Where the Sugar Bush Grows

by StarGzer

Ben Riley and a mule named Lizzy embroil the Lancers in danger.

Where the Sugar Bush Grows

Chapter 1

Johnny did the loading while he pitched. His legs were too long and his back too narrow for neat handling of baled hay, but his length gave him greater leverage on a pitchfork. Sweat striped his forearms down through the dirt rings around his wrists, his gloves already wet with perspiration. Scott leaned on the fork, taking a breather. It would be green in Boston this time of the year, with enough color to hurt your eyes. And still cool in the mornings for a coat while riding along the Commons. But here, he'd given up any pretense of wearing a jacket several weeks ago.

They were getting in the last of this hay crop. The field had been planted in alfalfa but suffered because of the spring drought and had been cut for hay. It figured out to be three full wagonloads at the most.

They were on their fourth.

"You just gonna dally at the end of that pitchfork? Or are you gonna work?" The impudent words with a hint of hurry-up came from the innermost regions of the high wagon. Johnny—hidden deep between the yellow walls. He sighed a little, his mind turning from the vibrant colors back home—and surely they had been that bright—to the brownness that was Lancer.

The sun was high overhead, but they still hurried. It was several miles to the home barn and once there, other chores waited. He leaned far over the hay and shoved his pitchfork down until the tines reverberated off the hard-packed adobe floor. The shock sent shivers from his gloved hands to his shoulders. He swayed back, pushing the handle far underneath the mound, then heaved hard. It was the final insult, and the heaviness of the load made his right arm quiver.

The hay crashed into the wagon where Johnny walked back and forth, building the walls straight and true. He seemed to have a knack for it.

The fork sang when it hit the floor again, gathering up a few wisps of hay left behind. Scott tossed them up and straightened, rolling his shoulders.

Johnny's voice floated downward from the wagon again, this time the insolence was gone, replaced by a bonhomie drawl.

"You know, Scott, you sure can pitch hay. If you ever wanted to quit Lancer, you could find a lot of work."

Scott pushed his hat back and slapped off one damp glove full of hay seeds. "I do believe it's the stacker that shows the greater skill." He looked at the wagon with a critical eye, its shimmering mound of hay looking impossibly high. "Are you sure it's going to make it back to Lancer in one piece?"

Johnny jumped down from the back, bringing dust and hay with him. He looked at the load appreciatively. "Those other three made it back okay, didn't they? You're gonna have to learn to trust the stacker."

Scott grinned. "But those others were decidedly smaller than this last one."

"Did you want to make this an all-day deal?"

"Point taken, Brother."

The four horses tethered to the straggly trees were restless, stamping in their leathers, but they went into their traces well enough. Although heavy animals, they seemed almost too small to move the mountain of hay.

As Scott settled the pitchforks into the back and pinned the tailgate, he heard Johnny calling out.

"Hey Jingo, Ace, Paco! Get up!"

By the time he climbed into the box seat beside his brother, the other three horses were already pulling their traces taut. But the wagon hadn't budged. Scott gripped his seat, wedging a foot against the boot, when Johnny yelled for the second time.

"Hey—Patsy!"

Patsy was always saved for last. She was a marvel coming into her collar, and almost pulled the left wheeler out of place with her surge. The wagon lurched and rolled a bit, leather and wood creaking together until they gathered forward momentum. Hooves clopped against the dry ground as they dug in to gain purchase. Soon enough the wagon lumbered past the storage lean-to.

"And so it goes." Scott wriggled in his seat and found the sweet spot, slumping into it with a decided lack of grace. He pulled his hat low across his brow. "Wake me when we get home, and I'll see about helping you unload."

"You do that, brother." Johnny flicked the reins across the rumps of Jingo and Paco. "You mind telling me why I'm doing all the driving?"

"Because I did all the heavy lifting."

"Well that does seem about even, doesn't it?" Johnny remarked.

Scott caught his brother's sly grin and found himself trying not to smile—and failing. He tugged his hat still lower, over his eyes. "For now, anyway."

The sound of Johnny's quiet chuckle eased into the rhythmic bumping of the wagon and jingle of harnesses, lulling him into a doze.

Something out of place woke him. "Johnny, did you hear that?"

"I can't hear anything over the wagon and your snores."

The sound came again, weaker this time. He laid a hand on the reins. "Wait a minute."

They both listened to the air…it was a cross between a snort and whimper.

They turned in the wagon seat to stare at a strapping mule standing just beyond a small copse of trees. She stumbled forward a bit, shifting weight off her injured leg. Johnny set the brake and both men climbed down and moved towards the animal.

A trickle of blood ran from a shallow wound across the mule's cream-colored withers, while a deeper gash marred the shoulder to the knee.

"I wish we knew where she came from, there's no brand," Scott said.

Johnny held the worn halter and ran a finger down her smooth nose. "The only place around here is old Ben Riley's. But I don't remember him even having a mule."

Scott thought hard about Riley. He knew little about the old man, save for the trouble between him and his nephew last year in town. And when the furor died down, and everything had been taken away from him, Ben slipped out of town to his small parcel of land—and out of everyone's thoughts.

He crouched beside the mule's leg, looking closer at the wound. "The bleeding seems to be letting up. It doesn't look too deep except for this end. What do you think—stitches? "

Johnny shook his head. "Might be better to let it heal from the inside. It should be cleaned out, though. Then we can take her back to the house."

The mule's breathing was raspy, ending on a whimper. Scott ran his hand lightly down its neck, feeling the animal's skin twitch and pull under his fingers. Wherever she'd come from, the trip hadn't been an easy one. "She's had a hard time, Johnny. And we're a lot closer to Riley's place than Lancer right now."

"What are you saying, Scott?"

"Just this, you can drive the wagon home then send someone back with bandages and my horse. In the meantime, I'll stay here with her so she can rest."

"Makes sense, but what if she's not Riley's mule?"

"Then maybe he knows who she belongs to…she's been well taken care of in the past."

Johnny looked back at the full wagon where Patsy was pawing the ground. He shrugged. "It's your time; I'll send one of the boys back as soon as I get home."

Scott nodded and waved him off, his thoughts turning back to the mule and Benjamin Riley.

~o~o~o~

Their travel was slow. Scott topped out on a rise and paused to let the mule rest again. The hills were hung with shadows on the eastern side. The breeze had changed direction and coolness seemed to float upwards from the ground. A mountainside carved into the valley, white trunks of aspen guarding its flat benches. A small cabin was tucked up alongside its base with a corral and barn laid out to the side in a neat fashion. He put heels to his horse's sides and led the mule down.

It was a silent world at the Riley place. No cackling of hens, no rattling of buckets, no opening of doors. No sound and no movement. He pulled in by the corral and dismounted. It was a rickety affair, a mass of sticks strewn together with baling wire and a few nails. The barn was in no better shape. A door hung crazily off its uppermost hinge; dry rot twisting the wood.

"Hello?" Only an echo accompanied his voice.

He tied the mule to a corral post and walked to the barn. Caution intervened and he drew out his pistol. Pulling on the door, it rasped on rusty hinges and opened outward. Doves scattered in the uppermost beams, filling the air with dust motes. A sack of grain was tipped on its side beside a coffee can, contents spilling onto the floor. Skittering across the wooden slating, a fat mouse trailed seeds from his free meal. The only stall was empty and clean—if rundown. Scott holstered his weapon and walked back to the mule.

He felt her shoulder; it was warm to his fingertips, and she was fidgety, blowing out an insistent bray. Looking at the cabin, he frowned. Suppose there was no one here? Or worse—suppose something had happened to Riley?

LLLLL

When thoughts crept into his mind of what lay in wait for poor Lizzy past the corral bars, Benjamin Riley slammed the door on them. No point to it now, he told himself. He picked at the yellowed lace doily on the arm of his chair, feeling a frown draw his lips down. There was nothing he could do because he didn't know what to do. If anything had happened to her….

He jerked his head up at the loud whinny coming from outside.

Lizzy?

Getting his legs underneath him, he went to the window. Miracle of miracles, the mule was standing behind a stranger with her head held low, blowing out every so often. She'd had a good run all right.

The boy—a young man really—was lanky with a frame that'd edge towards skinny without hard work to shape it. A pang of familiarity struck him as the man pushed the brim of his hat upwards revealing eyes that didn't miss much as he looked around the place.

Where did he know this boy from? Was he one of Tommy's friends? Fear surged up and he fumbled with the curtain at the windowsill. With the sound of his frantic heartbeat thudding in his ears, he peeked through the filmy gauze of the curtain at the figure in his courtyard.

Sweat-darkened bangs framed a forehead shadowed with annoyance, but there was no potent anger seen in the stranger's open, angular face. His loose shoulders ran straight and broad—nothing to hide there. The holster around his hips held a pistol although yellow gloves tucked into the belt covered its handle. Weighing one against the other, the scales tipped in favor of the man. And he had brought Lizzy back home.

His mind was made up. Fate be damned, he had to see if the mule had hurt herself. Blowing out a breath to quell the jitteriness thrumming inside him, he lifted the revolver from its resting place on the table beside the chair and stuck it into the belt cinched around his overalls. He stood and reached for the whorled walking stick standing sentry beside the door. The stick made him look weak—he hated using it—but he'd be hard pressed to make it to corral without it. He blew out a second heavy breath and slid the knob into his clammy palm.

The cane echoed on the planked porch. Enough so both the stranger and Lizzy eyed him with concern. Ben shifted weight from his bad leg onto the good left one and stepped off the porch.

Drawing his body up as high as he could, he wagered he was still a few good inches short of the boy's collar. The gun in his belt lay heavy against the knot in his belly. Ben drew his hand alongside it, wanting it to stand out.

The man standing by his mule noticed the pistol all right, looking at it with a crease building between his eyes.

Ben put forward his best scowl and jabbed the air with his stick. "You there. What did you do to my mule?"

The stranger looked nonplussed, placing his hands on hips. "Mr. Riley? All I'm doing is bringing your mule back."

The voice was a bit odd-sounding—cultured—to his old ears. Ben shuffled a foot to the side and cocked his head.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm Scott Lancer."

"Lancer?" His mind spun, trying to pin down a particular thought. "Murdoch's boy?"

A smile formed, taking the seriousness out of the young man's grey-blue eyes. "One of them, anyway."

One of Murdoch's sons. The icy fear slithered away. He'd heard stories—town gossip—maybe this one had arrived when he was still living in the house on Beale Street over to Green River. Quick movement interrupted his thoughts; Lancer had closed the gap between them. He didn't have enough time to grab at his gun before the boy was standing in front of him, thrusting out his hand.

He studied it for a while then held out his own hand.

Scott Lancer's handshake was solid, full of confidence—a young man's handshake. His own misshapen hand felt small and insignificant in the stranger's large one. A quick stab of envy had him looking away for a moment. When had he gotten so old?

"Sir? Your mule has been injured."

Ben looked past the man's shoulder to where Lizzy stood. A cry caught in his throat as he trundled forward.

There was a bandage wrapped around her foreleg, dried blood had turned her coat orange all the way down to her fetlock. Lizzy drew her head up and pushed her nose into his shaky palm. He whispered into her ear, "My poor girl. What happened to you?"

The deep voice behind him was startling—the boy was too quick. "She was on our land. My brother and I found her near our hay field."

Ben patted Lizzy's shoulder and fingered the bandage. How…?

"She was injured when we found her. Hard to tell what might have happened to her out there alone." He crouched down to pull up the dressing a bit. "She'll need tending for the next few days.

"I don't want charity."

Lancer stared out him for a few moments, thinking hard on something. And then he was walking again, those long strides taking him towards the barn.

Ben drove his walking stick into the hard-packed dirt, the sharp rap of wood against earth rumbled through the courtyard. "What are you doing?" he yelled.

The answer came from within the barn. "She'll need food and water for the night."

Ben followed into the barn where Lancer was already finishing up pitching hay into Lizzy's feedbox.

He grabbed at the boy's hands, now poking into his last feed bag with the old coffee can. "Here now, I didn't ask you do this."

Scott Lancer's voice was soft. "It needs done, Mr. Riley."

The guilt came, sharp and hurtful.

"For her sake."

It was the only thing he could have said that would save him a chewing, thought Ben. He let go and leaned against the wall, watching. "Lizzy only gets one can, topped off." He thought he heard a sigh as the boy looked up to the rafters, then a few quiet words followed.

"She'll need more…she's injured."

His walking stick came down again. "She won't take it. I know her, only one can at night. It's all Lizzy's ever eaten."

The hands were stilled, and the can placed back on shelf.

"Your hay…it's musty."

Ben's head came up, tipping his jaw outward. "It was good enough when I got it." In town, how long ago?

A half-smile curved the boy's lips. "I know where you can get some more."

"I don't want…"

"I know…you don't want charity. It wouldn't be you know, just one neighbor helping another."

Silence ensued.

"At least let me get Lizzy settled in for you."

It was within Ben to refuse, but the sharp pain going up his leg made him nod. He watched the boy go to the corral and untie the mule. His head bent close to her twitching ears while the old girl lipped his fingers. Lizzy liked him—and that bumped Lancer up a few notches in his estimation.

She hobbled into her clean stall and dug right into her feed. Ben nodded. Good water and oats were all the mule would need to get better. He drew his hand across Lizzy's spiky mane, then walked to the barn door.

Slapping the dust from his trousers, Lancer turned to him. "Mr. Riley, do you live out here by yourself?"

He straightened to his full height. "What of it?"

"Nothing, nothing…it's just…"

He followed the boy's glance to the corral. When had the bars fallen? And the barn door, swinging open like it was—halfway off its hinge. He felt Lancer's eyes upon him, assessing. Guilt poked him again...it was his fault Lizzy was hurt, and the boy knew!

Ben straightened up, feeling his spine crack. "You need to leave now."

The boy jostled with the crown of his hat, bringing it down over his forehead. "I'm leaving, but I'll be back with supplies—for Lizzy—tomorrow." He raised his gloved hand at Ben's interruption. "If you won't take charity, maybe she will."

He mounted his horse with a fluidity Ben could only dream of from long ago.

"We've been down to bedrock before, haven't we old girl? We always came out on top, without any help from strangers. And we don't need anyone now." Ben made sure his voice carried with the breeze. Made sure the boy knew he wasn't welcome to mess in his business.

Lancer shifted in the saddle, gave one last glance around and nodded in understanding.

It was quiet after he left, except for two barn doves nestling down for the evening, scratching in the rafters. Ben peered down the trail to where young Lancer hadn't wasted any time moving out, then back to poor Lizzy, standing with her bandaged leg cocked forward. No, they didn't need anybody, him and Lizzy….

God hates liars, he thought bitterly.

Chapter 2

Benjamin Riley had nothing left. Except that dirt-scratch piece of land…and Lizzy. Scott roused himself from that thought to find his horse was picking up speed; they were nearing the home corral and the arch of Lancer showed bone white in the evening twilight. They swept into the courtyard. The hay wagon had been pulled in beside the barn—already positioned for tomorrow's work—its bulk throwing long shadows onto the adobe walls.

He unbridled his horse at the barn door and slapped its rump. The animal walked ahead, finding its stall amid nickers from Barranca and Patsy. The draft horse in the barn was surprising; usually they stayed in the corral if needed to work the next day, or in the pasture if not. Another surprise—there was already feed in the bucket and hay in the manger for his horse, probably Johnny's doing. He peeled off the saddle and blanket and set to work. The solitude of the barn wove into his rhythmic brushing and settled frazzled thoughts. Finally satisfied, he flipped the brush into the drawer and pinned the stall's half-door closed on his way outside.

Slipping out of his shirt, he gave the pump handle a few quick downward thrusts and doused his head with water. The yellow soap looked new tonight; he took it and lathered up his face and neck, scrubbing ruthlessly. He dunked his head again then eyed the scrap of towel. It was blackened with the grime of many men who had come before him. There were some things he couldn't fathom doing again, and this was one of them. Scott draped the towel over the pump handle and threw back his head, shaking the water from his hair and face.

Johnny had come out of the kitchen door and was headed his way.

"Hey, you're back."

"What'd I miss?" asked Scott.

Johnny held out his hand and waggled his fingers. "Let's see…one, had to pitch off all that hay with the new hand. Two, rode herd on an argument between Jackson and Walt. And three, Patsy came down with a sore on her shoulder."

Scott grinned. "So not much then."

Johnny grinned back. "Not much. I was just on my way to the barn to put some salve on her shoulder."

"She should be laid up til it heals," said Scott.

"She'll get tomorrow off, the south field can hold out for another day, although Murdoch's fussing about it. And Jelly rigged up some fancy padding to fit under her collar, so it won't press on the sore."

Nodding, Scott plunged his arms into the trough up to the elbows.

Johnny walked backwards towards the barn. "Tell me, was she Riley's mule after all?" he asked.

"The mule is named Lizzy. And she's almost as tough as the old man."

"Wait, I want to hear the whole story. Meet you at the house."

On that promise his brother disappeared into the barn. Scott hooked his shirt off the handle and put it back on, leaving it halfway buttoned. He made his way to the kitchen, stopping by the cooler outside the door. It was a tall frame of shelves with burlap nailed around it. Water siphoned over it from a large pan on top. Evaporation kept the butter firm, and it was even known to cool a clay jug or two of Murdoch's wine when festivities called for it. But tonight it held only water. Scott took the dipper and filled it to the brim. The water felt good and clean going down, cutting through the dust in his throat.

The door opened and yellow light spilled out from the interior. Murdoch stepped outside and filled the doorway, blocking most of it. "Scott, I thought I heard your voice!"

"Just arrived." He tipped the dipper towards the sliver of light coming from the stable window. "I passed Johnny going out to fix Patsy."

Murdoch's eyes shot in the direction of the barn. "We may miss a day of haying because of that injury."

"Johnny said the south side could hold off for a day or so."

Murdoch was thoughtful, considering what was said, then conceded the match. "He did, eh? Well…maybe your brother is right. Come on, Teresa kept some dinner for you on the stove."

Scott wanted nothing more than to fling himself into bed with his arm wrapped around a soft pillow. But lifting the striped towel off the plate of food set at the back of the warm stove changed his mind. He hustled it back to the table and sat.

Murdoch filled two ceramic cups and placed one before him. Tasting the coffee, he sat back and enjoyed the flavor on his tongue. Murdoch made it best—better than Maria—though no one would think to tell her so.

His father eased into a chair. "Tell me what happened at Riley's."

Scott felt his good humor slide as he forked up some of Teresa's rosemary chicken. "Not much really. I took the mule back, tried to help him—most of which he refused—and came back home."

Johnny was a red blur as he popped in through the doorway and collapsed into a chair. "So? What's he like?"

He pondered on the reality of the question. Riley was a small frowning man, at once disheveled, unshaven, and dirty. Taken at face value he would turn most people away—it wouldn't take them long to learn he was a man with a mile-wide streak of raw toughness. But anyone who could care for an animal that much….

Fending off Johnny's attempt to filch a bit of chicken, he replied, "I would say Benjamin Riley is a force to be reckoned with, or at least he was. But right now he's tired."

"Where'd he come from, Murdoch?" asked Johnny.

Murdoch leaned back against his chair. "The story goes that Ben Riley was a hard luck prospector from the played-out strikes in Coloma Valley. He was already in Green River by the time I returned from Mexico…," he looked to Johnny, "searching for you and your mother."

