BEFORE:

"…I just can't believe Roy Coffee chose to entrust his authority over this town to a man like that," a woman said.

"I cannot begin to understand it myself," a second woman said.

"He's a murderer," a third woman said.

"He killed Laura Dayton," the first woman said.

"He killed her because he couldn't stand the thought of his cousin having the life he had once intended to have himself," the third woman said.

"Yes," the second woman agreed. "But that wasn't the only reason why."

"Laura Dayton was in a family way when she died," the first woman clarified. "And it was Adam Cartwright's actions which precipitated both outcomes."

"He killed that woman and their unborn baby both," the third woman said. "Because he couldn't bear the thought of his cousin raising his child. Adam never did care for Will."

"Adam was afraid of his father discovering the truth, that Laura's baby really belonged to him," the second woman corrected. "That's what I believe."

"Or he was afraid of his cousin suspecting the truth," the third woman said.

"Oh," the second woman interjected, "I don't believe Will Cartwright would have done anything had Laura and the child lived. Even if he had suspected something was awry, he wouldn't have done a thing about it. He was more forgiving than Adam was."

"Will's disposition was always better than that of his cousin," the third woman agreed. "He was affable, friendly, tolerant. He would have loved and accepted that child regardless of the circumstances surrounding its birth—"

"Will was so handsome," the first woman enrapturedly interjected.

"He was loyal," the third woman said. "He continued working at the Ponderosa long after his wife had been killed by his cousin. In fact, I do believe he remained in Ben Cartwright's employ for nearly a year after Adam stole Peggy away."

"Can you imagine such a thing?" the second woman said. "How it must have felt? For a man to not just lose the love of his life but to have his daughter kidnapped, stripped away by the very man who killed his wife."

"Even Adam's father thought he was guilty of murdering Laura," the third woman said. "If you ask me, that's why Adam left in the first place. His pa wanted him to leave. Ben was forced to take justice into his own hands, I suppose. Sheriff Coffee would not hold Adam accountable for what he had done, so Ben was forced to dispense his own punishment."

"Ben Cartwright could not have wanted his son to steal that little girl," the first woman objected.

"Well, of course not," the third woman said. "That was the part that didn't go as he had planned."

"Nothing seems to have gone to plan," the first woman lamented. "In spite of the terrible things he did and the fact that his father sent him away, Adam's come back."

"Ben was furious the evening his oldest son dared to reappear," the third woman said. "He was even more upset when Adam took up Roy Coffee's post."

"His father doesn't want him here," the second woman said. "And neither do I."

Standing outside of Virginia City's telegraph office, Adam could hear the conversation being traded amongst the middle-aged women who had congregated aside Will Cass' General Store. Though there was only a building's length separating them, the group seemed as intent on ignoring his glaring presence as he was their graceless discourse. The ringleader of the group, the first woman to venture the first statement, was no other than Abigail Jones-Myers. Despite how highly she had once spoken of Adam, she regarded him so harshly now. Although there had been a time when she had intrepidly chased after Adam's attention, her besotted infatuations had been shifted to his cousin, Will, it seemed. Her fondness was made obvious by her quiet declarations—as unseemly as they were for a married woman to speak aloud.

Adam tried his best to ignore them. He didn't want to be affected by the tactless conversation. He didn't want to be angered or saddened by the barbarous manner in which they regarded him, or their indiscretion as they spoke of things they had no business discussing in the first place. They couldn't begin to comprehend the scarce hints of the ugly truth lurking behind the fallacious and embellished details they were recounting. He didn't want to be bothered by the ceaseless whispers and accusing stares of the townsfolk. But he was. No amount of wanting would ever change that. No amount of wanting would change anything at all.

Clenching the telegraph paper in a tight fist, he stepped out into the thoroughfare, and forced himself to walk away. There was nothing to be gained and too much to be lost by interjecting himself into a conversation he wasn't meant to be more than the topic of. Declarations of innocence would not change their minds; they would only assert his wounded feelings and irritation, reinforce their beliefs, and give them more things to discuss. As as a sheriff, he couldn't cite women for being presumptuous or publicly impertinent. As a man, the only thing he could do was square his shoulders and hold his head high as he silently walked away. Even so, he couldn't help but wonder what else the townsfolk—or his family—would eventually come to say when more damning details of his life were inevitably revealed.

