Author's Note:

I recently started re-watching Bonanza, a beloved series from my youth, and came up with this idea that I decided to pursue and develop into a story. Truthfully, I wrote it for myself, but I hope that someone else out here gets some enjoyment out of it as well. Please don't read too critically, this is, I suppose, just my version of McCartney's "Silly Love Songs", and working on it helped me through a low period.

The rating will be set to T for now, just to be safe. It may become M as the story progresses.

The title comes from a song of the same name by Rose Cousins.

XxXxXxXxXxX

It was a beautiful day. The sun, for the first time that year, had some real warmth in it. All of the winter's snow was gone, and there was no ice left on the creeks. They'd hardly lost a calf this year, and they'd put up enough hay to sell some excess. Overall, it was enough to make a rancher's heart happy. But Adam wasn't happy.

Resting his forearm on the saddle horn, reins dangled loosely over his fingers, he tried to determine just exactly where things had gone wrong.

Of course, if he was being honest with himself, he needn't think very hard.

Three years ago he'd made Blythe Morrison his wife, and roughly two years and ten months ago, he'd begun to think he had made the wrong choice. By now, he knew he'd made the biggest mistake of his life, but he had no way of undoing it.

"Well, come on, Sport. We'd better be getting back," he said reluctantly.

Sport, seemingly sensing his master's hesitation, was not his usual prancing self. He took his time crossing the meadows and picking his way around the rocks and boulders. By the time he reached the home gate, it was nearly dark.

He recalled the many times he'd ridden into the Ponderosa late, the glow of the lantern light in the window beckoning him warmly home. He had never approached his father's front door with the dread he felt each time he approached his own.

He walked in, hung up his coat and hat, and unbuckled his holster.

"Blythe?" he called.

After a moment she appeared on the stairs.

"Out late again," she said with a scowl.

"It's only dark, not late."

"Don't argue with me," she said sharply. "You know arguing before supper gives me indigestion."

She came down the stairs and passed him without a glance, crossing into the dining room where he could hear her thumping the dishes down on the sideboard and table.

He took his customary seat at the head of the table and ladled stew, made by Edna, their cook and housekeeper, into his bowl. He tried to ignore his wife's growling and rattling of cutlery, but found it difficult.

"Must we do this every evening?" he asked. "Can we not sit down together as friends and enjoy a meal?"

"As friends? Friends?" she demanded.

He could tell by her tone of voice that there would be no reprieve, and he suddenly lost his appetite.

"I'm going to bed," he said, pushing back his chair.

"And here I thought it wasn't late," she spat.

"I'm tired."

She stood up, flipping over her bowl of stew and sending it splattering all over the white tablecloth.

"Blythe," he said reproachfully.

"Don't you Blythe me!"

Adam turned his back and went to the row of hooks near the front door and donned his coat and hat once again.

"Pa's asked for my help putting in some new fences. I said I'd be there tomorrow but I'm leaving now. I'll be gone for a few days."

He grabbed his holster and put his hand on the doorknob when he felt a fist land in the middle of his back. He turned and was met with a hand coming down hard on his cheek. He grabbed her wrist before she could strike again.

"I've told you not to hit me," he said, his temper threatening to boil over.

"Papa calls and you scurry along like a pup that's been summoned to its master," she said. "A pup needs a good slap now and then."

"You're trying to goad me into doing something I'll regret and it won't work. I'll see you in a few days."

She slapped at his back again as he walked out the door, but he didn't turn around.

He was hesitant to saddle Sport again, feeling guilty that he'd already put in a day's work, but at that moment he felt that his mount was the only friend he had, and he needed a friend.