"He drifted in and out of town the next few years. Then in '52, Riley—drunk out of his mind—stumbled off an arroyo and fell down. Grabbing for a handhold, he pulled out a clump of greenery and the Monarch Mine was born. You see, boys, there were gold flecks on the roots of that plant."

He watched his father's face, to see if there was a smile to go along with the story. There wasn't. He caught Johnny thinking the same thing—disbelief mirrored in his eyes.

"He sobered up and filed a claim for the land. Kept it quiet until he started paying off his debts in gold."

"I bet that got people's attention," said Johnny.

Murdoch nodded. "The worst kind. A few other men followed Riley and placed claims around his land. Some lucky some not so lucky. Green River boomed, at least on the eastern side where the Monarch was found and drew in a bad element. Ben had some trouble with poachers. Rumors started he was hoarding gold and threatening anyone who stepped foot on his land. That he was getting soft in the head."

"After that, everyone steered clear of Riley, while the Monarch went in spurts and stops. Ben always said it would strike pure…'ten thousand to the ton'. Tall talk from someone who started out with one gold pan and the shirt on his back and still didn't have much to show for it."

"The excitement died off when the mines stopped producing, miners moved out and ranchers moved in. Then a couple of years before you two arrived, Ben brought his nephew to Green River to manage the working of the Monarch and protect his interests. Probably the biggest mistake he made."

His chicken picked over and pushed to the side, he was aware of a scraping noise from under the table as his father untangled his legs to stand up. Scott thought about last year, seeing Tom Darcy and Ben Riley coming out of the attorney's office. "So, the old man was declared incompetent and lost the mine."

Nodding, Murdoch picked up both cups and placed them on the drain board. He leaned against the counter. "Are you going back to his place?"

Scott sat straighter and looked at Johnny. "I told him I would. The mule needs looking after, I'm not sure if Riley can do it."

Murdoch folded his arms and gave him a long look. "Since Patsy's not working tomorrow, it would be a prime time to get started on the irrigation ditch before the rains come in the fall." His eyes softened, the wrinkles becoming more prominent at the side of them. "But maybe we can shift the crews around."

"No need. I can work it around my other chores."

"Is Riley in a bad way?"

"He's rundown. Just like his cabin and barn."

"Then maybe you need to take some supplies when you go back."

~o~o~o~

Scott squinted against the sun. His eye caught by something on the horizon. If he tried hard enough, he could make out a flutter of red. An incongruous flash of color against the brown of the soil. He blinked and the flag flickered at him again.

"Hold up!" he yelled.

The tang of shovels against hard clay ceased. Someone coughed through the dust and heavy sage, putting a period to the moment. A thin call for help caught in the breeze made its way to his spot by the rear of the wagon. One by one the men heard the noise and turned to face it. A cry went up.

"Man down!"

He and Cipriano were already on their horses.

The wash spilled out into a flat bed of sand. They skirted around the downed animal and found Pudge Wilcox splayed on his back. Pudge's breathing made a hoarse, ugly sound, and when they looked him over, they could see a dark stain spreading on his shirt front and the unnatural bent of his broken left arm. The flag turned out to be a red bandana clutched in Pudge's other hand.

"Didn't think…didn't think I'd ever get you to turn this way," he gasped out. There was blood on the rocks and sand around him and trickling down through his brown curly hair.

"Where's your gun, Pudge?"

New to Lancer, Wilcox was a few years younger than Johnny and had no more experience in the ways of the West than Scott had getting off that stage in Morro Coyo two years ago.

"In my saddle bag, didn't think ta wear it, was just comin' ta give ya a message from your brother."

Pudge stared down at his body curiously. "It feels like I'm stove up inside…somethin' fierce." He turned his head to stare at the piebald, still thrashing on the ground.

"Oh Gawd, my hoss! Is she gonna be all right? Johnny just gave her to me this mawnin'. I never did ride anythin' so flashy."

"Take it easy, boy. Cipriano, ride back and empty one of the wagons. We'll take him to town; it'll save time trying to get the doctor out to Lancer."

The segundo nodded and crossed himself, getting up to his horse. "I will bring back a couple of men to help."

Scott retrieved Pudge's crumpled hat and placed it under the man's head. With nothing more to do except wait for Cipriano, he walked to the horse.

He knew the mare, had worked with her several weeks ago, doing endless circles in the corral. She was solid and sassy. And Pudge had been leaning on the railing the entire time, a grin stretching from ear to ear every time she passed.

The mare started up with an anxious squeal and tried to lunge to her feet, pain making her white-rimmed eyes wide and glassy. Placing a hand on her neck, he stroked the smooth skin. Her back leg kicked out and Scott saw what was wrong. The leg below the knee had bone piercing the skin—all sharp and bloody. Murmuring to her, he ran his hand lightly down her neck and over her shoulder. He scanned the wash. The offending hole was no more than ten feet away. He would have missed it if he hadn't been looking for it.

He edged a look at the boy. Pudge was watching his every move, his face growing white with understanding. He turned away when Scott pulled out his pistol.

The shot was drowned out by the rumble of the wagon and horses.

As they lifted the cowboy into the wagon, Pudge grabbed his sleeve. "I'm sorry…sorry fer thet hoss. She was a good' un," he whispered.

"It'll be all right. We need to get you to the doctor right now."

The cowboy persisted. "Thet message…Johnny said he'd be here in another hour…so's you could leave fer the Riley place."

Cipriano picked up the bandana where it had fallen out of the cowboy's hand and gave it to Scott. "I can take him to town…"

He shook his head and climbed into the box seat. "Keep the crew moving. I'm taking him to Green River—it's closest to this side of the ranch. When Johnny arrives, tell him what happened."

"Si, bueno. We will take care of the horse. Buena suerte."

~o~o~o~

Pressing a hand to the small of his back, Scott straightened and looked down at the boardwalk of Green River. It had taken the doctor a long time to finish with the Lancer cowboy, even with Scott's help. During the exam, the doctor had spouted off the litany of injuries Pudge had sustained like so many groceries on a list: broken ribs and arm, concussion, a ragged tear on his chest and too many bruises to count. The boy had been mostly conscious through all of it until they set the bone. Scott winced; sliding that bone back into place had made his skin crawl.

He stepped off the walkway and out of the welcome shade of the doctor's porch. It was late afternoon and with Pudge staying at the doctor's, he had free time on his hands. But by the time he loaded supplies and set out for Riley's place it would be close to nightfall. Scott swallowed his frustration. The trip would have to wait until tomorrow.

The lure of the saloon beckoned with a stiff drink to wash away the sight of that poor mare as she struggled—and the look from Pudge—when Scott pulled the trigger. He was halfway to his destination when he saw Tom Darcy walk into the bank. Anger kicked him hard. There would be time enough for a drink after a trip to see Howard.

It was quiet in the Green River Bank & Trust this Tuesday. Except for two harsh voices arguing behind the owner's frosted glass door. Howard Hawkins glanced up from inside his teller's cage where a thick green logbook lay open on his easel, creased with black smudges. His white shirt had lost some of its luster and the two buttons at his throat were unfastened. His eyes widened as Scott stood in front of him, then a broad smile split his face. "Scott, what are you doing in town?"

With a creak of wood, Hawkins slipped off his stool and leaned in close, his black visor bumping against the bars. "Looking for pocket money?"

Scott's sense of humor had vanished back at the irrigation ditch with the mare, but he managed a thin smile. "No, but if you happen to have extra lying around, I'll take it."

"Hmph. Like that will ever happen with Mr. Petersen."

Scott braced his elbows on the counter and cocked his head toward the closed door. "Seems like someone is giving Petersen a hard time."

The clerk rolled his eyes and flicked up his visor. "That'd be Mr. Darcy. He's madder'n hell."

"About what?"

Howard looked around him then pressed his face closer to the grill. "Well, I'm not supposed to say, but the Monarch's not doing so well."

Scott's eyebrows rose. "That's no secret…the mine hasn't produced much of anything in years."

Howard reared back, looking like the cat that swallowed a canary. "Yeah, but Monarch Enterprises, the company, isn't doing so well either." He nodded and whispered, "Overextended on credit. He's in there now trying to get another loan extension."

The clerk snapped his book shut. "What'd you come in here for anyway? Murdoch getting antsy about how safe we're keeping his money?"

"Something like that."

The bank owner's door slammed open on its hinges and Darcy, flushed to the roots of his blond hair, stomped out of the office his boot heels clicking hard. Mr. Petersen followed, adjusting a tie against his skinny Adam's apple. His bald head was shiny with sweat. "Hawkins! Next time that man comes in here I want Sheriff Crawford here, too."

Coughing, Howard hid a grin in his hand and winked at Scott. "Yes sir, I'll get the Sheriff right here, Mr. Petersen."

Petersen was looking at his front door. "It just won't do. We need to keep the riff-raff out of the bank." He turned to take in Scott for the first time. "Why Scott Lancer what brings you to the bank?" He looked around anxiously. "Is your father here?"

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Petersen. This is just a social call."

"Well, tell your father we have some interesting prospects opening up in the Wyoming area," he waggled his eyebrows, "he could get in on the ground floor, so to speak."

Scott nodded to him on his way out the door. "I'll be sure to do that."

He found the mine owner on the other side of the street pounding down the boardwalk and managed to waylay him at the mercantile. "Darcy, isn't it?"

"That's right, Tom Darcy. Who are you and what do you want?"

Up close, the man was older and heavier than himself, yellow hair covering a high forehead. "Scott Lancer and I'd like to speak with you about your…"

"Is the Lancer ranch interested in investing?"

Scott felt a sudden cramp in his neck that ran between his shoulder blades. Intense dislike manifested itself as a neck ache. Better there than the nether regions.

"I don't believe in sucker bets, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy's eyes lost their shrewdness and turned hard and glittering. He bent down to select an apple out of the barrel by the storefront and took a bite, letting the juice run down his chin.

"Then I don't believe we have anything to talk about."

"I think we do. It's about your uncle."

Darcy took another bite and cocked his head in mock study. "My uncle? You mean the one who's not right?

Scott scowled to himself, only too aware of what Darcy was hinting. "Your uncle, Benjamin Riley."

"I think we all have skeletons in the closet that are best left there. And he's one of them."

"He's not doing well."

Anger flared. "How dare you speak to me about something of which you have no knowledge. He led me to this godforsaken outpost on empty promises." He laughed bitterly. "Nothing of value has been mined from the Monarch in years and the old man frittered away what little he had before I came. A cruel joke, eh? And I guess it's on me."

"Like I said, Mr. Darcy, your uncle is not doing well."

The older man took a third bite and pitched the apple into the street. "Your mistake is assuming I care. Remember those skeletons, Mr. Lancer. My uncle and I ceased being family years ago." He turned on his heel and left.

A low whistle behind him had Scott turning around.

"What was that all about?" asked Johnny.

Scott shifted his eyes back to Darcy and that peculiar stride of his. All in all, he'd managed to get what he wanted out of the mine owner-an answer as to why Ben Riley was in the state he was in. He let his gaze fall away.

"Just talking about family…or lack thereof." He tapped Johnny's stomach. "Come on, I'll tell you all about it while we load supplies."

~o~o~o~

The full moon cast a ghostly radiance over the house and barn, lending shadows to the trees where there shouldn't be any. Ben's eyes didn't seem to focus properly at night, yet he searched down the lane, just as he'd done every hour. Seeing no one, he limped back to Lizzy's stall. She stood with her head low, tucked into one corner of the stall.

He sat on the hay bale beside a bucket of tepid water and adjusted the lantern wick. Lizzy's breathing was harsh, he'd been trying all day to get the fever out of her leg, but it was still hot to his fingertips. He worried the knob of his walking cane, one thumb rubbing back and forth on the smooth handle.

A stirring was outside…a faint click of hoof against stone. He listened and waited…but the sound moved off. Ben stole another look at Lizzy.

The boy promised he'd come back. Where was he?

Chapter 3

Scott rode up to the Riley place just before mid-morning. Stepping down from the saddle he stood for a moment, taking in the mountainside at the back of the adobe cabin. The aspens were plentiful higher up the slope where the sun shone its full force. Before him lay the corral with its fallen rails and the unruly barn door, but beyond those meager beginnings was the splendor of the sugar bush standing at the mouth of the valley. Vivid against the brown earth, the white blossoms peeked out of the green foliage in defiance of the heat and lack of water. There was something about those large bushes bobbing in the light breeze that gave him a sense of well-being.

An insistent bray echoed into the courtyard from the barn. He tied off his horse and rummaged in his saddlebags, finding what he wanted at the very bottom.

Lizzy was lipping the stall rail above her water bucket. Large yellow teeth reached out to nibble the wood, then set to grinding the top—she was enjoying herself. Her ears pricked, and she turned her head to look at him.

"Come here, girl," he said softly. The mule came halfway and halted, then sidled away. "It's all right, Lizzy," he whispered and held out his hand.

Her nose extended, sniffing his fingers, and found the lump of sugar.

The thump of Ben's cane sounded at the door. "You have a way with her."

Scott went into the stall, with Lizzy snuffling at his shirt pocket. He grinned over his shoulder at Ben. "It's easy enough to do when you have sugar in your hand."

"Hmph, maybe."

Scott ran his hand down her leg, fingertips pulling apart the stained bandage. "A bit warm but nothing like yesterday. She's starting to heal."

Ben chewed on his lower lip, pulling it in and out of his mouth. His hand was busy on the cane handle, his thumb rubbing back and forth. Keeping an eye on him, Scott picked up Lizzy's brush and started to work. He flicked off the loose straw then began on her cream-colored withers raising puffs of dust with each swipe. He watched Ben nod to himself then walk inside the barn. The old man was moving slow and stiff this morning, reaching the hay bale with a soft moan.

Scott paused in his work and looked over Lizzy's back at him. "What is it?"

Ben worked the cane a few more times. "Been thinking on some things."

He slicked more dust from the mule's coat while waiting, then started to work around her ears. Lizzy made it difficult; her ears kept swiveling to take in the poor conversation.

"I'm beholden to you already, but I want to ask you a favor," said Ben.

Ben hadn't shaved again this morning and grey stubble marched across his jaw line, yet the shock of white hair falling across his forehead gave him a rakish look. He sat hunched over on the bale, hands curled on the top of his cane. His tired eyes were full of shadows and something else—Scott thought he saw hope.

"Fact is, I need your help with something," Ben paused and studied his hard-toed shoes, "but I haven't gotten the way about it figured out just yet."

"Do you need help figuring it out?"

"No, no…it'll come."

Scott slipped Lizzy the last sugar lump and left her in the stall, nosing around for more. He walked over to Ben and held out his hand.

The old man considered the offer with some hesitation. It was evident he wasn't used to help. But he was hurting, and he must have seen the sense in it. He gave a small grin and nodded.

"Appreciate it."

Riley tried to straighten up but couldn't unfold so he hobbled slowly to the barn door, looking older than Scott had seen him. He called out to him, "Ben, when you have it figured out...I'll be here when you need me."

LLLLL

Scott had cut a lot of wood during his stay at Lancer, and he leaned his ax against the back of the barn wall, stripping off his shirt, and set to work. Setting a smaller piece of wood atop a larger one, he halved it in a single stroke then turned the piece and halved it again. It was tiring work after a while, but his muscles hadn't started to complain just yet. Sweat was slick on his back and the breeze cooled his skin.

He stopped and listened. From the sound of clattering hooves, one horse was making its way into Ben's courtyard. And the rider was coming in fast...or a little careless. The hooves were quieted and Scott imagined the rider tying up in front of the cabin. There was a length of silence then he heard Ben speak. The old man's voice carried the same hard-edge bite to it Scott had heard when he brought Lizzy home. He hustled around the side of the barn, grabbing his holster along the way, then came to a sliding halt.

Riley was staring down Johnny from the steps of his porch. And his brother—for the most part—was taking it.

He couldn't see his face, but Johnny's tone was soft, his words spoken from under the brim of his hat. Riley shook his head and straightened further. Patience wearing thin, Johnny shifted his weight to one leg and slapped the reins against his leg. Scott shrugged with quiet laughter and looped the gun belt around his bare shoulder.

"Johnny!"

The dark head tipped up and turned. Johnny's shoulders relaxed, a quick smile clearing the previous frown. Scott strode to the front of the cabin.

"Having trouble?"

Johnny's answer was swift. "Nothing I can't handle."

Scott's smile grew wide, matching his brother's. "I saw you 'handling' it."

"You know this boy?" asked Ben.

Scott nodded. "I'd like to introduce my brother, Johnny. But what he's doing here remains a question."

Ben locked his gaze on Johnny, looking askance—and puzzled. Then his face brightened and he pointed. "You're the second one; Murdoch had two sons who came to join him."

Johnny launched into a honeyed drawl. "Yeah, that's right. Old Scott here beat me to the punch. But age before beauty, you know."

Scott shot a warning look in Johnny's direction. "What are you doing all the way out here? I thought Murdoch gave you the day off."

"Well, Jelly went into town to pick up Pudge…and the way I see it, you shouldn't have all the fun." He put two fingers on the brim of his hat, pulling on it. "Thought I could lend a hand…maybe supervise a job or two." The cocky smile was back.

"You'll have to get in line; Ben's the only ramrod here."

Johnny squinted up at the man on the porch. "Oh, I think between the both of us we could keep you in line, Scott. What do you say Mr. Riley?"

Ben nodded and a small grin edged into the corner of his mouth, easing some of the creases there.

Scott hefted the holster higher onto his shoulder and fought his own smile down. "You're just in time. I was going to get started on the barn roof."

Johnny's face lost some of its smirk. "The roof, huh?"

He wagged a finger in the air. "Oh no…it's too late now to back out, you're already here."

His brother let out a pained sigh. "Let's get to it, then."

LLLLL

From time-to-time Scott would stop and study the country. He and Johnny shared the work and helped each other. There was a rhythm between them, a comfortable pattern that had been forged over the last couple of years. They'd finished patching the roof and had moved on to the corral. But every now and then, he'd pause and take another look at those bushes.

Johnny hefted the railing into place. "It's nice looking land out here, isn't it? And good range. Riley should have plenty of water when that creek bed fills."

"Uh-huh." Scott shook the can of nails until he found the right one. Jiggling the board forward until it slid in the notch, he placed the nail square against the wood.

Scratching his earlobe, Johnny shot him a quick glance. "Can I ask you something?"

"What is it?" He sent the nail home with one quick thump of his hammer.

"Why are you helping out Riley so much?"

"Why not?"

"That's not what I'm asking. I've seen you chase after lost causes before…"

Scott stopped and put the hammer down. "Are you serious? Look who's talking."

Johnny bumped up the second railing with his foot and set it into place. "Like I was saying, what makes Riley so special? You must admit this is a whole lot of work for one old man you didn't know a few days ago."

Irritated and not knowing why, he straightened the board with too much force and overshot the notch. "Maybe he's just somebody who needs help, and I can give it to him. Or maybe it's just the heat that's made me soft…"

"What else, Scott? You got something rumbling around in that brain of yours."

He hammered at the nail and missed the head. Getting a better grip, he drove it in the second try.