The paper in his hand was word from Lilian Manford. It was not good news—not that he had expected it to be. He had known that whatever information the woman meant to impart was going to be troublesome, a fact made obvious by the swift means she had used to communicate it. Good news never came by telegraph; if Lil had meant her words to invite joy or bestow upon him relief, then she would have sent a letter. She wrote about difficulties in San Francisco; his children were not doing well in their parents' respective absences. Noah had grown dissident and inconsolable, Peggy belligerent and downright uncontrollable. They needed their father, Lil had written. She intended to deliver them both to him in Virginia City via stagecoach at the beginning of the next week. Adam exhaled uneasily, his grip tightening; the paper rumpled further as it was forced into a tight ball.

Lilian Manfred was a woman of determined disposition. If she intended to bring Noah and Peggy to Virginia City, then nothing Adam could say or do would convince her to change her mind. He shouldn't want to change it, he thought. For as much as Noah seemed to long for his parents, Adam longed for his son, too. As rudderless as his absence had left Peggy, Adam struggled to find his own direction without her presence propelling him forward. If allowed the luxury to make a choice, he would undoubtedly have chosen to have his children with him. But it seemed like such an impossibility now. He couldn't bear Noah being included in the gossip, and he couldn't tolerate the thought of Peggy overhearing what was already being said. He wanted to protect them. From the ugliness of the talk and opinions of the townsfolk. From the bouts of unpredictable, rugged violence always finding a man who donned a lawman's badge. He couldn't protect them properly if they were to come; he didn't know how he would explain things if they did.

How would he look at his father and brothers and tell them he had a son in addition to Peggy? How would he explain Noah's existence without disclosing Charlie's death and Eddie's unknown whereabouts? Revealing these losses meant exposing his grief and pain, and he had no intention of doing that. Never to the townsfolk. Not to his father or brothers. And especially not to himself. He couldn't begin to consider them. He couldn't dare dwell. Not when the agony associated with fully acknowledging his losses promised to bring him to his knees. There was still too much to do yet; problems he had needed to solve. If he fell now, he would never summon the desire to get back up again.

"Hey, Adam!" Joe greeted.

"Hey," Adam said as his brother stepped off the wooden boardwalk lining the bank building and approached him. "What brings you to town this morning?"

Joe nodded at the saddlebag slung over his shoulder, pregnant and protruding from the withdrawal he had made. "Payroll," he said. "What about you? Are you out and about on official business, or were you just in the mood for a stroll?"

"Neither." Adam shoved the balled-up telegraph into the breast pocket of his shirt. Pushing against the grisly photograph of the deceased prostitute, it sat heavy on his chest.

Joe noted the movement. "Bad news?" he asked, nodding at his brother's pocket.

"It's not particularly good." Adam tilted his head, indicating in the direction of the sheriff's office, a silent request for his brother to accompany him while he walked.

Joe obliged. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said. The pair fell into a familiar rhythm, making their way down the thoroughfare in tandem. "I haven't really seen you since Roy Coffee pinned that star to your chest. How you been?"

"I've been alright."

"And things with the townsfolk, how have they been?"

"They've been…" Adam peered at Joe out of the corner of his eyes, wondering if he should answer honestly or lie. "Terrible," he finished eventually, only allowing the truth to pass his lips as a chuckle meant to lighten the heaviness of the truth.

"Yeah, I've heard some of the talk. Folks still have a lot to say about you. What have you been saying to them back?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing much? Or nothing at all?"

"Nothing at all."

Joe nodded as though the answer had been expected. "I have a question I've been meaning to ask you."

"What's that?"

"Have you seen our cousin, Will, lately?"

Adam was so overcome by uneasiness that he nearly broke stride. Was Joe probing, looking for an answer he was already privy to? Or had the inquiry been an innocent one? Surely, Joe didn't—couldn't—know the truth about Will's current whereabouts; it simply wasn't probable that he or anyone else in these parts would. "No," he lied, the word deep and sharp. "Why?"

"No reason, really." Unaware of his brother's internal disquietude, Joe's demeanor remained as relaxed as the tone of his voice. "When you first showed up, you said you'd come by way of Carson City. I heard talk not so long ago that he was hanging around those parts. I was just wondering if maybe the two of you might have crossed paths."

"We didn't."

"Good thing, I suppose, at least for the time being. I reckon the last thing any of us need is for him to show his face around here. Given the way folks have taken to comparing the two of you, it's difficult to believe that his return would do anything other than vilify you further."

