. As a parent he'd tried but failed – so far, at least – to teach Marie's boy that needing someone was not a weakness, but a strength. It took strength to be vulnerable and to admit that, at times, you alone were not enough. The rancher chuckled as he reached for a handhold. He'd been very like Joseph in his youth – a bit wild and impulsive, quick to anger and to act. He'd been knocked on his backside more times that he could count by bigger and stronger men, but that taught him nothing. It took his Father in Heaven knocking him down – three times – to crack his thick skull and show him that the things he believed important were, in reality, nothing but dust blown in the wind. The Lord sent three angels – Elizabeth, Inger, and Marie – to minister and to educate him. Ben snorted.

He had to admit it – there'd been a bit of a devil in that last one!

His wives had been given to him and taken from him, as the Lord God said was His right, but each had left a bit of herself, not only in him, but in their sons. When he failed to stop Jack Groat from pulling that trigger – when young Jimmy Partridge fell to Jack's bullet and bled out and died – it had been his sons who had saved him. He could not survive without his boys and that was not a sign of weakness.

It was, and would always be, his greatest strength.

Joseph too would become the man God intended him to be only when he learned to surrender his pride, and admit that he could never make it alone.

Ben glanced at his horse. Buck snorted and shook his head, frustrated by their slow progress up the hillside. He was frustrated too, but for a different reason. He had the strongest presentiment that time was short. Still, he wasn't a young man anymore – neither was Buck for that matter! – and it was time to take a rest. The rancher ran a hand over his eyes. He'd hardly slept since this whole thing began and it was time for a drink and a bite of food, even though his stomach rebelled at the thought. He couldn't help but consider his youngest son and wonder if he was in distress. Joseph was far too impulsive for his own good and had yet to learn when to rein in his temper and his tongue. His impetuousness invited other men's anger and, at times, incited it. He'd seen the look in Travis Mudge's eyes as they passed the prison guard the day he'd talked to the warden. It was pure raw hatred. If that horrible man truly had his boy and Joseph mocked him….

Ben blew out a breath as he took a rocky seat.

It was then he saw it. A glint of white in a sea of brown and green. The fir trees this high up were more sparsely placed than lower on the ridge. Still, their voluminous branches brushed the ground; some touching one another. Whatever it was lay tucked beneath their spindled skirts. He knew, most likely it was a white pebble. Still, something said it wasn't. Ben's heart raced as he placed his canteen on the ground, rose, and began to walk. At his approach, a second spot of white joined the first.

And then a third.

The rancher knelt on one leg and leaned forward. As soon as his fingers touched the ribbed cloth, Ben knew it for what it was – his youngest son's corduroy jacket. What he'd seen were the whitish-blond toggle buttons shining in the sun. At first the jacket appeared to be intact. Then he began to notice the stains – and then he saw the blood. The crisp, rusty stains liquid told a horrific story.

One he did not want to read.

With the corduroy jacket in hand, Ben rose and returned to his horse. Once at Buck's side he remained still, considering his next move. God had granted his prayer. He was the one to find the trail that would lead to his child. Now he had to trust that what he'd told his sons was true.

God was in control and was the author of whatever he would find at the end.

oooooooooo

To be continued…..