Where did he start? Ben sparked memories, taking him all the way back to Boston…. Harlan Garrett had worked to make a life for them—a good life, one filled with privileges. But he'd never wanted out of life what his grandfather had wanted. That had been clear. He'd been young and headstrong, wanting adventure. The accounting firm only meant one thing: tied to a chair and rooted there like an old oak tree, condemned to live a life of ink-stained hands and boardroom meetings. He realized—as time passed—that old oak tress were solid and dependable, seemingly lasting forever.

He'd found his adventures upon the back of a horse, alongside the bottom waters of the Mississippi and in the forests of Yellow Tavern. He grimaced. The adventure hadn't turned out to be all it was cracked up to be. Other more important things pulled at him now. Things that smacked of permanence and belonging—like Johnny and Murdoch—and Lancer. Those oaks started to look good again about two years ago.

Scott dropped his hammer into the can of nails and shifted his weight into a half-lean against the corral post, watching his brother in profile. "Remember that day we signed the papers in the attorney's office, giving each of us one-third ownership of Lancer?"

The rail jiggled and bounced against his hip when Johnny braced his elbows on it. "Yeah, Murdoch waited until I could get around then dragged all of us into town, even Teresa." He pushed his hat back to the crown of his head. "But what's that got to do with Ben Riley?"

"When you told the attorney to let the name 'Lancer' stand instead of Madrid…did you mean it?"

Johnny turned to stare at him for a second, his look guarded. "What are you getting at? Maybe you have been out in the sun too long."

"Just answer the question."

"You know I meant it. Felt like I was signing my life away, though. At least there wasn't any more wondering where my next meal would come from." Johnny's chin dipped lower to rest on his folded hands. "And no more border towns, no more moving on. I belonged somewhere."

Scott looked out past the corral. "Yeah." Those white blossoms on the sugar bush winked at him in the distance as a light wind worked its way through the foliage. "Ben doesn't 'belong' anymore. That's why I'm helping him."

Both heads turned when they heard Ben call from the porch.

Johnny kicked off the railing and looked up at him; one eye squinted against the sun's glare. "You know what, Scott? That's a pretty good reason."

LLLLL

Ben was younger-looking with his beard gone, thought Scott. There was a certain quiet dignity in his face. But right now, he was trying to bluff with a pair of fives. Scott looked over his cards at Johnny and raised his eyebrows. His brother was up thirteen dry beans to his seven. But they were both down to Ben. It looked like the Lancer pride would take it on the chin tonight unless Johnny had something up his sleeve. They'd given Ben the benefit of the doubt but learned quickly that the man was a ruthless player—and out for blood. They'd been trying to make up for their mistake ever since.

Johnny sighed at the cards in his hand and dropped them facedown on the table.

"Are you throwing in?" asked Ben.

"Not yet," Johnny replied, "I need some more coffee. Are you sure you didn't play with the sharps down in Sonora?"

There was a short bark of laughter from Ben.

Riley had made them beans and cornbread—or as he called it, Indian pone—and hot coffee, then insisted he and Johnny sit down at the table to eat "like the civilized". The rich smell of coffee still permeated the room with a friendly sense of comfort after the meal had been finished.

Scott looked around while Johnny fetched the pot from the back of the stove and filled it with water from the bucket. It was a cozy room with the stove on one side and the dinner table near the wall by a window. A counter ran partway against another wall, one that Ben had used for cutting and preparing the food. Two straight-backed chairs with faded velvet seat cushions flanked each side of the hearth and a hutch holding a few blue and white china plates hugged the wall near the food counter. A softer, overstuffed chair had a place beside the second window, completing the rest of the room. Scott could easily imagine Ben sitting there, looking out the window. But what intrigued him the most was the bank of books propped up on hard maple shelves behind the chair. A small writing desk was placed to the side, as if to keep it out of the way.

Although small and plain, the house appeared clean and looked after. But then it would for a single man living alone—provided the man was tidy.

"Ben, how long have you had this place?"

"I've been living out here proper about a year. But I've owned this land for a long time now, almost from the time I got to Green River. Saw its true value right off."

"Those sugar bushes?"

Ben smiled and nodded. "You remembered what I said."

"Was that the greenery you were staring at all day, Scott?" asked Johnny from the stove.

Scott dipped his head briefly. "Yep, they're at the beginning of the valley. There's something about them. Like you said Ben, they pretty up the land."

"They do catch your eye."

Scott looked over at Johnny and winked. "Our father was telling us how you found the Monarch in Green River."

It grabbed the old man's attention, and he sat up straighter in the chair. "He was, huh? Which version?"

"This one had to do with something about being dead-drunk…"

Ben chortled. "That's the better story. The honest to God's truth is that I did stumble onto the Monarch, but I wasn't drunk.

"I'd taken a fishing pole along with my pan that day. Meant to catch dinner while I worked. Threw in my line and as I was waiting for the fish to bite, I looked down at the water. There were gold flecks in the stream. Didn't even have to dip my pan.

"The real money isn't in panning. It's sinking a shaft and digging, and that's what I did to build the Monarch. But I was always one for panning, instead of out-and-out mining. A mine is too closed in, after a while it gets suffocating. But I guess when you get the fever, any color is better than none…no matter how you get it."

"I had this place built up a bit then Lizzy and I came out to live here after some trouble in town. But I guess you might know about that, too." He looked down at the table. Ben's curled fingers couldn't span the breath of one card anymore, but his eyes were bright with remembering, a soft frown creasing his face. He half-turned to face the stove. "Say, is that coffee ready yet?"

His brother's coffee had a strong flavor—christened cowpuncher coffee by Teresa—and earned a smacking-lips growl of approval from Ben. Johnny poured it out into their cups then sat down heavily and fingered his cards. "All right, old man. I'm here to play now. You'd better watch out. Scott, it's your turn."

Ben snickered again. His rheumy grey eyes held a lot of secrets, the cards included. Riley was bluffing, Scott was sure of it. He looked at the infinitesimal amount of beans left on his side of the table then added up the cards in his hand. Rolling the beans under his fingertips once then twice, he caught Johnny grinning at him like a sinner.

Scott shrugged. "I fold."

Ben kept a good eye on the cards that were played. He and Johnny shifted from draw to stud and back again. Then Ben kicked it up, and Johnny raised. Ben met his raise with a cagey grin.

"Spread' em, Johnny."

Johnny fanned out his cards—holding four queens and a trey but held off raking in the pot. Puttering a bit like he was uncertain, Ben laid down his hand—four aces and a five—and smirked.

Johnny looked up sharply and a faint, wry smile hovered about his lips.

Ben quivered with laughter, his shaggy white brows coming together in one long line across his forehead.

"How'd you do it, Ben?" asked Johnny.

Riley took a long sip of coffee and sat back in his chair. "You just have to live and learn, son. A good card player doesn't reveal any secrets. But I will say a poor mining claim leaves a lot of time to learn the tricks. God knows I had more than my share of the bad ones at one time or another—left a lot of time for learning."

Johnny shook his head and tapped the cards together in a neat single pile. He yawned and picked up his coffee cup. "Well, you cleaned me out, so I expect it's about time I go. Besides it's an early morning at Lancer." He stood and held out his hand to Ben. "Mr. Riley, it was a pleasure. At least the meal was." If it had been anyone else, those words might have sounded snippy and irritating, but with Johnny it was all affable congeniality.

Ben looked tickled. He got to his feet to shake hands and wavered a bit beside his chair, but his grin never left. "Anytime you want to get your stake back, you just let me know."

Scott stood and stretched out his back a little. Johnny cast him a glance.

"You staying?"

"I'm staying if Ben doesn't mind. That way I can get an early start finishing the barn. I'll camp out with Lizzy tonight."

Ben raised his head and nodded; his hand stilled on the cane handle. "That'd be just fine, Scott. I've got some blankets around here somewhere."

"Come on Johnny, I'll walk with you out to the corral," said Scott.

"'Night, boys." They left him sitting at the table with his lone coffee cup, reaching for the stack of cards.

Barranca was waiting for them, neck arched over the corral's new railing. Johnny made short work of throwing his saddle on the gelding's back. He stopped and looked at the cabin. "I'd say there's nothing wrong with that old buzzard's mind."

Scott leaned on the corral. "No, there certainly isn't."

Johnny tightened the cinch and led the palomino out of the corral. "I wonder what really went down between him and his nephew."

"Maybe we'll never know. Bet there's a story in there somewhere, though."

"Now that'd be easy money." Johnny swung up in the saddle. "All right, I'm for home."

"Tell Murdoch I'll be back in a day or so. And Johnny…thanks for covering me at the ranch."

He tipped his hat. "De nada. You'd do the same."

Scott watched Johnny ride off then turned his attention to the cabin. Yellow light flickered through the curtains at the window. He thought back to the card game…an image of Ben handily beating Johnny with those aces came to mind and he wondered for the second time that evening what the whole of Benjamin Riley's story would reveal.

Chapter 5

When the morning came, Ben awakened into a world filled with pain. His eyes opened to the knot-filled timbers above his bed and the sound of a hammer pounding against wood. At first, he didn't notice the noise coming from the barn, the pain from his leg consuming all his energy. It was harder this time to ignore the thumping in his chest and shortness of breath.

He heaved himself into a sitting position and his leg protested, sending his heart pumping frantically. With close to seventy years behind him, he had never believed a body could take so much punishment as his had from the mining fields and still work.

Ben heard silence over the cadence of beats echoing in his ears. The hammering had stopped. Carefully, he got to his feet. The world tipped edgewise, and he grabbed the table beside his bed for support. Boot heels sounded on the porch and a knock to his front door.

"Ben? Are you awake?"

His heart settled a bit—it was Scott. The door creaked open.

He felt a flash of embarrassment for standing there in his long handles, but the spreading pain in his chest took most of his attention. Bless him, Scott didn't say anything. Just pushed a hand under his elbow to get him steadied then maneuvered him back into bed.

"What's wrong? Do you need the doctor?"

"No…the only thing that'll help is time…and a spoonful of medicine." He winced. "I think I could use some of it right now."

Scott fetched the bottle from the top bureau drawer, but frowned when he held it up to the light coming from the window. The frown was still there when he poured out the laudanum, barely filling one teaspoon. He lingered over the last few drops as they dripped from the lip of the bottle, then gave it to him.

Ben pulled a face and shook his head at the taste. "I'll be feeling better shortly. Must have overdone it yesterday."

"You need more," said Scott, taking the spoon from him, "I'll ride into town today."

"No, don't fuss. I'll be all right. That bottle lasted me a long time. No way of knowing when another attack will happen again. Maybe after I get my feet underneath me, I won't need it anymore. Besides…I want to ask you something. I think I have that favor figured out if you're still willing."

Scott placed the spoon and bottle on the small table beside the bed. "What is it, Ben?"

"There's a package, paper-wrapped, in the top drawer of my desk. A letter will be on top. Would you bring them to me?"

He closed his eyes and heard Scott leave. Laying there, his thoughts adrift, he began to question his decision. Indecision had never been one of his faults and it irked him now to be questioning himself.

The medicine was taking effect and some of the pain was easing. He shifted his shoulders against the pillows and heard Scott walk back into the bedroom. Opening his eyes, he saw the package and letter held loosely in the boy's hands.

Taking the items, he tipped his head towards the corner of the room. "Bring up that chair and sit down. I want to explain this to you."

Ben slid a finger under the string releasing the paper and the letter. He picked up the envelope from where it had fallen in his lap and handed it to Scott. Pushing the paper open, Ben looked at the daguerreotype nestled in the yellowed folds. William, Estelle, and Jeanie. Memories flooded his mind. Good ones of his parents, brother, and sister—all of them gone now. Memories of his family and their life in the room above the mercantile. The harder memory of saying goodbye to them and the small dusty town in Kansas he'd called home for the gold fields of California.

He'd been working in Coloma Valley when word reached him of Will's passing. And Jeanie, just a baby in the picture, was raised by her mother until Estelle's death a few years later. Jeanie would be all grown up now. His hand trembled as he traced their faded features on the glass.

"Ben?" The voice was soft with a hint of worry. He looked up and saw concern tightening around the boy's mouth.

"This was my brother Will, his wife Estelle and Jeanie, their daughter. Will is gone now. Estelle passed away several years ago. The only family I have left is Jeanie…and Tommy." He thrust the picture into Scott's hands. "I want you to bring her, Scott. Bring her to me before it's too late. She's of age now. She'll want to come, I know it."

Scott's lips lifted into a stiff smile as he looked at the picture. "How…," he said, fingering the frame, "where is she located?"

"It's all in the letter. She's been at a boarding school in Denver."

"Ben, this is from two years ago. She could be anywhere."

He twisted the red-checked coverlet between his thumb and forefinger. "No, she was to stay there in school until she reached twenty-one. Would you do this for me? Will you send the telegram?"

Protest filled Scott's eyes, but the words were stifled. He looked down at the envelope in his hands, tapping it against one finger. "Okay. I'll send it."

Ben lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes. Scott would do this for him; he'd bring Jeanie to Green River. It would be all right after all.

LLLLL

As Ben thumped out to his chair on the porch, he saw Scott come out of the barn, leading his horse. The barn door was fixed and hung straight on its hinges now. The sagging corral rails were replaced and tightened, the new wood looking out of place with the old—Lizzy wouldn't mind one whit. He carefully eased himself into the chair, biting back a hiss of pain. Scott looked at him as he tethered his horse to the hitching post and Ben saw disapproval mirrored in his eyes.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I wanted to talk with you before you left."

Removing his hat, Scott's fingers made their way to the deep dip in its crown "You know I would have stopped in to say goodbye."

"Sitting on my porch looking at the valley makes me feel peaceful." He smoothed out the old shirt he was wearing, he'd lost weight somewhere down the line, the hem hung past his hips now. Rolling the cuffs up from his wrists, he studied the boy standing by his porch. "She'll come, you know."

The blond head bobbed up. "I didn't say…"

"You didn't have to, Scott. I can see it in your face. You think I'm out of my mind for trying to send for her."

A defining scowl appeared and brought a shadow across the young man's face. "No, Ben. I think you're far from that. I just don't want you to be disappointed."

"Come here and sit down. I want to talk with you about a few things."

Was Scott right to worry? He kept his view beyond the corral to the sugar bush. The stairs creaked with the boy's weight when he came to sit on the porch landing. His place had a settled feel to it with Scott here, something he missed for several years—something he hadn't realized until now. A funny stirring began in his chest. The uncertainty wasn't new; it'd been building in him since leaving Green River. In the past, he was a man who never had trouble deciding or following through, once the decision had been made. How could he get Scott to understand that this was his decision and, disappointment or not, he needed to ride it out to the end?

Ben hooked his cane on the arm of the chair. "I owe you an explanation." He looked down at his curled hands resting on his lap then his eyes went back to the open valley. "It's hell being alone, Scott." The words came out in a rush, as if they were all penned up inside of him.

"I saw the elephant in my time. At twenty I saddled my roan and worked my way west to try my hand at gold-panning, but I wasn't making out. Seemed like everyone in camp was showing color except me. Oh, I hit a few veins here and there, enough to whet my appetite for more. I ventured south from Monterey and took a house in Green River, but my pockets were getting as empty as my prospect hole. Then came that fishing day."

He remembered the first blush of excitement when he saw those flakes. It started as a twinge deep in his belly, and he knew it was something big. "Nobody thought twice of a young man placing a claim on a worthless piece of land. The Monarch came together fast. I sunk a shaft near that stream and the whole town was amazed to know there was gold hidden on its outskirts."

"The first shipment of ore brought out the snakes—men who tried to track me back to the mine. When they couldn't find where I was plumbing the vein, they all began to believe I'd uncovered a rich strike. I let them think so—it made me feel bigger somehow, more important."

"How does Tom Darcy fit into all this?" asked Scott.

He'd given his niece and nephew what he had…Jeanie her school in Denver, and Tommy…he got it all. "Tommy was my only sister's boy—he was family—and I wanted him to share it with me. I sent for him in Chicago. It was good at the start, then the mine started trickling off production and Tommy and I argued over what to do with it. He wanted to expand—to find that vein—even though I told him it didn't exist. But he sent for engineers anyway, spending thousands of dollars to have them come in and explore, probe and estimate. All to no purpose."

"Eventually I didn't want anything to do with him, but I'd given Tommy a full half interest in the mine. He started the proceedings and took me to court—and a staked claim is property. Tommy presented a good case to the judge and attorney at the time and I lost everything." At least his love for trees, flowers, and living things had survived the trial in Green River.

Ben's head bowed. "Gold fever can do that to people…make them go against their own kin."

Scott spoke up in a quiet voice. "It hurt you."

This boy knew.

His nephew sent men to the house—rough, paid bullies. They left bruises that night, and a few cracked ribs, trying to uncover a secret that wasn't there. But Tommy's betrayal sliced deeper than the physical hurts. He looked out from the porch and sighed. It cut a hole in him so deep it made him hollow inside.

"Your property here, did he try to take it as well?"

He grimaced and fingered the knob of his walking cane, his voice taking on a bitter tone. "Tommy never saw anything of value in either the house or land, so he allowed me to keep them, free and clear." There it was again, anger like a seething cauldron bubbling away just under the surface. Ben was amazed to find it still there after these two years.

"I can't change the past, Scott. But I want what's left of my family—Jeanie—to come here. Maybe I can teach her to love this mountain and valley as much as I do, in the time I have left. And when I die, it'll go to her."

A lump sat heavy in his stomach. Maybe Jeanie, properly schooled in a big city, wouldn't want to come out to the country after all. But he still had to try.

"Are you feeling ill again?" asked Scott.

He hid his worry. "No, I…was thinking of the work we need to do before she gets here. There's a wall in the back closet we can expand out to make another bedroom. Maybe bring up some flowers to put around the porch."

Scott rose to his feet and slapped the dust off his trousers. "Let me see if I can find her first."

Ben patted his shirt pocket and pulled out a worn leather pouch. "There's a little over a dollar here," he said, holding out a handful of coins in his open palm, "for the telegram, and maybe the medicine, if there's enough."

Scott eyed the coins but didn't make a move to take them. Ben bumped up his hand a bit. "Take them."

"All right, Ben. Be back in a few hours."

~o~o~o~

From out on the main trail, Ben's cabin and barn stood gray and washed out in the distance among the dusty sage of the valley and deep brown of the mountain. The splash of brighter green from the sugar bushes stood out clearly. As he studied the place, Scott couldn't help wondering what Ben's life would have been like if Tom Darcy hadn't come to Green River.

He frowned at the thought forming in his head. Even if he was able to find Ben's niece—and it was long shot—would she get here in time to see Ben? The morning was heating up; a warm breeze blew the taste of alkali into the air. He urged his horse forward. Maybe there would be enough time for a short side trip to visit the Monarch after he sent the telegram.

Green River was baking in the mid-day heat and few folks moved along the wooden boardwalk. The thump of an anvil lingered in the air as he rode by the livery. A couple wagons and a dozen horses were scattered up and down the street. He turned toward the doctor's office, pulling up when the man came out.

"Hello Scott. I was just on my way to the Renner's. Melissa is delivering soon. Is there something you need? Pudge doing okay?

Scott relaxed, bracing his forearm on the swell of the saddle. "Pudge is all right as far as I know. It's Ben Riley." He twisted around to his saddlebags and pulled out the brown glass bottle. "He needs some more of this medicine."