Adam's thoughts turned to Will, drugged and captive in San Francisco. Like Peggy and Noah, he could not keep his cousin in his current whereabouts forever. But there was little purpose in moving him right now. He certainly could not bring him back to Virginia City. He had nowhere to keep him if he did. Even if he had somewhere to hold Will, he could conceive of no palatable explanation to provide for continuing to ferociously imprison him—at least not one which would be easy to share or believe. Would his father believe him? Should he ever allow the carefully hidden cracks in his own façade to finally show, should things ever soften enough between them for he to allow such a thing, and should he ever find the correct moment to share with his father all that Will had done and everything he was doing in return, would Pa try to understand, or would he abandon him again? With the way things currently stood, with his father or the town, it was difficult to believe that bringing Will to Virginia City would invite anything other than disaster.

"Little brother," Adam said, "folks around here would do a lot more than that."

"Little brother," Joe repeated with a grin. "Goddamn if hearing you say that again doesn't sound like music to my ears."

"Careful," Adam warned, a hint of fondness lurking in his tone. "An admission of that kind might just be enough to implore me to say it again."

"I wouldn't mind if you did. I know there was a time when I didn't take too kindly to it, but a lot has changed since then. I reckon, you could even take to calling me your baby brother again and I wouldn't receive it unkindly."

It was obvious the passing years had calmed Adam's once-youngest brother, leveled his moods and thinking. And what had they done to Adam? He wondered. They had destroyed him, forced his hand in so many ways, stripped him of things he had foolishly never believed he could lose.

"Adam," Joe said thoughtfully, "what do you think you would do?"

"About what?"

"If Will did come back here?"

"I don't know," Adam said, the truth coming easily this time. "What do you think Pa would do?"

Eyebrows raising beneath the brim of his hat, Joe tilted his head. "Hard telling," he said, "given how Pa acted toward you before you left, or the things he had to say when we finally realized you had taken Peggy and gone. I'd like to think Will's presence wouldn't cause the rift between you and Pa to further grow but past events make such a thing difficult to truly believe."

"Hoss said Pa was hard on Will after I left."

"That's an understatement. I recall, after things fell apart between you and Laura and Will married her instead, Pa was hard on you, too. And then when things began to get really tense, Pa seemed to pull Will closer as you pulled away. Looking back on it now, I don't like how he pitted the two of you against each other, or the things that eventually came from all the discord. Sometimes…" Lifting his arms, Joe wrapped them around the saddlebag resting on his shoulder and clenched his hands together. "Sometimes," he repeated, his voice softening, "I wonder if everything would have still gone to hell between you and Pa if Will had actually died in Pine City and therefore never showed his face around here at all."

"Sometimes I wonder that too," Adam admitted.

"Things would have been very different," Joe alleged. "You would have ended up with Laura Dayton, her diary wouldn't have made its rounds around town, and Peggy would have been yours to take anywhere you pleased."

Coming upon the sheriff's office, the brothers stood outside of it. They avoided each other's gaze, both unwilling to allow their conversation to end, neither wanting to leave the presence of the other. How much time would pass before they saw each other again? With the Ponderosa's ceaseless tasks demanding his attention and presence, it could be weeks before Joe set foot in Virginia City again. With the way things were—with their father or otherwise—Adam knew he would not be traveling to the ranch anytime soon.

"Just so you know, Pa finally came out of the wilderness," Joe said, his attention fixed on the thoroughfare. "I do believe his time away did what it was intended to."

"Returned home declaring promises to be a better father, did he?"

"No. He hasn't said a whole lot. That's the thing that changed."

"Was he saying a lot before?"

"Not particularly, but then again, he never really has to. You know Pa; his silences always have a way of saying more than his words ever could. I reckon your silences say a lot, too. You always had a way of growing quiet when something was really bothering you, if you were waging some invisible war with yourself, agonizing over the things you shouldn't have done, or struggling to decide exactly what you oughta do next. Just so you know, I wouldn't do it if I were you."

Adam looked at his brother guardedly. "Do what?"

"Bring Peggy back to this town."

"Little brother, I may have taken that girl away from this place, but what makes you believe I've kept her beneath my authority all this time?"

"You have. You always had a way of taking responsibility for other peoples' wrongs, fixing things you didn't break, and helping those who no one else would. Shepherding children has always come so naturally to you. With the way that little girl loved you, and the way you loved her back, you wouldn't have taken her away from Will only to abandon or entrust her care to someone else." Joe smiled. "You were always such a good big brother, that's something time has allowed me to understand and see. I'm sure you're a damn fine father, too. Even so, I'd give things a little time yet, if I were you. I wouldn't bring that girl back here until folks become a little more accustomed to your presence and authority. I'd wait until they grow bored of speculating about what made you leave in the first place. I know the talk isn't easy for you to shoulder; I can't imagine how it would make a thirteen-year-old girl feel."