"When did he run out?

"Just this morning."

The doctor shook his head. "Ben sure made it last. He didn't have two nickels to rub together the last time I saw him, so I gave this bottle to him then told him to come and see me for more. He never did make it back." He looked up at Scott, a furrowed line cut across his forehead. "You say the old boy isn't doing well?"

He nodded. A twinge of regret flickered through him for leaving Ben alone.

"There's a problem…I don't have enough laudanum to fill this. You'll have to get it from Bert, over at the barbershop."

"Bert—the barber? Since when did he start dabbling in medicine-making?"

"Since all the time I've known him." The doctor looked up at him again and chuckled. "Oh, that's right. I always seem to have plenty on hand when you Lancers need it. You wouldn't know about Bert's other profession."

The doctor hoisted his black bag up on the hitching rail and rummaged through its contents. From Scott's higher viewpoint, he saw him push aside small boxes and bottles, a long length of steel for probing bullets and a few odd-shaped devices with screws he recognized as tourniquets. The doctor then pulled out a piece of paper, found a pencil stub in his coat pocket, and started scribbling.

The wrinkles near the older man's mouth sagged downwards, emphasizing his words. "Not enough call here for medicines to support a druggist, and barbering brings in more money. Bert's a good man, he knows what he's doing—went to school somewhere back east for it. Here, take this prescription and the bottle over to the barbershop." His eyes softened. "And Scott, I'll try to get out there to see Ben…if he's asking for medicine then it must be getting bad."

LLLLL

The door to the barbershop was open to catch the breeze. Bert had both elbows propped up on an open newspaper spread out on the counter. Wire spectacles tilted halfway down his nose while he read. Scott skirted around the empty barber chair and went to him.

Bert peered at him over the top of his glasses and Scott had the distinct impression of a wide-eyed chick, looking for worms.

"Scott, what can I do for you today? Need a shave? Haircut?"

"No, I need some medicine. The doctor sent me over." He laid the bottle and the prescription on top of Bert's newspaper.

Bert's fuzzy head bobbed a little as he read the piece of paper. Using one thumb, he pushed his glasses to the top of his nose. "Hm…how is old Ben anyway?"

"Not doing too well at the moment," said Scott, tapping the empty bottle, "that's why I need the medicine."

"I'll get to work on it. May take a few minutes."

Bert walked to a cabinet and withdrew several packets and liquid-filled bottles. The conversation continued while he picked over the colored bottles. "You've been out to Ben's place? Some swear he's got a grand palace out there, from all the gold he's hid over the years."

Scott turned the newspaper around—it was the San Francisco Morning Chronicle, over a month old. "I wouldn't exactly call it a palace, Bert, but its grand in its own way." He scanned an article on the rising population—one hundred fifty thousand and growing. An advertisement off to the side for B.E. Woolf's The Mighty Dollar showed the play had been on stage twice weekly at the Olympic Theater.

Heavy boot heels sounded over the threshold. "Still looking after that old man, Lancer?"

Scott's hand stilled on the paper, he turned around to face Tom Darcy and two companions. Hitching a hip against the counter edge, he relaxed and crossed his arms. "Here for a haircut Darcy, or just passing time on this pleasant day?"

Darcy's face went splotchy red. "What pabulum is he feeding you? Stories about gold and rich veins?"

"Now fellas, just take it outside. I don't need my mirror broken, or anything else for that matter," Bert squawked.

Darcy came around to the counter. "Well? Answer me. What's he telling you in that godforsaken cabin?"

The mine owner's breath, laden with whiskey fumes, proved his belligerence wasn't all due to stunning personality.

"You're drunk, Darcy. Go home."

Darcy balled a fist. Scott feinted left and clipped him on the chin sending him sprawling into the barber chair. He turned to Bert, flexing his hand. "I need to send a telegram. I'll be back for the medicine in a few minutes."

He got as far as the doorway when Darcy gave a hoarse shout and lunged.

The tackle carried them through the barbershop entrance and into the street. Impact with the hard ground broke them apart.

Ducking, Scott let a roundhouse punch sail over his head. Darcy was bigger with a long reach, but two years of long ranch work had given him some hard muscles of his own. He stepped in and hooked a swift right into Darcy's midsection then followed with a left to the jaw. The older man jolted back into the arms of his friends. Darcy shook it off and came at Scott again, this time with a set of short punches that were hard to avoid. The first of them grazed Scott's jaw, the second and third bounced off his ribs. He caught himself and blocked one of Darcy's punches then launched a counterattack. A strong right to Darcy's breastbone sent the man reeling again, giving Scott some much needed breathing room. Chest heaving, Scott reared back to hit him again.

Two hands gripped his arm, yanking him back.

"Settle down, both of ya!" Val Crawford ordered.

Darcy jabbed a finger in the air at the two hapless cowboys. "They saw the whole thing, Sheriff, Lancer jumped me. I was just defending myself."

Val studied Scott, trying to dissect the situation but came up empty-handed, judging by the puzzled look on his face. "Yeah, that might be true enough, but I'm still tempted to throw both of ya into jail."

"I'm pressing charges against him."

"Aw, give it up Darcy. Drunk and disorderly is still against the law here in Green River. Have your friends here take ya home so you can soak your head."

The two cowboys grabbed Darcy's arms and tugged him down the street, letting him weave between them on wobbly legs.

Val turned to Scott, a warning shadow crossing his face. "Did you start it?"

Scott's head dipped and a small smile curved his lips. "It was mutual undertaking."

"What the hell kind of answer is that?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"I guess not. Go on; get out of here before I have to arrest ya."

"I need to send a telegram first."

"Then do it but get out of town for a while and let Darcy cool off. He's got friends you know."

"Sheriff, Darcy's so-called friends didn't seem too enthusiastic about helping him this afternoon."

Val scratched his chin, then rubbed at the heavy whiskers dotting it. "I guess you're right there. Maybe the attraction is finally wearing off."

"Or maybe he's running out of money."

"Same thing. Anyway, I'm tryin' to run a peaceful town here and I don't need anyone comin' in and mucking it up, least of all you. Savvy?"

A wry grin spread. "Got it, Val." He stooped with a soft grunt and picked up his hat from the road. Straightening, he slapped it against his thigh and made his way towards the telegraph office.

Val called after him, "You watch your back Scott, Darcy can be downright viperous."

Chapter 6

The stagecoach rocked and rolled into Green River pursued by a cloud of fine brown dust, careening to a stop in front of the depot. A smattering of people was there to greet it; Scott Lancer being one of them. It had been a fast three weeks since sending the telegram to Denver, with his time divided between Lancer and the Riley place. The additional room on Ben's cabin had been built, complete with fresh bed linens and a vase for flowers—courtesy of Teresa.

There were four passengers riding inside the coach and a fifth on top. The man sitting beside the reinsman was Bell Warner. A drummer for the mercantile, he'd been riding the stages for at least two years. Unwashed and grizzled, he clutched a Spencer in one hand. It must have been a hard trip this time around.

A medium-tall man exited first and stood away from the others, lighting a cigarillo. Under the wide brim of the grey Stetson, his features were nut-brown with quiet, assessing eyes. A slim holster, replete with Colt, was almost hidden from view by the tails of his jacket. The man's boots had been highly polished at one time, a bright sheen winked underneath the accumulated grime from the road. He caught Scott's eyes and tipped his head up in the briefest of nods, then just as quickly dismissed him as he passed by.

An older couple stepped off next, and Scott recognized them as Mr. and Mrs. Corley. Johnny and he had been introduced to the couple by Murdoch at the last spring dance. He tipped his hat to the disheveled pair as they waited for their luggage.

The last passenger placed a gloved hand on the stage door and peered outwards. She had chestnut hair and the soft-looking, pale skin of a woman used to easy living. He glimpsed a bit of kid boot and white stocking when she gathered a fistful of skirt and stepped down from the stage.

He cleared his throat. The young woman looked around and then straightened, her lips drawing together. One quick hand brushed back a strand of hair from her flushed cheek. Scott's gaze settled on her face—freckled and wide-eyed—a face that smiled often, but now held on his questioningly.

"Miss Riley?"

Her alarm faded, replaced by curiosity.

He took off his hat and a measure of assurance crept into his voice. "I didn't mean to startle you. I'm the one who sent you the telegram from your uncle."

They faced each other across the platform and Scott saw her work through the uneasiness that comes from awkward introductions.

"Oh, you must be Mr. Lancer."

He stared at the bit of fluff that constituted her hat. It had slipped to a precarious perch above her left ear. He motioned to a spot above his own left ear. "Ah, Miss…?"

She looked puzzled then brought up her hand, patting her hair. Flashing a full smile with even, white teeth, she pulled the clutch of feathers straight, securing it with a pin. "Better?"

He grinned. "Much." Scott settled his own hat on the crown of his head and peered at the stagecoach. "A difficult trip, Miss Riley?"

She stretched her back and turned towards the few men milling about the platform getting the luggage down from the coach. "The Bible reminds us that we must all eat our peck of dirt." She fixed back on Scott, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. "I just don't like to eat mine all at once, Mr. Lancer."

A corner of Scott's mouth edged up and a laugh rolled through him.

She shifted and looked behind him for a moment. "I assumed my uncle would be here to meet me."

""Ben is here, but he had a few things to attend to before coming to the depot. If we hurry, we can meet your uncle and save him the walk." He was still smiling when he reached for her bags.

At the buggy, Miss Riley gathered her skirt again.

"May I?" he asked.

She accepted his arm naturally, without coy hesitation. He climbed onto the driver's seat and flicked the reins. The buggy jolted and they were off, the dust lifting from the horses' hooves.

LLLLL

Ben wouldn't have minded a drink about now. He wasn't particular about the type. Whiskey that would take his breath away or the tang of lukewarm beer. But he wasn't going to get one. He adjusted the cane against his knee and resisted the urge to thumb the top. Instead, he clasped his hands together, one index finger tapping the other, in concert with each snick of the clock's minute hand. He stared at Ed Farley's oak paneled door and willed it to open. Jeanie was coming and he couldn't be late.

Exactly nine minutes later, the door slid open, and Ed ambled out. For a young man, the attorney made it a habit to never go anywhere fast. The light from his office showed a big, jowly face with a scattering of black hair atop. It was a concerned face. He shuffled over to Ben.

Ben stood up, grabbing his walking stick. "It's about time, Ed. My niece is coming to town, and I want to be there to meet her."

Farley tapped the thick envelope in his left hand and rumbled out a question. "Are you sure you want to do this, Ben?"

"It's mine, free and clear, isn't it? Tommy can't lay claim?"

"We've been all over this before; the land is yours Ben—free to do with it whatever you want. Here are the papers you asked for. Take them home and come back when you're ready…we'll get the deed signed all legal and proper with a witness."

Ben took the envelope and slipped it into his coat pocket. Sticking out a hand, it all but disappeared in Ed's big paw. He stepped out of the attorney's office and hesitated. He smelled of old sweat and hay—hell, he just smelled old. The thought of meeting Jeanie like this made him keenly aware of himself. But there wasn't much he could do about it now.

The buggy pulled up just as he shut the door. He looked at his niece with interest. For the past two years he had been aware that she was no longer a child, that she was a young lady.

"Uncle!" Jeanie bounded down from the buggy and clasped his arm.

He was long silent. She raised her head and met his gaze.

"You're so very much like Estelle," Ben said, the tips of his fingers patting her hand. "It's such a pity both she and Will are gone." He smiled and cupped her chin, lifting it so he could see her eyes. "You're a beautiful woman, Jeanie. I'm so pleased to see you."

"You're looking well, Uncle."

"I'm tired, I expect it shows." He saw concern flit across her features. "But I'm fine now that you're here." He looked across the street and sighed. "Green River is a few steps down from Denver…"

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip and loosened her grip on his arm. "Sometimes the city doesn't hold all the keys to happiness."

He needed to know the answer. "Are you all right, Jeanie?"

She trapped her skirt against her leg when the breeze threatened to lift it. The use of her given name brought a stare to Ben then she looked sidelong at Scott standing by the buggy. "I'm all right, Uncle."

Her letters never hinted at trouble. But it was what she didn't write that troubled him. There was little joy in her few notes, then there was none. If he'd been able, he would have gone to Denver immediately.

Scott helped Jeanie into the back of the rig then lent a hand to him.

"I thought I left you at the doctor's office," Scott whispered.

"He wasn't in and I needed to come here." The boy raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything more.

Jeanie moved to allow room and Ben was trundled up beside her. The trouble with Tommy—the two years by himself and Lizzy—it all seemed to fade as he listened to Jeanie talk about her stagecoach ride west. He held on to that feeling, pushing aside his unease. She was here, and it was enough for now.

LLLLL

The mule was lipping her feed bucket when Scott checked on her after dropping off Ben and his niece at the house. He found the old wound on her shoulder and traced the thin white line down to her knee. "We need to get you out of here before you eat your way out." She snorted, her ears scissoring back and forth. Taking up a curry comb, Scott worked her back, pulling loose hair to the surface of the coat.

He couldn't help but wonder what Eugenia Riley was doing in California. She carried herself prim, but Miss Riley was a bright, quick-to-see woman. She saw what Ben's cabin was—or more to the point, what it wasn't. If she was disappointed in her new surroundings, it didn't show.

He finished up by rubbing the comb down Lizzy's short mane, watching her skin ripple with enjoyment. He led her out of the barn and was met halfway by the old man. "Ben, what are you doing out here?"

"Just wanted to see how Lizzy was doing."

He'd come to know Ben too well these last few weeks. "And what else?"

"Jeanie's only been here a little bit and she's already fussing in my kitchen, moving things around so I can't find' em anymore." He shrugged off Lizzy's attempts to nibble on his sleeve and looked behind him. "That cabin…well, it seems awful small with the two of us in there, even with the new room."

Scott fought to keep a straight face. "Now Ben, you had to know this might happen. Give it some time, she just got here." His nose twitched. Sniffing the air, he ran his tongue along his teeth. Baked biscuits. His stomach rumbled a little.

The front door to the cabin opened. "Mr. Lancer? Dinner is almost ready, won't you stay?" called Miss Riley.

"Would you?" asked Ben. "Maybe it'll help…to get things started between me and Jeanie."

Hunger overrode common sense—he decided to stay.

Three plates were set, she'd laid out one of Teresa's tablecloths—still stiff with starch—on the gouged table. Ben took his place at the head of the table and motioned for him to sit. Miss Riley put the plate of biscuits, heaped one on top of the other, down on the table. A bowl of carrots followed and finally a chipped platter laden with prairie chicken legs and breasts.

It was a tasty meal and Scott was admiring her cooking when he noticed the blue ribbon in her hair. It wasn't there before, he was certain—it was such a handsome flourish.

She caught his gaze and smiled, letting her look linger. He glanced away, somehow feeling scorched. What was she trying to do…gain some measure of acceptance through her wiles? Scott assumed he knew how to handle women. It was something he took for granted as he grew older—and his experience with Julie Dennison had taught him a few things.

But he didn't quite know what to make of Miss Riley.

He thought back to earlier in the day. His slide into incoherence regarding the fairer sex had begun at the stage depot—Jean Riley had made him laugh.

She and Ben were laughing now as they moved off to the living area. Jean pulled up a velvet covered chair next to Ben's tattered, overstuffed one. He had the daguerreotype in his hand and was showing it to her. They looked alike in profile—the Riley chin was small. On Ben, it would have looked weak without seventy years of hard living to bruise and bang it up some. But on Jean, it seemed just about right.

Scott looked at the light and dark heads pressed close together. Ben peeped at Scott over his niece's head and nodded—a contented smile marking his face.

No, Ben didn't need him after all.

~o~o~o~

Scott caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye coming from the cabin. She'd been working. Strands of hair had fallen free of the casual knot at the nape of her neck. A man's shirt—one of Ben's—swallowed her up, making her seem almost too small. She yanked on the collar to straighten it, pulling the fabric tight, drawing Scott's eyes to places they shouldn't go.

Stopping a few feet back of the mule's stall, she called out, "Mr. Lancer? It's me."

He grinned and hefted a hay bale against the side wall of the barn. "Come on in, Miss Riley.'

She carried a wooden bucket, the handle of a ladle sticking out the top. "It's Jean, please. Eugenia was a family name and only spoken when I was in trouble."

"Were you much? In trouble, I mean."

Her cheeky smile spread. "There were times, Mr. Lancer. It seemed I was able to test the patience of most my family members at one time or another."

"Please call me Scott."

She swung the bucket forward, sloshing out some of its contents to the barn floor. "A man working as hard as you should have something to drink."

He took the ladle and drank down the water then fetched another bowlful to pour over his head. It ran cold over his face and neck, chilling his sweaty skin.

Jean glanced at the neat stack of hay bales and seemed impressed. "You're such a help to my Uncle. I don't know what would have happened to him if you hadn't stumbled across his mule. I don't think he feels all that well, his leg is paining him terribly."

"I've noticed, although he seems a little better now." He cocked his head to study her. "Maybe it's because you're here."

She colored prettily and turned to the stall. "These last two years have been particularly hard on him, haven't they?"

He nodded. "Mostly because of Tom Darcy."

"I knew my cousin came out to California at my uncle's invitation. Tom seemed happy enough to leave Chicago. What happened to them?"

He placed the ladle back into the bucket. "It's not my story to tell. If you want to know, ask your uncle. Sometimes family situations can arise that are…difficult."

She reached out to stroke Lizzy's smooth muzzle. "What's your family like, Scott?"

"I have a father and brother here in California, you'll meet them tomorrow, and a grandfather in Boston. I don't have a family of my own."

"Sometimes it's better that way."

The statement and its vehemence took him by surprise. "Better…what way?"

"Without family. Sometimes it's better not ever having than losing them after you've had them." Her strokes on the mule's muzzle proved too forceful and Lizzy pulled away.

A deep anger smoldered just beneath the surface, marring her usual cheerful countenance. Scott learned something about Jean Riley in that short time. She was running away from something—or someone—and hiding in Green River, trying not to get hurt again. She turned her face away, keeping it from view, not wanting to talk anymore.

The silence in the barn, save for Lizzy grinding her teeth on a few wisps of hay, was palpable. She sent him a furtive glance and went back to the cabin. He'd almost asked her to stay longer but didn't want to press her—nor was he too sure of the feelings she aroused in him. It seemed to be an old hurt to Scott, one that wouldn't be helped by any platitudes offered from him. Taking up his gloves, he resumed heaving the bales against the barn wall, working out his frustrations on the squares of hay.

He finished the day, strolled out to the corral, and leaned against the new rail. Ben was at the cabin with a tin cup, dipping water from a bucket onto the flowers they'd planted under the windows. Scott stood there for a long while and watched how gentle Ben was with those potted buds. A finger pressed into the dirt to measure wetness, a wilted leaf pinched off here and there—treating them as if the plants had feelings all of their own.

Ben looked up and saw him standing there and started to work his way over. He was moving slow and stiff again, grabbing the railing for balance when he reached the corral.

"Your niece said your leg is worse today."

Ben shrugged in such a way Scott knew that particular line of conversation was closed. Murdoch did the same thing occasionally—mostly in discussions surrounding ranch modernization—but Johnny was king of the non-committal shrugs. He often wondered how someone could say so little yet make his feelings known so completely with just a lift of the shoulder.

Since small talk wasn't working, he tried a frontal assault. "It's been a few days, how are you and Jean getting along?"

The old man's shoulders slumped, and he dragged his view to the sugar bushes. A direct hit.

Ben grunted and leaned heavily against the straight post. "There are riches in this land, Scott, beyond compare. It has so much to offer. I know it doesn't seem like much now, but if she could just give it some time... See the land; understand what the ground will take and what it won't. Know the trees and flowers, the wild things that come around after the day is done."

He sighed. "It's important to me that I give this to her…I just want to know that Jeanie loves this place like I do," He looked down at the railing underneath his hand.

"It's going to take a while for her to get used to this country. I know it was that way for me when I first arrived here. Coming from Boston to California, well…it was rather like stepping off into an abyss." Quite possibly the biggest understatement he'd ever made.

Ben turned to face him. "But you made it your home..."

"I did…with Johnny and Murdoch's help," he said, then added in a softer tone, "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Perhaps Jean will feel the same way after a bit more time."

The relationship between Ben and his niece was none of his affair, but he felt altogether mired in it after sending for her. And Ben's nephew…it wasn't his job to rid the world of the likes of Tom Darcy, although he would protect Ben from any further mistreatment.

Scott made up his mind to finish what he had set out to do this day—stow hay and feed and check the outbuildings. Tomorrow, he'd pick them up for dinner, then set about extricating himself from the tangled web he managed to get himself into. Platting out the direction of the new irrigation lines with Johnny seemed to be the best course of action since Jean had come to live with Ben.

With the decision finally made, he figured he ought to feel better—more grounded. So why was his heart so heavy?

~o~o~o~

A distinguished whiskey picked up subtle highlights from the lamplight and sparkled in his glass. Ben sipped, and sighed. He had a hard time taking it all in. Here he was holding a silver fork, picking at the fresh peas that rolled around on his plate. He realized it wasn't a state banquet hall, but rather a cozy dining room, filled with family and new-found friends.

It was exactly the sort of room Tommy and he shared in Green River. But there was a difference here. In this room he hadn't been berated or threatened or ignored. Yet it still reminded him of the man he'd once been. He took another drink.

"How is Lizzy doing, Ben?" Murdoch asked.

"Full of vinegar. Scott brought her along real nice. Leg's all healed up." He broke off a chunk of bread and sopped up the brown gravy beside his roast beef. He was making his second turn around the plate when he looked up.

"Uncle…," Jean whispered.

Scott grinned, picking up his roll and tearing it in half. He swirled the bread through the pool of gravy on his own plate and popped it in his mouth. Ben watched as Johnny did the same. He smiled and finished the bread, smacking his lips.

Teresa broke the silence. "Jean, that dress is wonderful. Did it come from Denver?"

She nodded. "It's one of my better gowns. The school I attended required a sense of decorum from its students. We had a gala every month and one had to dress the part."

"Oh, how grand," Teresa said.

Jean accepted the bowl of succotash from her uncle. "Not exactly," she murmured. "But I learned to accept the parties for what they were…a chance to show off a bit."

"Sounds sort of stuck-up to me," Johnny said.

"Oh, believe me, they were. High society girls…you haven't seen anything until you see two women fighting over which ball gown to wear."

Johnny's eyebrows rose. "I think I'd like to see that, what about you Scott?"

He put down his glass of wine. "No thanks, I've been in high society before and even though it's been a while, the memory lingers on."

"In Boston, Scott?" Jean asked.

Scott nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but Johnny interrupted.

"It was Boston…but we don't hold it against him."

Nudging elbows with his brother, Scott laughed. "At least most of the time, anyway."

Johnny turned contemplative. "Now there were a few times when he first got to Lancer…."

"Just a few?" Scott waved a fork in the air in warning. "No tales out of school, brother..."

Ben saw how Scott's eyes went to Jeanie and her flirting glance in return. She was having a good time. His heart seemed to catch with realization.

Ben looked at them thoughtfully. Green River wasn't like Denver, where there were lots of boys to choose from, nice boys from respectable families. Out here you never knew what sort of men would be coming around. But he knew Scott.

The conversation ebbed and flowed around him in a comforting embrace. Their chairs were soon pushed back from the table with promises of cigars and a poker game. His eyes followed Scott and Jeanie as they slipped out the French doors to the patio, and his heart gave another little hitch.

LLLLL

Scott looked at the back of her neck where little whorls of dark curls showed plainly against the whiteness of her skin. He wanted to touch those curls, to feel their softness. He stuffed his hands into his pockets instead.

It was a cloudless evening with a horizon full of early stars. He propped his shoulder against the balustrade and searched the sky. "See over to the left? Sagittarius is just making his way out into the night."

"The Archer."

He cocked an eyebrow. "You know Latin?"

"And French. Languages were required at Miss Adelaide's Finishing School for Young Women. Where there was neither a Miss Adelaide nor an obligation to be properly "finished" before graduation. I'm afraid the Latin didn't take, except for a few words here and there." She waved a hand in the air. "Visions of tunic-clad men lounging about spouting off hoary philosophy kept me from taking it seriously.

"But the stars were different…I memorized their names and the constellations. I used to fall asleep at night looking up at them through my window, pretending they belonged to me and only me."

Neither spoke for several minutes. Jean inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. "After my father and then my mother died, I was shuttled between well-meaning family members. But I never really had anything to call my own, except my name. My uncle came to my salvation, my veritable Robin Hood."

Her smile didn't linger. "I didn't fit in at first, not among the hoity-toity society girls with their fancy dresses and even fancier talk. It helped me, I think, to know who I was and where I came from, regardless of my…limited finances." She turned away from the moonlight to face him. "You see, Scott, I always knew what I wanted, and that school was a means to an end. But graduation came and I found myself…floundering…a bit. Then your missive arrived like a peal of thunder in a cloudless sky."

Her voice caught a little and he saw a crease form between her eyebrows. She was thinking—worrying—about something.

She forced a lilting laugh. "You have a big house—and your family to come home to after a hard day's work—everything you need right here at Lancer. I suppose you don't understand what I'm going on about."

The scene from yesterday came back with a jolt. He stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. "What happened in Denver? Who was he?"

Jean pulled away, her hand fisting on the railing, eyes brimming with unshed tears. She touched them with the sleeve of her chemisette. "It's dusty out tonight."

Ignoring the words for what they were, he waited patiently beside her.

"He had a way of walking that caught a woman's eye." She glanced up at him through wet-tipped lashes. "He looked dangerous and sort of dashing in a citified way." A fragile thread crept into voice. "Jameson lived in a house bigger than this, grander, and… I'm sorry Scott, I didn't mean to ruin this lovely evening."

He touched her elbow and this time she allowed his hand to remain upon her arm.

"We were engaged to be married. He said he loved me. That after school was over, we would go away together." Jean's voice turned bitter, the same-sounding tone she used in Ben's barn. "He got what he wanted…," she said, edging a look up at him, "then left…without me."

Scott's thoughts flitted back to Barbara and her dimly lit boudoir on that muggy Boston evening. His stomach lurched…Barbara had known it was nothing more than a casual affair, hadn't she?

And Julie…she was the one who ended their engagement in Boston, wanting something from him he couldn't offer at the time. It was hard to deny he still harbored feelings for her. Those emotions were put to the test when she arrived at Lancer last year. And now the ache for what they could have had together was more of a pinprick than a festering sore.

Jean's tears stopped and she gave a little nod of resolve. "Do you ever want more out of life?"

His mouth tightened and he let out a small sigh. "At times. Especially when Johnny and I are dragging our fifteenth cow out of a mud-hole..."

Her eyes swept up. "Well, I want more…and I want to get on with my life, in the only way I know how."

Something pinged in the back of his mind and Scott considered her words. The thought wasn't well-formulated, just hovering on the edge of existence. He took a few deep breaths to clear his head of the night sky and Merlot.

Ben.

He tugged her around to face him. "And what way is that, Jean?"

She shrank back, her eyes voluminous with the moonlight.

He wanted to shake her; to hear the truth rattle out of her. "Why did you come here?"

She wrenched her elbow back. The hem of her dress swirled away and dragged through the dirt. "You…my uncle sent for me."

Still prickly, he backed off, looking into her face for a sign—something to confirm his suspicions. But there was nothing, just a wide-eyed stare.

Boot heels scraped against the tiled floor. "Did I catch you two at the wrong time?" Murdoch's voice echoed through the patio.

She patted her hair, missing the few loose wisps about her cheek. "Not at all, Mr. Lancer."

"Jean, Teresa wanted to ask your opinion on the quilt she's making. And Scott, Ben has Johnny backed up against the wall in a poker game. I suggest we rescue him and offer to play some euchre—we might even have a chance of winning."

Scott felt a twinge of guilt when Jean strode past him, skirting him in a wide berth.

They both watched her go back into the house, then he felt Murdoch's hand come to rest on his shoulder.

"Scott?"

"Ah…"

"There's a world of expression in that single word, son. It looks like I did interrupt something."

The breeze picked up her scent. It combined with the honeysuckle at the end of the porch making a heady combination. He found his voice. "I know what you're going to say, and I agree. It's time I start to pull away."

Murdoch chuckled and his warm hand tightened then released on his arm. "Well good luck with that, son." His voice lowered, "But in the meantime, I would make sure to protect your heart as much as you're protecting old Ben."

Chapter 7

Ben looked up from the hearth where he was sweeping ashes. He saw Jeanie sitting at the dinner table, and a hollowness formed in his chest. She was staring out the window, her hand stilled over the rim of her cup. Her eyes went from the window then back to the table. Quiet and serious, her mouth pinched together, making her look forlorn—not the carefree girl she should have been. She'd been like that since returning from the Lancer's a few days ago.

He propped the broom alongside the fireplace brick. "How's the coffee?"

She startled out of her reverie. "Oh, the coffee is good, Uncle."

He lumbered to the kitchen and got himself a cup. "It's the chicory, you know. And a pinch of salt in the water to take out the bitterness." He sat down heavily beside her.

Ben stole another glance at the girl and caught her looking at him. She smiled and looked away. Just as suddenly, she moved her chair back from the table. He reached out and clasped her hand.

"Jeanie, settle here for a moment. We need to talk."

She gave a short sigh and sat back down.

"What happened between you and Scott at the Lancers the other evening?"

Her hands were restless, moving across the tablecloth to smooth out imagined wrinkles. "Nothing happened between us." She tipped up her head and sunlight from the window caught her freckles and took hold, making them a deep brown.

"Why do you ask?"

"I've been around for a long time. I know when something's wrong. You came into the house looking singed, and so did Scott."

A flush crept along her cheeks and her hands fluttered down to her lap. "We looked at the stars and talked about school…and life."

Ben sat back in his chair. Her words were clipped and short, something had happened between them. "Scott Lancer is a good man, Jeanie." He edged a look at her. "He'll be here soon. Maybe he could fit in that trip to town you're wanting to go on."

She nodded and tipped her cup, swirling the coffee around. Disquieted thoughts flitted through his mind. What did Jeanie know of life? Did she know grief or joy? Or the hard-found knowledge that all things change, that nothing remains the same?

He tried a different tact. "Your letters from school…they didn't say a whole lot."

Jeanie got from the table and went to the window, fussing with the old lace curtains. "I appreciate you sending the money so I could complete my studies, Uncle. I…disliked school—at first—but I learned a great many things there."

Her voice became quiet and soft. "I even met a young man."

Ben's breath caught at the sadness in her voice. So Jeanie did know about life, at least a bit. "What happened?"

She gave a too-casual wave of her hand. "It's over…or maybe it never really began."

"Jeanie…"

Her face tightened, knuckles blanching on the sill. "Really Uncle, I don't want to talk about it. There's no point in dredging up the past."

The past always needs talking about, Ben thought. The memories he had of Tommy came unbidden and unexpected while he studied his niece. Along with their plans and hopes of building the Monarch together.

At a low point in his life, he just wanted to be left alone so he could pick up the broken pieces of his life. Or so he thought. Then his mule broke through the corral and got loose one day. And now—somehow—Jeanie was here. Maybe she would come to trust him with time. He only hoped he had enough of it left.

LLLLL

Scott rode into the courtyard at a brisk pace. He'd stayed away from the Riley place for a few days, getting lost in his work at Lancer. He hoped it would give Jean some time to get over being angry with him. But from the looks of things he was wrong.

And now he was taking her into town. He finished buttoning the harness to the carriage and led the horse out of the barn.

Jean didn't look at him. Instead, she brushed past him and climbed into the buggy seat by herself. He felt foolish holding out his hand, grasping at air. Knowing what kind of ride it was going to be to town, Scott's eyes strayed over to Ben's one more time. The old man wore a sheepish expression and shrugged.

"Ben, are you sure you don't want to ride along?" Scott asked.

"I'm sure. I figure on spending a little time with Lizzy. You two go on ahead."

Scott pulled a pair of gloves from his belt and tugged them on. He clucked to the horses and they moved out while Ben waved to them from the porch.

He set his foot on the dash and slapped the reins a bit harder. Jean had scooted to the furthest part of the seat. "It's going to be a hot day."

"Hm."

Scott tipped his hat back and eyeballed the yellow sun. "Like Jelly would say, it's gonna be a scorcher."

A snicker escaped her lips.

"I don't know when it's been so dry for so long."

Laughing, she raised her hand in defense. "I surrender, I surrender. Just stop talking about the weather."

"Is this a truce, Miss Riley?"

"Truce, Mr. Lancer."

She shook her head. "Spending time with the mule…I don't think I'll ever understand it. How did my uncle come to live out in this…wilderness?"

Scott tried hard to overlook her condescending tone. "Well, it could be it was the only place he had left to go."

"It's so quiet. How do you ever stand it, all alone out here?"

"I manage. I like the stillness and the quiet…what there is of it. Sometimes you have to go out of your way to find it at Lancer."

For a time, the only noise they heard was the carriage wheels sending out a cranky rhythm and the jingling harnesses of the horses.

She shook out her skirt, sending dust flying back into the air. "My uncle seems worried about something."

"Ben has had his share of troubles, but the worst of it came after Darcy moved here. I'm not sure it's over."

"How do you mean?"

"This has been going on between your uncle and cousin for some time—almost two years now. Darcy is careful, biding his time. He knows Ben isn't well. Maybe he's waiting until your uncle is too sick to care what happens." He added, softer this time. "Or maybe he influenced the only person left who means something to Ben."

She stiffened. "What are you insinuating? I haven't spoken to Tom in years. And I gave my answer to you last evening as to why I'm here."

"Did you?"

Jean nodded, her eyes narrowed.

Scott shifted in his seat. "Do you know what I think? I think you came out to California because you had no other place to go."

Her expression hardened. "Do you always think so much, Scott?"

He ignored her stinging comment. "So who are you, Jean? The loving niece, or just a young woman who hasn't grown up yet?"

Her head came up, eyes flaring. "I don't need your approval, Scott. Not for who I am or what I want out of life."

He gave the reins another flick. "I'll say this. Ben Riley has put a lot of stock in you coming out here to live with him. He wants to share with you all he has left in this world."

"What? His cabin…his land? That's all very nice, but it won't get you very far."

"What about a sense of family? Try opening your eyes; you'd be amazed at what you can find. Think about it, Jean."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Family or no, I won't let you hurt Ben any more than he's been hurt already. And if you think otherwise, I can turn this rig around now so you can pack your things and leave."

"And who appointed you as my uncle's protector?"

He flashed a grin. "No one, I volunteered for the job."

LLLLL

The ride to town had been less than amiable after his last comments. Scott folded Murdoch's telegram from the Cattle Grower's Association and slipped it into his pocket. Jean wasn't with the buggy hitched by the bank across the street so he tried the mercantile.

No one was in the store except the owner's son. He spotted the boy down the aisle, pulling out a bolt of yellow fabric. "That color may not be your style, Abe."

The young man jerked the fabric free and grinned. "Aw, you know this ain't for me, Scott. It's for the Widow Hargis. Said she wanted to make a new frock for the fall social." He shook his head. "Fact is, this ain't the Widow's color, either. She's gonna look like one of my ma's mustard plasters."

Scott waited until he came around the counter and laid the fabric down. "Abe, have you seen a young woman, brown hair and freckles." He motioned to his head. "She was wearing these feathers…"

"Oh yeah. It was kind of a strange little hat. She's a real nice lady. Looked over the store for a while, but left about a half an hour ago. Was asking where Tom Darcy might be. I told her I didn't know, but to check over at the mining office."

The office was a simple room of rough boards and two windows. Darcy had his coat off and was sitting on the edge of his desk talking to Jean, but he stood to face Scott.

His eyes fastened on Scott's and a light danced in them, an ugly dangerous light.

"So we meet again, Mr. Lancer. What does this make, two…three times?"

"I haven't really counted, Darcy. It doesn't seem all that important."

Tom Darcy's face mottled and he took a long breath through his nose, his fingers closing into a fist. Scott stood still, just looking at him, and Darcy's eyes wavered.

Scott turned to Jean who was sitting on the couch. "Come on, it's time to go."

"Stick around," Darcy said. "Come a little while, after I take care of some business, we can get a bite to eat and get caught up."

She got up from her seat on the couch and walked to Scott's side. "I'm not sure…"

Darcy spun to face him and pointed a finger. "You've dug in, haven't you? I don't have anything against you, but I won't have my claim jumped. We both live around here, so we might as well bring matters to a head right now."

An itch to punch Darcy and watch him tumble over the neat oaken desk gnawed deep inside his belly. "That's one way," he said, forcing a half-smile, "but the wrong way. And is Ben Riley your claim again? I thought you'd thrown him out."

Anger flashed and the redness crept down Darcy's neck. "Now isn't the time to be looking for trouble, Lancer."

The itch prickled again, closer this time. Scott inwardly cursed himself for getting carried away with the moment. He turned to touch her elbow. "Jean?"

She looked from Scott to Darcy then back again, her eyes wide. She flashed a winning smile despite the high spots of color on both cheeks and relaxed into his grip. "I'm sorry, Tom. We need to be going, perhaps another time."

Scott led her out of the office and down the boardwalk to the carriage, all but throwing her into the seat. Halfway to Ben's cabin, the anger died within him and he twisted around to look at her. "What were you doing in that office?"

Her eyes were bright. "Why do you hate him so?"

He hesitated then shook his head. "I'd hate to lend credence to Tom Darcy by hating him. He's a dangerous man and I don't care for the way he's treated your uncle. Didn't Ben ever tell you why he lives out in the 'wilderness'?"

She reached up to unpin the bit of fluff sitting on her head. She ran two fingers along its side, smoothing down the speckled vanes of the feathers. "Some. They had a difference of opinion over the Monarch and my uncle gave Tom sole interest in the mine, then Ben moved to his land."

"Darcy pushed him out of Green River. He had Ben declared incompetent and stole the Monarch away."

A frown flickered across her face. "My cousin wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't he? The mine stopped producing about the same time your cousin arrived here. But Darcy wanted more, he wanted all your uncle had…so he fashioned a way to get it."

"But Tom was saying there was a rich vein…"

"He's wrong about that vein of gold in the Monarch. Ben said there was never such a thing and I don't have any reason not to believe him. Why would be remain quiet after all this time?