"Fourteen," Adam corrected impetuously. Though simple, the word was incriminating; it confirmed everything and denied nothing. He lifted a frustrated hand, then dropped it again. Leave it to Joe to weasel the truth out of him; he had always been so adept at forcing him to speak when he would rather say nothing at all. "What do you need me to say, Joe?" he scoffed lightly. "That I'm sorry for how things went down, or what?"

Joe grinned. "I don't need you to say anything," he assured. "I know better than to seek out apologies for things that couldn't have been changed. I just want you to listen, that's all. One way or another, you would have ended up with that little girl, because you were the only one who was meant to do right by her. Hoss and I, we understand that. Given a little time, Pa will come to understand it, too."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I do. I won't pretend to know what your grand plan was when you decided to come back here, if you returned to make peace with the past, or if you've come to blaze a pathway because it's time for Peggy to make peace with it, too. I don't know if you're open to suggestions where that girl is concerned, but, like I said, you need to let some time pass before bringing her back. Not because Hoss and I would be unhappy to see her, or even because you'd have to protect her or yourself from Pa, but because being fourteen is awful enough on its own. She doesn't need to become aware of the gossip folks around here entertain themselves with. She doesn't need to know the things people say about her mother and Will, and she definitely does not need to hear the things said about you."

Joe could not have known how much his brother needed to hear the statement, or the clarity which was bestowed upon him once he did. It reminded Adam why he had returned to the territory in the first place. He had come back to be a good father, and acting as such, there was only one thing he could do. He would heed his younger brother's warning. He would reply to Lil's message, sitting contorted and concealed in his shirt-pocket, and he would tell his mother-in-law to keep Peggy away from Virginia City. He would decree that the girl could either remain in San Fransisco or head to the Midwest to attend college, but she was not to be brought back to this place.

Bolstered by Joe's precipitance, he would, however, allow Lil to bring Noah. He couldn't remain separated from his son forever, and more than that: he didn't want to. Perhaps it was a foolish decision—a selfish one, too—still, it was a choice he felt it was time to make. Looking at Joe, reveling over all the ways in which his younger brother had changed and all the way in which he had not, Adam wanted nothing more in the world than for his remaining son to be sheltered by the deep and ferocious love that the Cartwright men were certain to bestow upon him. At such a tender age, the boy would remain impenetrable and impervious to the talk of the townsfolk, and Adam would do his best to properly explain the existence of his son whom he had left behind in San Fransisco, and the glaring absence of his wife who had decided to abandon them both.

"Well," Joe glanced at his full saddlebag, "I have work to do, and I'm sure you do, too."

Adam nodded, bidding him a silent farewell. "Joe," he said, just after his brother had begun to walk away.

Joe turned back around. "Yeah?"

"Just because there's space between Pa and I that doesn't mean there needs to be space between you and me, too. Don't be a stranger."

"Oh, don't you worry. I have no intention of becoming one. I'll come back around when my workload demands a visit to town or permits a day off."

"Speaking of which, I have people coming in on the Sunday stage," Adam said, yet another response which left his mouth before he could think better of it.

"People?"

"It would be nice if you could find the time to come meet that stage when it arrives."

"Then I will."

"Would you ask Hoss to accompany you?"

"Sure. What about Pa? Should I ask him, too?"

"No. Given everything, it's probably best if I find a way to ask him myself."

"Probably," Joe agreed. "I'll see you Sunday, if not sometime before."

Adam allowed himself a small smile. "Workload permitting, of course."

"Of course."

Joe took his leave, stepping back into the thoroughfare. Crossing his arms and holding them close to his chest, Adam watched him walk away for a time. It didn't take long for Joe to finally move beyond view, his form becoming lost amongst the other folks who were crowding the street. Turning around, Adam took an immediate step backwards, startled to find Roy Coffee standing on the threshold of the Sheriff's office. He wondered how long the man had been lurking, how much of the conversation he had overheard.

Grinning, Coffee appraised him in a satisfied manner, lifted a casual index finger and pointed it his way. "Now you reallyneed to find new living arrangements," he said. The statement was clear evidence he had heard more than Adam hoped.

"And you really need to find somewhere else to spend your time," Adam retorted. He stood in place for a moment, unsure if he wanted to remain in the man's company. What he would not give for a little privacy, a morning or afternoon without Coffee interjecting himself in his affairs. A moment of peace whilst he himself stood amidst a town who always seemed to have so much to say but would never speak directly to his face.

"I'm pleased, Adam," Coffee said. "It's about damn time you started makin' some real plans for the future."

"Well, just as long as you're pleased."