"What about you Jean? If there's trouble for your uncle, I'd like to think you were on his side."

She huffed out some air and turned her head. "So that's what this is all about? It's coming down to sides?"

"It's different here than in the city. And your cousin has taken full advantage of your uncle. You're going to have to decide what you want." Scott reached forward and flicked the reins over the horses' rumps. The wagon gave a short jolt with the change in rhythm.

"Don't quit him, Jean. Ben won't be able to take it."

~o~o~o~

Scott had taken an old game trail east from Ben's house. It led him down, and across the corner of a grassless, dried-up creek bed then onto Lancer property. His horse ambled along and Scott's thoughts went over the day's events. He'd just about come to a decision on Jean Riley, when he smelled smoke. Cigarette smoke.

At first it was just a faint suggestion, then he got a stronger whiff. His eyes shifted to the bushes lining the trail and he stiffened in the saddle. A sorrel pony was tied off in the brush. He moved his hand near the walnut gun butt on his hip.

"Uh-huh, I wouldn't do that, if I were you." The hammer clicked on a gun to his left.

Scott jerked his hand away. He looked towards the voice and found a cowboy, a black hood covering his face.

"What's this all about?"

"You'll see here in a minute."

Two other men followed, both hooded. The sound of rustling in the brush broke his attention and he saw a man, disguised like the other three men, seated on a big grey. He wore a hip-length jacket and carried a Colt revolver that peeked out just below its hem.

The cowboy on the ground closest to him spoke again. "Mister, you stuck your nose where it shouldn't go. And we're here to give you a little remindin'…"

Scott's hand strayed toward his gun.

The man on the horse placed an elbow on the swell of his saddle and leaned over casually, the hood muffling his words. "My friend here could just shoot you off the horse, but I believe you're a man of some intelligence Mr. Lancer. Why don't we act civilized and talk about this on the ground?"

If appearances were any measure, the men on the ground could angle a bullet into him whenever they wanted. Scott flung a leg over his saddle horn and dropped down from his horse. He didn't take notice of the man lingering to the back of his mount.

The man leaped for Scott and grabbed an arm. Scott dropped the reins and twisted to the left. At the same time, the second man latched onto his right arm. He yanked the gun from Scott's holster and flung it into the brush. Scott wrenched around, his shoulder plowing the cowboy into the horse. He wheeled back and drove hard into the first attacker's gut. Breath whooshed out of the man and he folded.

Scott pulled back for a short jab, but a strong pair of arms caught him from behind and dragged him back. The three of them hauled Scott kicking and fighting to a tree. Something hard rattled his brain and made his teeth knock together. He sagged in their grasp. They propped him against the tree trunk, pulling his arms back and around until his shoulders cried out with pain.

The first man stepped into his view. "Butting in where you don't belong ain't a smart thing to do, Mister."

He'd just been thinking the same thing himself earlier in the week.

The man ground his very big knuckles into the palm of his left hand.

Scott's head began to clear, his vision sharpening. From where he stood, the prospects of escaping were slim. He tugged at the hands holding him against the tree and fire raced across his shoulder blades. He looked at the hooded figure still mounted. "So, tell me, why doesn't Tom Darcy fight his own battles?"

The reply came swift and hard, buckling him over. The men yanked him up, slamming his head back against the trunk. Bright lights exploded behind his eyes and for a moment he couldn't breathe. The attacker swung again, his knuckles grazing Scott's chin. Rolling with the punch was the only thing that saved his jaw from being shattered. Dazed, he thought he might not be so lucky next time.

"Now, I'm gonna hurt you real bad, Mister." He plowed a fist into his ribs again and another to his cheek.

"Jefferson…stop, that's enough. After all we don't want to kill him."

The men released his arms and he slumped to the ground. He struggled to his knees, but a booted foot was planted on his chest—it pushed hard, and he fell over in a heap.

Scott heard the creaking of saddle leather and a crunch of boot heels. His head and shoulders were yanked up by his shirt front. Cool brown eyes peered at him from the depths of the hood.

"Consider this the first lesson, Mr. Lancer." His shirt was released, and his head bounced on the hard-packed earth.

The man turned on his heel and walked away. Scott's last sight hit him hard—the man's boots…they'd been recently shined.

Chapter 8

Scott rode to the white arch of Lancer and paused, placing a palm against the hot adobe in an effort to keep himself upright. He considered walking the rest of the way home then changed his mind. Kneeing his horse, they moved forward until he sagged so far out of the saddle she sidled to a stop again. She was more than considerate about this entire affair, but a soft nicker and a shake of her head told him she was getting impatient.

He pulled himself upright and they walked past the barn. Taking a deep breath, he dismounted, getting his feet underneath him. He rotated his shoulder and grimaced. Where was everyone? Normally this time of day, Lancer would be crawling with cowboys—then he remembered, the crews were out finishing the irrigation ditch. But surely Murdoch or Teresa, should be home.

Scott dropped the reins and staggered toward the house. One more step and he found himself in a heavy lean against the portico strut, wishing he still had those reins to hold on to.

"Hey, Scott? Whattya doing?"

He slipped downward. "Just…admiring…the new roses, Jelly."

The handyman peered at him, his jaw dropping. "What happened to you?" He reached for Scott's arm, calling out to the house. "Boss…hey Boss!"

The front door opened, and Murdoch stuck his head out. "Jelly, what's all the noise out there?"

"Scott here's been hurt…"

Murdoch's big hands scooped under his arms, tugging him upwards. Johnny pounded out the door next, the chorus from his spurs driving straight into Scott's headache, making his left eyelid twitch.

He pressed into Murdoch's side. "I met a few men on the trail…."

"Johnny, ride to town and get the doctor," said Murdoch.

Scott clutched a fistful of Johnny's shirtfront and pulled him closer. The blue and white pattern vibrated, making him want to close his eyes. "I don't need a doctor...I need you to ride to Ben's place. There may be trouble...get him and Jean out of there and bring them to Lancer."

Johnny hesitated and shot a look at Murdoch. His father nodded. "Go to Riley's but take some men with you."

Scott released his hold on Johnny's shirt and watched him run to the barn.

Murdoch slid an arm around his waist. He was about to tell him to stop squeezing so hard, when his father hitched him higher against his side. Breath driven from his lungs, he swallowed hard as they followed Jelly into the house.

Strength returned bit by bit, and the deep ache in his belly began to lessen. He fingered the scrape on his chin until his hand was batted away by Teresa.

She handed him a wet washcloth. "Here, put this arnica on that scrape instead of your fingers…it'll heal faster." Opening a jar of yellow ointment, she applied some to a towel and dabbed it on the back of his head.

He flinched away. "Hey, that hurts."

"Hold on, Scott. You've got a cut back here that needs tending."

"I think that's good enough."

"Just a little more…"

"Teresa." Her name slid out in a whisper. It was too warm in the room, made worse with her hovering. The pungent ointment and Teresa's cloying lilac scent closed in on him, making his stomach uneasy.

She looked at him and her hand dropped away. "Honestly, you made it all the way back to Lancer and now you can't stand to have a little salve put on your wound." She lumped the used linens around the basin sitting at the edge of the lamp table. Before she could pick them all up, he cupped her elbow and turned her, seeing the worry in her eyes for the first time.

"Teresa, I'm sorry."

Her hands were quicksilver in the air. "Why would anyone do this to you?"

Scott shrugged and regretted the stiff pull across his shoulders. What happened today had nothing to do with him being a Lancer. It was one man's greed getting the best of him. That was all. He tried not to think about Ben's troubles…or about Jean. But it was impossible to ignore the fact she was visiting with Darcy earlier in the day.

Murdoch entered the room looking grim. "I sent Walt for Sheriff Crawford."

His father assessed the damage up front, peering down from his great height. Then he leaned over, separating the hair at the back of Scott's head with surprising gentleness.

"How is it?" Murdoch asked, bypassing him, and going straight to Teresa.

"Not bad," she said, squeezing Scott's shoulder, "but it would be better if he'd let me take care of it." She reared back and studied him with a critical gaze, one hand splayed out on her hip. "You already have a couple of bruises."

"You were lucky, Scott," Murdoch said.

"They didn't want to kill me. Just teach me a lesson." His chest, pale beneath the halfway unbuttoned shirt, was mottled brown and red on the left side. "But more than one or two bruises, I think."

Teresa finished and picked up the linens, stopping to take one more careful look. "Are you all right, Scott?"

He nodded, and she stepped away.

The quiet ratcheted up after Teresa left. "Any sign of them yet?" Scott asked.

Murdoch glanced out the window from behind his desk. "No, but they'll have to take the main road. It'll take some time traveling with the buggy."

He shifted on the chair—then stood—unable to get comfortable and not willing to face the mix of emotions within him just yet. Frustration, anger and worry prodded, making him ready to mount up and ride for Ben's place. He wandered to the sideboard and picked out Murdoch's good Ardmore scotch.

"I'll take one of those, if you're pouring," Murdoch said.

He turned with the bottle in hand, saying with a half-grin, "Not too early?"

"Son, dinner is already over. We thought you were staying at Ben's."

His grin faltered. "I…must have lost track of time somewhere."

Murdoch's eyes followed him, watching as he poured out a generous finger of liquor into each glass. "You didn't see anything that would tell us who those men were?"

"No. They were wearing hoods of some sort. They certainly didn't want to be recognized. But I'm sure they work for Ben's nephew."

Accepting the liquor he offered, Murdoch swirled it around in his glass. "What makes you say that?"

"The response I received when I asked why Tom Darcy doesn't fight his own battles was rather…enthusiastic."

Murdoch scowled and took a deep slug.

Scott went to the window and pulled back the curtain. "There's something else. The man on the horse…I remember his boots. He wasn't a cowboy."

"A fancy design or special color…?"

Scott looked down at his drink. "No…they were shined."

"Shined?" His father gave him a puzzled look. "That's not a lot to go on."

It is for Green River was the first thing that came to mind. "I've seen them before, at the stage depot. The first man off the coach wore a pair of boots just like them. They caught my eye…."

"Do you have his name?"

"No," he said and turned to look at Murdoch, "but Jean might."

A strident bray and the sound of a carriage interrupted their conversation.

Ben's worried look softened when Scott met them at the door. "You're hurt." He took in the bruises on Scott's face and the raw skin showing above the buttons on his shirt, his hand busy on the cane top. "Did…did Tommy do this?"

"I think so…in a roundabout way."

The old man scrunched his eyes shut for a moment then reached out a trembling hand to Scott's shirtsleeve. "I'm sorry, boy. I never meant for you to get caught up in my mess."

Jean came around Ben, her gaze sweeping over him. She made a low sound that might have been concern or worry. Her look was pinned to the knuckle-rash on his chin, but Scott couldn't read her expression.

Johnny scuffed over the threshold, two small bags in tow. He laid them, side by side, against the wall.

"Were there any problems?" Scott asked.

"Only corralling Lizzy and getting her tied to the buggy. There was no one around, either at the house or on the road. Saw Walt on the way back home. Val's been held up in town for a while, he'll be here when he can get away."

Johnny looked Scott up and down. "How are you doing?" His finger snaked out to edge back Scott's shirt, where red-purple outlined a rib. "You're gonna be sore in the morning. But I guess it might hurt some now, huh?"

"I'm better." He caught Ben's eyes and the misery held there.

"I don't like running away." Ben sat on the edge of the chair, one hand massaging his knee in slow circles. "Done too much of it in recent times."

Scott shot Murdoch a glance. "It's safer for you and Jean at Lancer. Just for a few days, Ben. Until things can get straightened out."

Scowling, Ben took a firm grip on the chair arm and hoisted himself up. He hitched around the room for bit, working out the stiff leg. "What's going to happen now?"

Scott bowed his head, looking at the dark hearth beside him. "I can't identify any of the men, they were disguised. The sheriff will come out and I'll give a statement, but I don't think there's too much he'll be able to do."

Ben's ambling had taken him a full turn around the room, coming to a stop at the window. His face was shadowed by the moonlight coming through the glass. He seemed so small huddled against the sill, pressed against the curtains.

Scott leaned into the hard mantle of the fireplace, shifting his weight, and taking some of the sting away from his ribs. "There might be something to go on, however."

Three pairs of eyes focused on him while Murdoch kept his look angled towards Jean.

"I think I know one of the men. He was different than the other three, well-dressed and well-spoken. The same man who rode in the stagecoach with you, Jean."

Their eyes shifted to her. Johnny tilted his head in study, his attention taken away from worrying a loose string trailing from the seam of his jeans.

She turned in her chair, her dress rustling with the movement. Head held high, two bright spots of red—one on each cheekbone—were the only indication she had heard.

He came away from the fireplace; a few steps shy of her chair and waited. "Jean? Do you know him?"

She fussed then. Pulling on her skirt and fluffing out the folds. Scott watched that skirt billow out once then twice until finally her hands quieted, clasped together in her lap. A hard ball of—something—had formed in his belly.

"His name is Jim Waverly," she said, her eyes straying to Ben. "He got on the stage at Mormon's Crossing, coming from Stockton. We talked for a while—about cities and weather. I don't even recall what he said, but he seemed very cordial."

Murdoch's palm dropped flat on his desktop, startling the quiet from the room. He stood and stretched. "Ben, I'll get you and Jean settled in your rooms." He faced Scott, one eyebrow upraised. "It's been a long day…for all of us, and tomorrow may bring more answers. I'm going to bed. Son?"

"I'll be along in a few minutes."

"Don't make it too late."

Scott heard the swish of taffeta when Jean stood and walked to the entryway. The color was still high on her cheeks and she avoided his look. "Jean, would you hold on for a moment? I'd like to speak with you."

"I'm very tired, Scott. Can we talk in the morning?"

He'd moved forward enough to reach the back of her chair. The leather was smooth and cool under his palms; he rubbed his finger across the line of brass rivets holding it together on the frame. "Certainly."

Murdoch's stash of liquor was jostled, bringing him out of his reverie. A tumbler of whiskey was pressed against his arm.

"That old man is mad," Johnny said. "And Jean isn't too far behind."

He looked down into his glass. "I guess I panicked a bit."

"Since when have you ever done that? Ben's not mad about being hauled all the way here. He's mad at Darcy." Johnny pushed a few papers out of their neat stacks and sat on the edge of Murdoch's desk. "What about Jean?"

"I want to believe her."

"But you don't."

"No."

"So you like her?"

Scott drained the liquor from his glass and gave a curt nod.

"Then you've got a problem. 'Cause from where I'm sitting, Jean knows somethin' she's not telling."

He glanced towards Johnny then walked to the sideboard, placing his used glass on the tray. That particular fact had been on his mind ever since the beating—maybe before—if he was truthful about it. "I think I'll check on Ben before I turn in."

The door to the room was partway open; Scott knocked once then entered. Ben sat hunched into a wide chair, his face in profile.

"Johnny said Lizzy is already cozying up to Barranca."

A grin made a brief appearance on Ben's face. He'd let the stubble grow back a little and the smile pushed aside the few day's growth of grey-white bristle on his cheeks.

His knuckles blanched on the cane top. "Tommy's gone too far this time. It's enough what he did to me two years ago, but to involve you now…if you had gotten killed…"

"Now wait a minute, Ben. Killing isn't Darcy's way. He prefers to bully and threaten, not as effective as killing, but painful nonetheless." Scott's voice softened. "I'm not protecting him; I just don't want you to get so worked up about what happened to me."

Ben's head lifted and a hand snuck up to his left shoulder, rubbing hard.

"Are you in pain?" Scott asked.

"Some."

"Where's your medicine?"

"Left it behind. Johnny said to hurry and I forgot it."

"We've got some laudanum in the kitchen. I'll get it for you"

Ben's curled hand shot out to snag his sleeve, quicker than it should be able to. "No, sit. It's not bad and I want to talk with you."

So he sat, shoulders angled forward, leaning knee to knee with the old man.

"You think Jeanie had something to do with what happened to you."

He reached for a wrinkle on his pants leg, pinched it between two fingers then smoothed it out. "I don't know, Ben. The fact is she knows Jim Waverly and was talking to your nephew earlier today in his office…then I get jumped coming home." He waved a hand in the air. "It looks…suspicious." He didn't try to hide the frustration or smidgen of anger in his voice.

Ben's eyes dropped. "I just can't believe it, Scott. I know she's not happy here, but I can't believe she would do something like this." He leaned over and placed his warm hand on Scott's arm. "No, Jeanie's not involved, she can't be."

His right hand weighted down by Ben's, he ran the left one over his chin, feeling his own bristles and the tacky, uneven scrape to the side. Sitting there, he realized he was tired. Just plain tired. He managed a small smile. "I hope so, Ben. I really hope so."

~o~o~o~

There was no calculated strategy, but Scott had a general idea of what he wanted to do. Wiping a shirt sleeve across his brow, he flipped the blanket over the chestnut's broad withers and wiggled the saddle into place. He craned his neck side to side, feeling aches in his muscles he hadn't noticed before.

The sound of spurs, this time not so detrimental to his head, bounced through the barn entryway and stopped. "I was wondering when you'd get around to this."

He looked over the horse's rump at Johnny. "What? Going for a ride?"

"Uh-huh, and which trail are you thinking about taking…the one that leads past the Monarch mine?"

Scott found the cinch, pulling it tight. He waited until she blew out her breath then pulled it tighter. "It might."

The spurs jingled over to Barranca's stall. "I figured you'd have more sense than that."

"I waited until this morning, didn't I? Slept well, had breakfast. That's sensible, right?" There was no need to tell Johnny that while he did catch some sleep for a handful of hours, the rest of the night was spent flopping around in bed, trying to make some sense of Ben's situation. And breakfast consisted of lukewarm coffee, slurped standing up over the kitchen sink.

"Yeah, but what you're gonna do…isn't. Let the law handle it, Scott."

He unhooked his stirrup from the horn and pulled it down. "Val's tied up in Green River. And all I want to do is have a look around."

Johnny pulled his saddle and blanket from the stand. "So, you can see if those boys who roughed you up are Darcy's hires?"

Scott ran a hand down the chestnut's neck. The cross-ties were unhooked and the bit slipped into her mouth. She tongued the piece of metal for a moment then allowed it to move back behind her teeth. "That would be a bonus. But I know Ben won't stay here for much longer. He'll go back to his cabin, and I want to make sure he's safe."

Johnny bent down, cinch in hand, and looked at him from under Barranca's nose. "Hard to argue with that."

Taking a deep breath, he felt his lungs push the achy ribs outward. Scott gathered the reins in one hand and stepped over a cracked floorboard that needed replacing. Leading his horse out of the barn, he stopped halfway and called back over his shoulder, "I'll wait for you outside."

The Monarch mine operations rambled across a half dozen acres of mostly hill country, made up of scattered outbuildings and the crooked lines of ore wagons. Each building was haphazard in appearance, and in disrepair—a missing door here, loose shingles there. Scott studied the place for a few moments then turned to Johnny with a wry grin. "Shall we?"

A small brown house stood off to the right, its tin roof reflecting the early sun. A large barn was laid out behind the house, surrounded by a maze of corrals. Two smaller log cottages—they looked like bunkhouses—lay farther beyond that, pushed off to the right. Nothing was in order at the Monarch; everything seemed tossed about the landscape.

A man came out of the barn, folding himself through a corral railing, and strode up to the house.

Johnny tapped his elbow. "Anything familiar about him?"

He shook his head and urged his horse forward. Two other wranglers emerged from the bunkhouse, heading towards them. Scott glanced back at the house in time to see a yellow curtain fall at the window. He reined to a stop.

"Darcy!"

A few moments passed before the door opened and Tom Darcy stepped out onto the porch. The white bib tucked into his collar showed off the greasy smears of breakfast. He wasn't any more careful with his person than with his land.

Darcy's gaze shifted to Johnny, it lingered there, then came to rest on him again. "You have a lot of brass coming here, Lancer," he said, peeling off the bib. The door swung open again and a well-dressed man appeared in the doorway. Scott stole a glance at his boots. He was the same man from the stagecoach—and from the game trail. Waverly leaned on the doorframe behind Darcy.

The cowboy from the barn reached them and wasted no time in speaking his mind. "You need to ride on out of here, Mister. It won't do you…or your friend…any good to stay. Could even be dangerous."

Scott ignored him. He'd come to speak to Ben's nephew. "I've already asked your friends, now I'll ask you. Why don't you fight your own battles, Darcy?"

The man tipped his shaggy head to the side and laughed. "I don't know what you mean, Lancer. But I will say it looks like you've hit a few rough spots in the road."

Scott caught movement to his left—the other two men were almost upon them. He'd not make a move—not with Johnny there. His view went back to the mine owner, and he leaned forward in his saddle. "You're a liar, Darcy, you know what's going on." He said it easy with a taunt in his voice.

Johnny stiffened in the saddle, his hands going heavy on the reins. Barranca fought the bit for a moment and side-stepped. The cowboys gathered around and the man behind Darcy left the doorway and came out to the top step of the porch.

Darcy's anger was stoked. "I've taken just about all I'm going to take from you."

"You know what's going on but I would wager that your men don't."

A glint of surprise flashed through Waverly's eyes.

"You have gall, Lancer," Darcy said, but all his attention was on Waverly.

The cowboys kept their distance, making it plain they'd not leave until Darcy gave the order. Scott paid them no attention and continued, "I think they probably don't know about your…financial situation."

A man stepped forward. "We gonna let him talk like that, Mr. Darcy?"

A cowboy shouldered in front of him. "Shut up, Jeff. Let the man speak. What he's saying is gettin' mighty interesting."

Scott straightened and studied his gloves. "Johnny, I wonder what these men would say if they knew the bank was foreclosing on the Monarch mine and all of its property."

The leather in his brother's saddle creaked. Johnny leaned forward and crossed his hands over the pommel. "Now that just doesn't seem right, does it? A man likes to get paid for an 'honest' day's work and I'm pretty sure these boys want to know when the eagles are going to fly again."

Rage flared in Darcy's eyes and a ruddy tinge crawled from jaw line to ears. "I've heard enough from you. Get off my property."

The man with the shiny boots looked thoughtful. "Wait a minute. The fact of the matter is, I was wondering when payment would come for services rendered."

"Payment! You'll get the rest when the job is complete, Waverly."

The man snagged Darcy's arm. "I'm asking you again. Where is my money?"

The mine owner wrenched his arm away and backed up a few paces.

Waverly shook his head and looked at the sky. "I knew you were a poor risk, Darcy. You had that odor about you."

Tom Darcy's eyes shifted from side to side, and he started to speak, then hesitated. Pushing a cocky face at the man, he said, "Of course, I have the money. The bank is making a lot of noise over a few paltry loans. It means nothing."

The man's eyes narrowed. "You really don't want to go against me. Now I either get paid in advance or I leave."

Both men stared at each other until Darcy's shoulders caved.

"I thought so," Waverly said. "A word of advice, Darcy, you'd better look twice at the road you're heading down. These gentlemen don't appear to be fools. Unlike the rest of us." He stepped off the porch.

Scott called out, "Wait."

The man half turned on his way to the barn.

"Do you know Jean Riley?"

Waverly cocked his head to the side in thought. "The girl in the coach? The one with freckles traipsing across her nose?"

His stomach kicked over. Meeting Jean at the depot, their arguments in the carriage, seeing her sitting in Darcy's office…it all came to a single point.

"I've never met the young lady before our stagecoach ride together." He tipped his hat and resumed his walk.

Scott exhaled—bit by bit—the breath he'd been holding, feeling his stomach settle. Pitched, excited voices captured his attention. Two of Darcy's men argued then peeled off, following Waverly to the barn. The man named Jeff was the only one left by the mine owner's side.

Scott managed a tight, painful grin.

Darcy shot him a burning glare. "This doesn't change a thing, Lancer."

He turned his horse, half expecting a bullet from somewhere. He glanced at Johnny. From the rigid set of his brother's jaw, he was thinking along the same lines. But it never came, and he wouldn't give Darcy the satisfaction of looking back.

Johnny pulled alongside him, their stirrups almost touching. "How did you know about Darcy's foreclosure?"

Scott didn't feel much like talking. He reached up and adjusted the brim of his hat. It sat low across his eyes, shading the upper half of his face. It felt cooler—for a few seconds—then the heat started to rise again. "I didn't."

There was a stifled snort then Johnny reached over to grab his reins, pulling tight. Scott's horse danced to the side when Barranca reached out to nip her neck.

"Hold on…you were bluffing?" Johnny asked.

"Not quite. I knew Darcy had some outstanding debt. I just put two and two together."

"Well, what would you have done if it didn't work?"

"I'm hopeful I would have thought of something given time." Still chafing at the entire incident, his words were short and to the point. He was in no mood to be preached at by his brother.

"You would have thought of something?"

He shrugged and nodded.

Johnny let go of the reins he had fisted. Disbelief started as the barest of tics at the corner of his mouth. It grew and changed into a wide-mouthed grin, a chuckle escaped then laughter streamed out.

The ridiculousness of the situation finally penetrated Scott's mind and he started to smile until he was laughing outright. Johnny slapped him on the thigh, and they broke into an easy canter for home.

Chapter 9

Ben awakened early—someone had let a door slam at the back of the hacienda. He didn't know who it was, maybe Murdoch or one of the boys. For some reason he hadn't been able to get back to sleep, so he got up and fumbled into his pants.

The cold water in the basin washed the sleep from eyes and took the cotton from his mouth. He tried plastering down spiky hair with his hand, wishing he'd brought a comb. Johnny caught them by surprise yesterday, riding into the front yard like the devil was after him and he'd forgotten to take a lot of things.

His medicine, the comb, an extra shirt and…he couldn't remember what else. The thought was right there, but he couldn't push it forward. At least he managed to bring his book. But with so many books lining the shelves in Murdoch's study, he needn't have bothered.

Ben sighed. It was getting worse, his forgetting. The other day he found himself out in the barn with the feed bucket tucked in his hands. He only remembered Lizzy was already fed when he investigated her bin and saw the remnants of her supper at the bottom.

Catching a glimpse of his image in the mirror, he frowned at the face that looked back at him. Thinner than the last time he really looked at himself in the cracked mirror at the cabin. His brown eyes sat deeper in their sockets. He finished at the basin and started for the door, but changed his mind and took to the chair and his book instead.

Sitting down, he winced from the lingering discomfort in his chest. It had flared to a crescendo during the night, then passed. He was liable to be sore for a while. Picking up his book, he thumbed to a favorite page, squinting with the poor light. After reading a few sentences, he settled for holding the leather-bound book cupped in his hand.

His eyes drifted to the window. What had gotten into Jeanie? Why was she so secretive? There was only one reason, but it wasn't good to think about such things. An undercurrent in her voice stirred Ben's unease. Nothing he could put his finger on, yet he'd experienced doubts. Little things that led him to believe she placed more emphasis on money than family. He put it out of his mind and concentrated on the book again.

Ben opened it again, but his thoughts turned away, this time to Scott. He wondered what the young man planned to do. It would have made things simpler if he'd never asked Scott to take care of Lizzy in the first place. The boy should have left the mule and be done with it. That wasn't Scott's way, though. And if he were anywhere truthful about the matter, Lizzy would have died.

He heard a noise in the hallway then a short rap. His door opened partway.

Teresa's stuck her head around the door, one hand still on the knob. "Mr. Riley? Breakfast is made if you'd care to have some. And Murdoch has the coffee brewing."

LLLLL

"Scott could have been killed. It was bad enough he was beaten and left on the trail." Murdoch crossed the great room in five long strides, turned, and thumped his way back across the room.

"You tryin' to wear a path in your carpet?" Those were the first words Sheriff Crawford could squeak in edgewise.

Ben felt like he was eavesdropping, but he remained rooted just outside the door. He'd been on his way to the kitchen when raised voices drew him to the room. He shivered and turned away, feeling a tug of guilt. If Scott had been killed….

Murdoch called out to him. "This involves you, Ben. I'd like it if you stayed."

Sheriff Crawford looked at him from his perch on the sofa arm then he addressed Murdoch. "Where is Scott now? I want to talk to him."

"I don't know where he is, but he was up early. I heard him stirring around." At Crawford's skeptical look, he added, "Scott has a habit of taking a walk when he can't sleep, or if he has something on his mind."

Murdoch turned to the window and swept aside the drape to look outside. "But his horse is gone…and so is Johnny's."

The sheriff swiped a hand across his bearded chin. "I see and I don't like it. Let's try this situation out another way. What makes Scott think that Tom Darcy had any part of this?"

Murdoch shrugged. "The man who led the beating wore shined boots. Scott had seen a man wearing a pair like them at the stage depot. He thinks Darcy hired someone."

Crawford pursed his lips. "This just gets better and better, don't it? I'll tell you on thing, Mr. Lancer, if those two sons of yours went over to Darcy's place and flushed him out before I got a chance, I'll throw both of' em in jail."

"Before you have a chance to do what?"

"Arrest him. That's why I was so late gettin' here. I was at the bank then down to the courthouse. The judge is all set to bring in Tom Darcy for back taxes. That and the fact he defaulted on a couple of loans should do him up real nice. But if them boys go over there and mess it up…"

Murdoch looked at him in sympathy. "I'm sorry, Ben."

Sheriff Crawford picked up his hat from the sofa cushion. "I want to see Scott in my office pronto." He shook his head. "I just know this'll keep me in paperwork."

Crawford turned to leave. Levering his hat back upon his head, he reached the exit, but looked back. "On second thought, maybe I'll just mosey on over to Darcy's right now and see what's going on. And Mr. Riley? This sure don't reflect on you any, not since he cut you loose from the Monarch."

Ben looked up when Teresa entered the room. "Breakfast is getting cold. Sheriff, would you like to stay and have something to eat? Maria has made plenty."

"No thanks Miss Teresa. I need to be on my way."

They watched the lawman exit the room. Ben rose to his feet and started after Teresa. "Has Jean come down yet?"

"No, but I knocked on her door earlier, though." She threaded an arm under his. "Once we get to kitchen, I'll go up and see what she's doing. Chances are she lost track of time."

The sound of horses in the courtyard drew their attention.

Murdoch met them in the vestibule, his face grim. "Scott and Johnny are back."

"You go on, Mr. Riley. I'll check on Jean," Teresa said.

The sheriff met the two men before they had a chance to come to a complete stop. He was arguing, with most of the heated words aimed towards Johnny.

Val slapped his hat against his thigh. "I just knew you went to the Monarch. Of all the idiotic things..."

Johnny placed his palm against the sheriff's chest. "Now hold on, Val. Nothing happened then and nothing's going to happen now." He sent a look to his brother. "Scott here just wanted to talk to him. So, we did…and sent most of his men packing."

Val turned his attention to Scott and jabbed a finger in the air. "And you…I need to talk to you about what happened."

Teresa jogged out of the house. "Jean isn't in her room or on the back porch."

Murdoch addressed his sons. "You didn't see her anywhere on the road, did you?"

Johnny shook his head. "We came through the pass, not the main road."

"Well, she's missing," Teresa said, "along with her hat and purse."

Scott looked pale beneath the sweat and grime of the trail, the bruises on his face livid. "We know she's not with Darcy. Maybe she went into town," Scott said.

"Does she know the way?" Murdoch asked.

Teresa looked uncomfortable. "She asked me how to get to town last night. I thought she wanted one of us to take her there this morning. You know, to pick up a few things."

Scott started for the barn. "I'll saddle a fresh horse."

"You want company?" Johnny asked.

Scott shook his head. "No, this is something I need to do myself."

Ben stepped up. "Find her, Scott. Make sure she's all right."

"Don't worry, Ben, I'll bring her back."

LLLLL

Scott slanted his steps across the street toward the stage depot. A quick inquiry at the hotel told him she hadn't checked in, so that left one place to go. He realized with a start he knew very little about Jean Riley. He thought about Waverly and what was said at Darcy's house earlier in the morning.

Maybe he had read too much into Jean's manner. Maybe it was just everything that happened to her in Denver building up inside her. There had to be some reason for the way she was acting.

A wall had dropped between them, and he felt responsible, in part anyway. After his initial infatuation, the attraction to Jean had cooled, especially after finding her sitting in Darcy's office. He tried to shake off the renewed surge of disappointment, but he couldn't seem to manage it.

Dodging a wagon spitting up brown dust from its wheels, Scott saw Jean exit the depot. She looked about then settled on the shaded hard bench under a daunting poplar tree. A white handkerchief in her hand fluttered a bit when she dabbed at her throat. The silly hat stood cocked off to one side, much as it had when he first met her on the stage.

He reached the bench from the side and stared at her, waiting. She sat straight. Any straighter and Scott thought her spine would crack.

She kept her eyes—they appeared reddened—directed to the street. "I left the buggy at the stables. The boy said he'd send it out to Lancer later today."

"I'm not worried about the buggy."

She finally turned to face him. He'd been right about her eyes—she'd been crying at some point. But right now they glittered with anger. "Then what? Here to accuse me of more misdoings?"

He winced when her barb hit a sore spot. "I talked to Waverly. He said he never met you until the stagecoach ride."

The chill in her look knifed through him and made him think about his words. "I had to be sure. I'm concerned about Ben. And you."

She seemed to collapse within herself, exhaling a long breath. A coil of brown hair had worked itself loose from the bun atop her head and lay across her brow.

"You can't run off, Jean."

Wiping her handkerchief across her forehead, she disturbed the loose hank of hair, pushing it to the side. "Can't I? It seems I've been doing it all my life. I'm good at it."

He looked down at his boots then up again. "You didn't say goodbye."

"No, I didn't," she acknowledged, her voice sounding tired.

He stepped closer and held out his hand. "Then come back."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"You won't like it."

A thread of apprehension coiled itself within his belly. His hand dropped back to his side. "Try me."

She balled up the handkerchief and clenched it in the palm of her hand. "Tom sent a letter to me about a month before I graduated. Full of promises and sunny days. He said our uncle had deteriorated in both body and mind and that he had assumed ownership of the Monarch."

Scott shifted his weight from one leg to the other, not wanting to hear the rest.

"Tom mentioned that when I visited Green River, I could possibly persuade our uncle into revealing information concerning a lost cache of gold, a hidden vein of wealth. He also related that the money belonged to all of us—since we're family."

Scott crossed his arms. "Receiving Ben's telegram must have been like a sign from heaven."

She ignored his comment. "I debated coming out to California at his request. Then my uncle's telegram appeared."

Suspicions sparked. "And what about Waverly?"

She looked up at him, shielding the sun from her eyes with one hand. "Meeting him on the stage was a coincidence. I didn't know he was coming to Green River at my cousin's request. And I didn't know him before the stage—that's the truth."

She pulled on her shirtwaist and dug the toe of her boot into the soft ground. "Have you ever been poor, Scott? I have…and Denver gave me an appreciation for the finer things in life. When Jameson left, there was nothing for me there, so I decided to come to Green River."

"Not because your uncle asked, but to see about the gold your cousin was telling you about."

"Yes, in the beginning," she hedged, "but it's changed now."

"Has it, Jean?" He thought about the wall between them and felt another brick slide into place…mortared there by her confession. The sugar bushes lining Ben's property came to mind. He knew Jean never fully realized their beauty, even when they'd been right in front of her. "You can still do the right thing."

"What's that?" Her voice was cautious.

The next words were difficult to push out. "You'll go back to Lancer and tell Ben just what you told me."

"No."

"No? You owe him that much."

A small bit of the earlier fire came back into her eyes. "SoI can go back and be condemned?"

Scott stared at her and scowled in disbelief. "You don't know even know your uncle." He turned on his heel and started to walk back to the mercantile.

He'd gotten a dozen yards before hearing her cry out.

"Scott, wait!"

He stopped in the middle of Green River's main street and heard her muted footsteps coming closer. Maybe Jean was starting to grow up after all. He hoped so…for Ben's sake.

~o~o~o~

Ben was feeding Lizzy a carrot when Scott found him. He caught the boy's look, holding his gaze for a long moment—he'd found Jeanie. The mule thrust her nose into Scott's hand the minute he walked up to them. "Throwing me over for a younger man, Lizzy?"

Scott reached out his hand to stroke her smooth cheek. "And no sugar this time."

Ben smiled. "I don't think she cares if you have sugar or not—it's the company." He felt tighter than a fiddle string. "Where is she?"

"Jean is up at the house, waiting to see you.'

"How is she?"

Scott's eyebrows arched and he blew out his breath. "Upset, angry…confused. Maybe all those things."

"Jeanie was running away, wasn't she?"

"Yes." Scott ran a hand through his hair, making the blond tips stick up. "She wants to talk to you, but there's no guarantee you'll like what she has to say."

Lizzy turned her muzzle back to him for a pet and Ben sighed out a breath. "At least she came back."

LLLLL

Ben found her on the back patio, looking out to the corral. Bawling calves and the sound of a hammer against an anvil penetrated the afternoon quiet. What she was thinking, he had no idea, but she didn't look happy. He sat down beside her and together they watched a hummingbird flit between the mimosa trees.

"You're quiet," Jeanie said. "You don't want to say anything?"

"What can I say?" His voice sounded thin and dry to his ears.

She didn't act mystified and need an explanation. She knew as well as Ben how he felt.

Her voice was tentative. "You've only known me for a couple of weeks, Uncle."

His eyes had grown old reading the lay of mining land and the motives of men—and women. "How long does it take to know someone, Jeanie? Is there a special amount of time or a set of rules?"

She must have seen something in his face because hers changed and the warmth went out of it, replaced by sadness.

Jeanie clasped her hands together. "I…I didn't mean to hurt you."

She didn't lie. Something other than fear was driving her. He could sense the bitterness in her, the sense of failure and hurt. "And you haven't." He added on a whisper, "Not yet."

"I've been in contact with Tom."

With a little pang, he started. "Before coming here?"

She nodded. "He wrote me a letter saying you knew where a hidden vein of gold is located in the mine."

"Oh Jean." Ben shook his head. "I never figured you for being that way. You came out here to test me, to try and get me to talk."

Jeanie looked up, surprised at the hard tone of his response. "I received the letter from Tom. Then the telegram from you arrived. I didn't know what to think."

He stroked his cane top, glancing out of the corners of his eyes at her face. It was small and heart-shaped, and it reminded him of Estelle. Her dark eyes were voluminous against the paleness of her cheeks. He wanted so much to believe her.