Unable to stomach the conversation, he turned his back on Coffee and begun his journey back to the telegraph office. There was little point in delaying the inevitable. Having already requested his brothers' presence at the arrival of the Sunday stage, he could not alter his decision now. The longer he waited to craft a reply to Lil, it became more likely that the message would not be received.

As he approached the livery, the Bonner Brothers emerged one right after the other from the inside of the building. They looked at each other and then focused their attention on him.

"There he goes, Jeff," Rick Bonner said loudly, his lips curling into a snide grin. "Our newly appointed sheriff."

"Can you believe the audacity of Roy Coffee for allowin' the Town Council to swear in such a man?" Jeff Bonner asked.

"No, sir, I cannot. But I'll tell you what I can believe."

"What's that?"

"That one thing we heard about him."

Intensifying his stride, Adam ignored their taunting. Just keep walking, he silently directed himself. If unkind and clumsy talk was to be considered cheap, then anything the Bonner Brothers could say was not worth anything at all. It wasn't worth a fight, the attention such a thing would command, or the irksome additions an altercation with them would contribute to the town's rumor mill. The Bonner Brothers were the same as they ever were, the same as they ever would be. They didn't care about the past—not in the same way other folks did. Though ignorant, their disparaging comments weren't born from a misguided sense of morality. They were just doing what they'd always done. What they always would do. Grabbing a hold of Adam's chain for the sole purpose of yanking him around, they would glean their satisfaction from provoking him to anger. They did not care about anything other than his reaction. Not the sting of their words as they smarted, hitting a little close to nerve after nerve. Not the things their statements might lead others to believe, or the way they would sit on Adam later. No, they were just looking for a rise, something that, squaring his chin and shoulders as he passed them, Adam refused to provide.

"Which thing was that?" Jeff Bonner asked. "I reckon, we've heard more than a few."

"Oh, you know, the one we were told the other night."

"You're gonna have to be more specific."

"I'm talking about his fondness for whores, of course," Jeff Bonner said.

They weren't worth it, Adam reminded himself, forcing his feet to take one forward step after another. Engaging them wouldn't solve anything. It would come at a much higher cost than he was willing to pay.

"Ah, Jeff, it ain't like that information is new. At least, not to us. Back in the day, when the three of us used to consider each other friends, I recall he had quite the penchant for such company."

"I do recall. I also recall that his pa had quite a few things to say about that, which leads me to wonder what he's saying about this."

"Sayin' about what?"

"Our boy's appointment as sheriff, of course."

"Oh, come on now. You and I both know that Ben Cartwright stood in opposition to his son takin' Roy Coffee's place."

"We do."

"Do you know what else Ben Cartwright used to stand in opposition of?"

"What's that, Rick?"

"His boys fallen behind on their hygienics. What was it that old man used to say when one of his kids took to growing their hair a little too long, or neglected to trim the daily growth sprouting over their chins?"

"Well, I do believe he likened them to riverboat gamblers. No, sir, the Great Ben Cartwright never did take kindly to having his boys represent him or themselves any other way than respectfully."

"I reckon that was a lesson were lost on his oldest boy," Rick Bonner said. "After all, you and I have known for a long while now about Adam's fondness for working gals, and now there he stands, no more than three feet away, having not shaved for what looks like months."

"Well, maybe that's what his dear old pa was most upset about."

"The fact that his oldest son dared to show his face around here again?"

"No, sir, I reckon what he was most pissed off about was his oldest son showing up with a beard. Well, that and the other thing."

"The tale that gal, Laura Dayton, told about him in her diary, you mean. Do you think it was true?"

"Of course, it was true," Jeff Bonner said. "You know as well as I do that Adam ain't never been the kind to be made into an honest man by no woman. There were a few occasions when he allowed one of them to put a ring in his nose for a time, but he wouldn't ever be hogtied. When his cousin came along and rustled that gal away from him, he let it happen, because that woman had already lifted her skirts and given him what he was really after."

"The way I understand it, she kept lifting her skirts and givin' it to him, even after she had married his cousin. I do believe that is the thing his father disapproved of the most."

Just keep walking, Adam silently seethed when the offhand comment threatened to stifle his

forward movement and implore him to close the gap between them to directly and violently react to their criticisms. He simply wouldn't do it, he thought. The only thing worse than stomaching their jabs was responding to them. He had no intention of giving them what they wanted.

Finally entering the telegraph office, he firmly slammed a dollar down on the counter, a superfluous payment for dispatching his reply to Lil. He let the operator keep the change, an incentive that did not come without stipulations. Adam was clear, the man was to exercise discretion when it came to his personal affairs. The last thing he needed was for word of Peggy Dayton's whereabouts, or Noah and Lil's impending arrival to spread through town before he had a chance to explain things himself.

He exited the office in a huff and stalked through the thoroughfare. Though he had been able to control himself in the face of the Bonner Brothers taunting jeers, their assessments had left him unsettled and inflamed. His message to Lil instilled within him a deep sense of agitation. What was he thinking allowing her to bring his young son here? Would such a thing prove to help the boy, or would it damn him to become an oblivious subject of the townsfolk's defamatory confabulations? What would his father think of such a development? How would his brothers feel? How would he explain the truth—or hide it—once his family was introduced to his son?

"Adam Cartwright!" the sour declaration rang out, drawing Adam's attention to the saloon across the street. Through the dusty front window, he could see the building was modestly filled, the batwing doors through which patrons would enter or exit were empty but swinging. Billy Buckley stood, disgruntled and inflated. "You're gonna pay."

Adam could not immediately discern if the man was sober or if he had spent the night drinking—if he was the one who had recently exited the saloon and left the batwing doors swinging. It didn't matter either way. Sober or not, he could not tolerate someone of Buckley's stature calling him out in the street. Though the folks traveling the thoroughfare seemed to be ignoring their fledgling interaction for now, this was a situation the badge pinned to Adam's chest left him no choice but to address.

Coming to a stop in front of the boardwalk lining the saloon, Adam shoved his thumbs between his gun-belt and the waistband of his pants, hanging his hands low as he looked up at Buckley. "Billy," he said, forcing an even tone and stern expression.

Buckley's resentment did not wane. "I want what you took from me!" he seethed.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know!"

"I'm sure I don't." Though Adam had an inkling, a growing suspicion regarding the accusation at hand. The only thing he had done—the only manner in which he could recall affronting Buckley—since his return or the day he had become sheriff of the town was to kick the man out of Eileen Terry's room.

"I want it!" Buckley declared, his eyes narrowed and gleaming.

It was then Adam finally deduced that Buckley was impaired, his current mysterious accusation bolstered by slight inebriation. Oddly, he found he was a little disappointed by the revelation. With the way the day was unfolding, it might have been nice to engage in a real fight. Not that even under the most perfect of circumstances Buckley was a match for him. A man of his ordinary stature and cantankerous disposition never would be. Still, Adam would have welcomed a physical scuffle; it would be a palatable development which would allow him to diminish his own budding discontent and unease. It wasn't to be. Not that morning, at least.

"I think it's time for you to go home," Adam said.

"I'm not going anywhere. I ain't gonna do anything you ask me to."

"Well, lucky for both of us, I'm not asking. I'm telling."

"Well, I ain't listening to you!"

Pursing his lips, Adam considered the precariousness of their mutual predicament. He did not want to speak to Buckley any more than the man wanted to listen to him, but there was a difference between wants and needs, and duty had an aggravating way of superseding both.

"Get home, Billy, and sleep the night off," he said firmly, leaving no room for contumacy. "I'm not going to warn you again."

Visibly affronted by the order, Buckley frowned and reached for his gun. Adam sprung forth, standing in front of him on the boardwalk in an instant. Taking a hold of Buckley's wrist, he held it tightly, forcing him to aim the weapon skyward. "What the hell's wrong with you?" he hissed, ushering the man off of the boardwalk and into a nearby alleyway.

A brawl was one thing, but a gunfight was something else entirely. An audience was the last thing they needed, prying eyes that would bolster Buckley's insolent determination and further siphon Adam's authority. Pulling Buckley's gun from his hand, he held it in a non-threatening way as he shoved the man away from him.

Buckley took a few unstable steps backward before his back hit the side of the saloon. He stared at Adam, hatred burning in his eyes. "I want it!" he bellowed.

Adam glanced at Buckley's gun, held tightly in his hand.

"How dare you take it from me!" Buckley continued. "A man like you has no business having anything around here at all! I know what you are, Adam Cartwright! I know what you've done!"

It was the third time that day Adam had been forced to shoulder accusations. He could abide the whispered rumors but there was something deeply troubling about the notion that a drunken man was the only one would dare accuse him outright. "And what about you?" he demanded, finally relinquishing what little remained of his finite patience.

Shoving Buckley's gun into his gun-belt, he advanced, and stood so close to the other man that their noses were almost touching. Taking a firm hold of the front of Buckley's shirt, he shoved him further against the side of the building, his hazel eyes darkening with fury. "Man," he said, his voice deep, dangerous, and grinding. "All I am hearing out of you is a lot of cheap, drunken talk. You think you know things about me because of some asinine fairytale Laura Dayton wrote to entertain herself? You think you know me now because of who I was six years ago? You don't. Boy, you have no idea who you're talking to, the man the passing years have turned me into, or the things I will do to you if you don't calm down and quit."

"You ain't gonna do nothing!"

"There are going to be serious consequences if you continue to make yourself a problem for me."

"The truth is the only thing that's causin' you problems."

"You have no idea what the truth really is. You probably couldn't comprehend it even if you did."

"Are you calling me dumb?!"

"I sure ain't calling you smart. And just because I'm not certain you're intelligent enough to glean another truth that's looking you right in the face, I'm going to explain it to you outright. Roy Coffee isn't the sheriff of this town anymore; I am. It isn't his law that's governing these parts now; it's mine. If you continue to make yourself a problem for me, then I might just find myself in a mind to do what Coffee didn't after you gunned Ed Payson down."

"That was a fair gunfight, and you know it!"

"Sure it was," Adam scoffed bitterly. "It was as fair as any other which took place between one man who's dying to win and another who's just plain dying to die. It was as fair as the gunfight between Ed Payson and Dave Cass. It's easy for a swift gun to win when faced with a slow one, and it's even easier to win against a man who won't fight at all. Payson did time for what he did, Billy. You walked away without recourse."

"That's because everyone around here was sure of my innocence, and I was innocent, no matter what you believe. Sheriff Coffee, he knew that!"

"Well, I know different. You're a coward, Billy, a sniffling and incessant pain in the ass. You weren't a match for Ed Payson. He could have killed you if he really wanted to, and if he would have been able to continue living with the blood of yet another man marking his hands, he just might have. You didn't win that gunfight; you got lucky. You won't be as fortunate if you keep pestering me. I'd be really careful how I was conducting myself if I were you. I better not hear of you fueling or adding to old rumors, and if you ever try to draw your gun against me again, I will shoot you and then I'll hang you. I'll make an example of you, Billy; I'll string you up for the whole town to see."

He let go of Buckley abruptly. Without the stabilizing force of his powerful grip, Buckley stood on swaying legs, nearly toppling over to sit in the dirt.

"I'm keeping your gun for now," Adam said. "Think of it as the consequence of your actions. I'll give it back when you learn to keep a civil tongue in your mouth and prove to me that you can act right."

Turning his back on Buckley, Adam strode purposefully toward the thoroughfare, intent on leaving both the man and the morning's difficulties behind.

"And what about you?" Buckley roared after him. "I know what you are, Adam! I know what you've done! What about you? What's going to happen to you? Who's going to strip you of your gun and make you pay for what you did? Who's going to hold you accountable for your sins?

You can't hide behind Roy Coffee's badge forever! You can't pretend you're anything other than the monster you've become!"

Neither man could have predicted the nerve the questions and accusations would so unexpectedly and directly hit—or the person it would lead Adam to think of. Surely, Buckley had meant to invite torpid contemplations about Laura Dayton or Eileen Terry. Certainly, after all that had already been said, no word that could escape Buckley's mouth should have unsettled Adam at all. But they did. Hesitating in place, he hung his head as he was consumed by thoughts of Will and the small, dank room in San Francisco where his cousin was being kept captive and drugged into oblivion by the opium being forced into his veins.

"Have you seen Will, lately?" Joe's question rose from his memory to echo damningly in his ears.

Adam shook his head. He had not seen Will in a while, but that did not mean he did not know where he was. It did not mean that he had not been the one to put him in his abhorrent place.

"What do you think you would do if he did come back?"

Adam didn't know. He didn't know how long he could hide Will in San Francisco. He didn't know what he would do with his cousin when he could no longer keep him there. One way or another, he would have to summon the courage to answer these questions. He would have to decide what to do. Someday, somehow, Will would have to be moved. He would have to be dealt with in a more permanent way, either saved or damned completely. And when that day came, everyone would know the truth—just as Buckley had rabidly declared. What would Pa do when presented with it? What would Hoss, Joe, or even Roy Coffee think? What would Buckley, the Bonner Brothers, and the townsfolk have to say about him then? How would he protect Noah—or Peggy—from any of it?

He turned absently, looking at but not really seeing Buckley. He lifted his hand and rested it on the outside of his shirt pocket, the tip of his index finger idly stroking the grizzly photograph hidden beneath the material. He thought of the woman, the way her body had been violated and brutalized, the way he had awoken next to her, naked and screaming, his own tortured cries implicating him, declaring his culpability for whatever had taken place. His memories of their interaction were fragmented and fuzzy; he remained without a full picture of what had taken place. Had she taken his clothes off? Had he allowed her to do so? Had he done more to that woman's body than awaken next to it and scream? Had he employed her? Had he laid with her, too? He didn't want to think—he just couldn't believe—he would do that. He was haunted by what he did not know, and all it seemed certain he never could. What did it matter if he ever recalled the truth? His wife was gone, and the prostitute was dead. Eddie had once loved him, the prostitute had once been alive, and, shamefully, during his lifetime, he had known occasions in which he had awoken next to both of them.

The morning following the evening Eddie had left, Adam had awoken to find her side of the bed empty. She was gone, and he was still here, left alone to shoulder the burden of all they had lost. The morning following the night the prostitute was killed, Adam had awoken to find himself laying naked next to her covered in her blood. She was dead, and he was still alive, left alone to be tortured by all he could not know and the one single thing he did. He had been there when she had died. Whether he had laid with or killed her or not, he had been there and that meant things should have been different. She could have and should have been saved. No matter what had happened, her blood was on his hands. It would never go away; it could never be washed off or forgotten. He didn't want to forget, so he clung to the photograph of her corpse, a grotesque talisman, reminding him of not who he really was, but of who he thought he had become. He allowed that image to lead him, not toward the things he still had, rather further and further away from where he belonged. "Open your eyes," the prostitute's bloodied form had once implored him in a dream. Even now, he still hesitated, unwilling to heed her ghoulish advice. He didn't kill her. He knew that much—which really wasn't much at all. Though he suspected Will might have been responsible for her death, he wasn't certain. He could never be certain, and he was not yet brave enough to consider what such a thing could or would mean—to himself or his father, to Will, or to Peggy, the surrogate daughter he and his cousin were destined to share. If forced to, how would he explain the photograph in his possession to them? How would he explain it to Eddie, should he ever see her again? How could he answer his family's questions, shoulder their accusations, disappointment and disgust, when he could not contend with his own?

"I don't know who's going to punish me for my sins," Adam said impulsively, yet another statement which was better left unsaid. He knew Will was a deviant, a barbarian, but what kind of monster had he himself become? A principled, rational man did not do the things he had done. "But it sure as shit isn't going to be you, Billy."

"You're gonna pay!" Billy roared as Adam left him drunken and swaying in the alleyway. It wasn't long before the force of the building behind his back was no longer enough to bolster his balance. His feet gave out beneath him, and he sunk to sit in a heavy heap on the ground. "Just wait and see! You can't walk away from what you've done! Soon, there'll come a day when you're gonna pay for it all! You'll get yours, and I'll have what's mine! I'll take back everything you've takenfrom me!"

Squaring his shoulders and chin, Adam stood tall and walked on. One day, there would be a price to pay for all he had done and everything he had not. In the meantime, he would allow his son to come to Virginia City; he would do his best to carve out a place for Noah aside his father and brothers, and he would keep Peggy away. When the time eventually came for the truth to come out and he and Will were held accountable for their respective sins, in his family's care, Noah would be okay. At his young age, the boy would not comprehend the egregious nature of the things his father was responsible for. Peggy would never be okay. Though she was old enough to comprehend the things Adam had done, she would never understand why he had done them. She would never forgive him for acting in such a barbaric manner; she would not be able to prevent herself from comparing his behavior to that of Will. In the same way, Adam and his own father had been torn apart, he and Peggy would be torn apart. The truth would devastate and demolish them; their relationship wouldn't be strong enough to withstand it. How could it be? When Adam was not strong enough to withstand it himself?

As he stepped into the thoroughfare, he was abruptly grabbed by the shoulder, pulled back into the alley, and then spun roughly around. Clenching his hands into fists, Adam prepared to swing at Buckley, but the second he looked upon his opponent, he faltered. Eyes widening, his heartbeat quickened, and his stomach turned with a unique sense of dread.

"What are you doing here?" he asked breathlessly.

Adam's shock and fear paralyzed him, freezing his arms as they hung heavy at his sides, holding his feet in place for a beat too long. He was met with silence as his head exploded with pain and the world around him went black.

Blood was still dripping down the side of his face when he finally came to, disheveled and bewildered, to find his shirt pocket emptied and torn from his lapel, and Billy Buckley's gun stripped from his gun-belt. Sitting against the side of the saloon, he blinked slowly, blearily watching as Roy Coffee continued to apprehend three men he believed responsible for the assault. There was not a familiar face among them.

TBC