"There is no hidden vein of gold. Not at the Monarch. What little money there was in the mine has long since been frittered away by your cousin."

He looked full into her face. "Hunting for gold is no good Jeanie. Don't get caught up in it. There are other things more precious, look for those things instead."

She didn't reply at once. "Like love, Uncle?" Getting to her feet, she rushed to the edge of the porch. "Where did love ever get me? Your telegram came at an opportune time, you know. Jameson had…I broke up with him and didn't have anywhere to go."

She seemed to want to say more but held back. He gave her a tight smile. "You were in love with him."

He knew from her hesitation it had been difficult for her.

Sniffling, Jeanie's eyes darted from the toes of her kid boots to the far-off mountains. "Yes, I was." She straightened, her fingernails digging into the railing. "But if that's what love is then I'd rather have the gold."

"Has running away given you any rest?"

"I'm better off without him."

"Did you tell him you loved him?"

"Yes."

She was being evasive now. He played a hunch. "Did he tell you?"

Her startled look told him he hit a nerve.

Jeanie's eyes narrowed. "No."

"It was wrong of him." Unless the man Jeanie caught herself up with was the trifling sort. He probed deeper. "Did he make advances towards you?"

"That man had no decency…"

The hopelessness in her voice tore at him. "There are other things to hold your love, Jeanie."

She swept her hand out in an arc. "Like this land?"

"In part. It can offer you what you need or want."

"Then I am sorry, Uncle. I can't live up to your expectations. Another unfortunate side effect of attending school—along with meeting and falling in love with Jameson—I became accustomed to the city and all it can offer."

She glanced away and stared hard at the landscape. "All that schooling and yet it seems I'm a still a marionette. This time Tom pulled the strings, and I came running."

There it was again—her anger. He'd noticed it during their first few days together. And he knew Scott had experienced it firsthand.

She wheeled to face him, fury bright in her eyes. "What about me, Uncle? When do I get a chance to be happy?"

His throat grew tight, knowing with a deep sadness she would not stay. God help him, Ben wasn't sure he wanted her to stay anymore. "You make your own happiness, Jeanie. But not this way, not by looking for pipe dreams of lost gold."

Ben drew a sharp breath when heaviness seized his chest. He dragged his tongue over dry lips. "I have a bit of money set aside. I'll see you get back to Denver if that's what you want."

A frown marred her pretty face. "I think that would be for the best, Uncle."

He wanted to go to her and put his arms around her, assure her everything was going to be all right. But the distance between them was tangible—something he was unable to penetrate.

~o~o~o~

Johnny nudged his elbow. Scott finished tying off his horse, and Lizzy, to the back of the carriage and turned his head to see Ben on one side of the portico and Jean on the other. He had argued with Ben about returning home so soon, but the old man wouldn't hear of it.

"Bound to be a quiet ride back to Ben's," Johnny said. "I'll tag along as far as the turn-off, then meet up with the crew."

The afternoon stretched out and the sun was hot on his shoulders. He was grateful for Johnny's presence, and the conversation he kept up with Ben. Jean was too quiet, electing to sit in the back of the buggy and offering a word here and there when asked.

Her voice now floated to the front. "Scott, when we get to my uncle's house, could you wait a moment? I would appreciate a ride back into town. I'll be leaving for Denver in the morning."

He edged a look at Ben. The old man nodded. "Jeanie has decided she wants to return to the city."

The news didn't surprise him, just the quickness of it. He nodded and pulled the horses to stop at the fork in the road.

Johnny guided Barranca over to his side of the carriage. "I'll be on my way. Ben, I'm looking forward to another round of cards real soon." He tipped his hat to Jean.

Scott bunched the reins in one hand. "I'll catch up with you when I get back from town."

Johnny leaned down to tap his shoulder. "It looks like your day just got full. I'll see you back at the ranch for supper."

Jean's skirts rustled in the back seat. "If it's too much of a bother, I can borrow a horse and leave it at the livery."

Temper spiked and filled him. He twisted in his seat to look at her. Jean's eyes widened but she wasn't looking at him.

She pointed her finger at the horizon. "Smoke! I see smoke!"

Chapter 10

"Fire." Scott whispered it first, then shouted it to Johnny as he jumped out of the carriage to untie his horse.

They topped the hill. Smoke rolled, rising in great plumes. It was dry, too damned dry. He could feel it inside, the fire's thrum. It made him nervous, pulsing there. Smoke stung his eyes, his nose, even as the flames licked across the flat land toward the cabin.

He and Johnny rode at a dead gallop into the courtyard. Jerking his horse to a stop, he swung from the saddle and ran into the barn, emerging with burlap sacks and a bucket. He threw a few sacks to Johnny, and they split off to the biggest ends of the fire, his brother urging Barranca forward into the valley.

Scott's mind filled with the heat and haze as he beat back the flames edging close to the corral. The rumbling sound of turning wheels caught his attention—Jean's dress billowed out from the front of the wagon, heralding the dust cloud behind them. He waved, motioning for them to turn back.

A bullet pinged near his boot, kicking up dirt. Scott lunged back to the corral fencing. He caught a glimpse of someone in black and snapped off a quick shot. The wagon swerved and drew off to the side.

Sweat trickled into his eyes as he crept forward, looking for Johnny through the smoke. He'd seen his brother dive for cover after the shot sounded. Rising, he ran for a natural break in the land. The rider started to turn in his saddle, so he changed direction to the nearest tree. Working his body around the trunk, he had a clear view of the man through the smoke.

Darcy.

The fire fluttered, whipping down, then blazed up, brighter than ever. Using it as cover, Scott worked his way closer. He pulled himself along, lying flat until he was near the man and horse. Darcy's attention was focused on trying to control his nervous mount. He leapt for the rider and they both fell sprawling to the valley floor.

Darcy staggered up, gave a hoarse yell, and charged. The impact knocked them both off their feet again, rolling close to the flames. Scott lay still for a moment, lungs heaving.

More gunshots blasted in the distance. He stiffened. The second shot was accompanied by a man's shout. Scott met the mine owner head-on, swinging a balled fist. It landed square to Darcy's jaw and the man lurched back.

With a snarl, the mine owner jumped at Scott, swinging his own fist. "Nobody beats me, you or my uncle!"

The blow caught him on already tender ribs, and he doubled over. Twisting to the side, Scott reached out to grab the man's leg. He heaved hard on it, throwing the older man off balance, and upending him. Darcy crashed to the ground.

Scott pounced, pinning him to the ground. Once then twice he slammed a punch into Darcy's face. The sound of a commotion just beyond the fire reached his ears—horses, and they were riding hard.

A man's form blundered through the smoke. Scott pivoted and snatched up his revolver. Johnny broke through the haze, his body rimmed by black smoke.

"I got the second shooter." Hands on knees, Johnny leaned over trying to catch his breath. "Same cowboy who stayed with Darcy this morning." He hauled up at the sight of the bloodied man splayed out on the ground. "Speak of the devil…I might have known it'd be him who set this. Looks like you got in a few good licks, though."

Johnny reached out his hand and helped Scott up. "You wanna leave him here?"

His brother's proposition was backed up by a thin smile of stark white teeth set in a face smeared black.

Scott huffed out a breath. "It's tempting, but no."

"Then we'd better haul him out of here before it's too late. Cip and boys are here from the work site, trying to put out these flames. I figure they might still need our help." Together they lifted Darcy between them and dragged him out of the fire's reach.

LLLLL

Everything looked so bright and sharp in the afternoon sunlight. It seemed impossible the fire could have done so much so fast. Scott saw the damage, the burned mess of what had been Ben's valley. Whole swaths of it were swallowed up and replaced by char. The fire had run along a trail almost to the cabin and corral, fueled by Darcy's torches and the dry land.

Johnny, up ahead of him, was giving directions to Cipriano. Darcy was tied up in the back of the wagon and Jeff, his cowboy, was nursing a bullet wound to the arm. The rest of the soaked, ash-covered men had peeled off for Lancer when the last fire was put out.

Scott scrubbed an arm across his forehead, catching an errant drop of sweat. There would be a lot of work to do to get everything in order again. He heard a faint cry and turned around.

Jean called out to him again. Ben was slumped down near the corral fence. Rushing to his side, he helped him up and half-carried the old man out of the lingering smoke and into the cabin. The air was warm and heavy inside, but Ben was shivering. Scott turned down the quilt and helped him into bed.

Ben had streaks of black dust covering his cheeks, contrasting with the grey of his face. Despite his condition, he managed a fragile smile.

"Ben." Scott stood there unsure of what to say next. "I'll send someone for Doctor Jenkins."

"I don't need Sam." His words were muffled behind a rasping wheeze.

Smelling the smoke and seeing the smudges on Ben made him want to push his fist into Darcy's face all over again. It was wrong, but the feeling persisted.

Jean's voice caught him unawares. "Johnny went for the doctor. How is he?"

He shook his head. "Get a basin of water and some towels from the kitchen."

As Jean turned, Ben started to cough, frothy spittle dotting his lips. He clutched Scott's arm. "Don't…leave."

Ben's hand wrapped tighter around his wrist. He was looking past Scott to the window. "Tommy, where are the men? There's a fire in the mine!"

"Easy Ben. Lay back now." Scott eased him back to the pillow. "The fire is all gone."

Ben turned frightened eyes to face him. "Tommy?"

"You're at the cabin, Ben. Tommy went back to town."

Ben's hand loosened its grip as awareness crept back in. "Scott?" He looked around the room in puzzlement. "I thought…," he whispered. "Never mind…" He let go of Scott's arm to fall back against the pillow.

"It's all right, you're safe now. Jean and I will get you cleaned up."

Ben fell into a restive sleep before they finished, pulling every so often at the blanket.

Scott pushed away from the bed. He was weary, the stink of smoke still filling his nostrils. The low, flickering light from the lantern threw soft shadows on the walls in the curtained room. Jean was curled up in a chair they'd pulled into the room.

A loud bray reminded him that Lizzy needed tending. He looked at Jean who nodded and he left for the barn.

LLLLL

Ben drifted awake and opened his eyes. "Hey?" His voice found only an echo for company. "Where is everybody?"

No answer. He shifted in bed and remembered. Fire! The quilt was heavy; he fumbled with its scalloped edge trying to get out from under it until a soft rustling noise from the window drew his attention.

"Uncle, you need to stay in bed. You're not well."

Estelle? No, Estelle was gone, these many years. He squinted at the face in the gloom of his bedroom. The wide-set eyes, brown hair falling over her high forehead…

"Jeanie."

"I'm here."

Her soft white hand patted his arm.

He pushed the spread down. "Fire…we have to leave…"

"The fire's been put out, Uncle. The Lancers saw to it. Rest easy, Johnny will be back soon with the doctor."

Panicked, Ben swept his eyes around the room. "Scott?" he yelled.

"Hush. He went to take care of Lizzy."

The boy was all right…. He quieted and settled back into the pillow, feeling his weight press into the cushion of the familiar mattress. He was just so tired. "Open the curtains, Jeanie."

"There's not much out there to look at, since the fire."

"Please."

He heard a soft sigh then the rustle of taffeta. Jeanie pulled back the curtains, allowing the early evening light to flood in. Propping himself up on one elbow, he could see blackened lines leading a trail to the cabin. The sugar bushes were still there, he just knew it. If he could only see them.

A firm hand pushed him back against the mattress. "You'll hurt yourself, please try to lay still."

He batted away her hand, wanting only to see the greenery against the scorched land. They'd seen fires before, and when everything was taken around them, the sugar bushes had survived. He remembered the first white blooms…

A tap against his shoulder made him frown. He looked up at Jeanie.

"I'm sorry how this all turned out. I know you wanted me to stay here. But I can't, Uncle. And now that Tom is gone…."

He thought hard. "Where is Tommy? I need to talk with him."

A deep furrow appeared between Jeanie's eyes. "The Lancer foreman took him away. You know that."

Ben pressed his knuckles into his chest and rubbed in slow circles. "Tommy left?"

Jeanie bobbed her head up and down.

"But there's so much to do yet. I want to tell him about the gold…" Hammering of pickaxes against stone filled his ears. There must be twenty men working today. He could hear their voices. The rough shouts and crude curses rising above the dust, as one by one the hand trucks appeared at the mouth of the Monarch. The trucks were filled with gravel and rock. In six weeks, they'd cleaned up twenty-thousand dollars. But now the mine was playing out. He had to tell Tommy about the big vein running inside the Monarch….

It was all a fraud. But they'd mined enough ore for both to live on, if they did it with care. Ben struggled against the confines of the quilt. He had to make sure his nephew knew that it was all a lie so he wouldn't keep wasting money.

"Tell me." Jeanie's soft voice came from the bedside. She leaned closer to him, enough so he could smell the lingering scent of smoke-tinged lemon verbena and soap.

He gnawed at his lip and stared, his head throbbing with the beat of his heart. Her voice persisted above the roar in his ears. Something was very wrong. He fingered the rough quilt, what was she asking?

"Tell me, Uncle. Where is the vein?"

There was a sharp scrape of boot heels across the threshold. "Jean."

She shrank back and his breath whooshed out. Ben's eyes swept over the figure in the doorway. Scott's forehead was creased by worry lines and soot. Then he looked back to Jeanie; her head tilted downwards studying folded hands. But she'd been asking about the Monarch…about the gold.

The boy's eyes flashed in anger. "Ben?"

His mind cleared. Drained and spent, he nodded.

Scott turned to Jeanie and pushed his hand under her arm. "You need to leave."

Ben's voice was reedy, thin as a light breeze. He sought out her hand. "I thought I wanted that gold, with all my heart. But what I really wanted was a bit of land and family around me, the way man was meant to live. Not with a head full of dust and ore dreams. I figured that out late—too late—to save Tommy from making the same mistake. Then he turned against me, and I turned against myself, I suppose." He glanced at Scott. "It took a lost mule almost getting herself killed to realize that.

"Jeanie, I know it seems like you're down to bedrock right now, but someday you'll understand what's important."

"Uncle…"

A carriage pulled up outside. Ben heard Johnny's voice and one other. He fastened his eyes upon her, squeezing her hand while tears tumbled down her cheeks. Searching, he found his voice again. "Goodbye, Jeanie."

With the decision came peace, came certainty. He relaxed. Scott's anger was banked, Ben saw. He'd see to her, would make sure she got off to Denver on the stage.

Doctor Jenkins barged into the room; his black brows pressed together in a single line. Ben eyed the bag he laid on the bed. "I don't need any help."

"For God's sake, Ben, let me be the judge of that. I've been practicing a bit longer than you."

Ben tried to glare at Scott and Johnny but failed. "I don't need a room full of people looking on while you do it."

Scott tipped a half-smile. "Okay, okay. We'll wait in the other kitchen. Maybe Johnny can make some of his coffee you like so much."

Ben's hand scrubbed the side of his face. There was something he needed to do. "Scott…there's a white envelope in my desk drawer. Can you bring it to me?"

"Sure, Ben. I'll get it for you."

He saw the boy and his brother exchange puzzled looks before they left the room. He hoped they knew how lucky they were to have each other as family.

Scott brought the envelope and Ben waited until he left, and the door was closed. He trembled open the envelope; something blurred his eyes and he thrust the papers towards the doctor. "My time is about used up, Sam, I know that much at least." He sighed and burrowed deeper under the spread. "I need you to sign your name on those papers. And whatever happens, make sure Ed Farley gets that envelope, would you?" He looked into the doctor's concerned eyes. "Promise me, you'll do that."

Dr. Jenkins looked through the four sheets of paper and placed them back into the envelope. "Are you sure about this?"

"Never so much in all my life."

"All right, Ben. I'll sign them, and make sure Ed gets it." He slipped out his timepiece and sat down in the chair. "Now let me have a look…"

LLLLL

Johnny pulled Scott aside and motioned to Jean's room. "Everything all right here?"

Scott shook his head. "When you take the doctor back, can you take Jean with you?"

Rocking back on his heels, Johnny took a half-step towards Jean's door, then turned to face him. "Is that the way Ben wants this played out?"

Scott folded his arms and stared at Ben's closed door, finally nodding.

"Well, how about you?"

He started. "What about me?"

"What do you want?"

"I don't have a horse in this race, Johnny."

"But you do want Jean to stick around."

Scott's mind filled with protest. Words rose to his lips but were stifled there. He looked down at Ben's rough floorboards instead and took inventory. Despite all that happened, he still had some feelings for her. No matter the impetus, Jean had come to a decision on her way in the world. It made no difference if he thought her choice was the wrong one. He walked to the door and listened to the muted conversation within. He came away when the knob turned. "Not anymore. Will you see her to Green River?"

Johnny studied him for a moment, head tipped to the side, but the question in his eyes was never asked. "I can do that, Brother."

Dr. Jenkins came out and placed his bag down on the table. "There's not much I can do for him. I've given him an injection to take the edge off his pain and left a bottle of laudanum at the bedside. He can have a teaspoon every hour if he needs it." He undid the top button of his shirt, shaking his head. "I honestly don't know how the old boy lived this long."

The doctor bent down to clasp his bag together and looked at Scott in appraisement. "It looks like I've missed an opportunity to practice my medicine somewhere down the line. You've been through the wringer, son."

"I'm fine."

"I'm sure. You Lancers usually are." He rummaged in his bag and handed Scott a folded packet. "But if not, take a tablet or two from this; it'll help ease the soreness. And Scott, someone should sit with Ben during the night."

"I'll be here, Sam."

"I had a feeling you would be. You know, I couldn't help Ben during the trial in Green River and I'm not much use to him now." He picked up his bag. "You've been good to him, Scott, at a time when he needed it the most. He may not say it, but he's grateful."

Sam looked at Ben's door for few long moments, then clapped a hand on Scott's shoulder. "But I have other patients to see, how about that ride back to town?"

They turned when Jean's door snicked open. She stood over the threshold, a carpet bag held in one hand and her feathered hat in the other.

Scott crossed the room to her side and tugged the bag from her hand.

"Scott, I…"

He didn't want to hear any more excuses. "You know my stand on this, Jean."

She colored, and he gave Johnny the bag.

Johnny looked from Scott to Jean and back again. "Doc, the buggy's still out front."

Scott paused at Ben's door, watching them leave. Jean turned away from him to step outside to the carriage, her chin held high, pure agony in her eyes.

LLLLL

Scott eased himself down into the chair beside the bed. Pulling the coverlet up higher on the old man's chest, he let his hand rest there for a moment. Ben's breathing was shallow.

"Did Jeanie leave?"

"I'm sorry, Ben."

"She has her own mind and made her own decision." Ben opened his eyes. "But you felt something for her."

He nodded.

"Then I'm the one who's sorry." Ben turned his face away, not wanting to talk any more about it, and Scott wasn't going to press him.

"You'll take care of my mule?"

"You don't have to ask, Ben. She'll have the greenest pastures to choose from…and the tightest corral fences."

The old man grinned. "She'll like that all right." His smile faltered. "Jeanie wants to go back to Denver; would you see that she gets on the stage?"

"I will."

"Knew you would. I just wanted it said out loud."

Up close, Ben's face showed the ravages of both age and a life lived hard in a harsh land. His grey eyes were rheumy and faraway. "I did my best to chase you off the day you brought Lizzy home."

Scott smiled. "Yes, you did. It almost worked."

"Why'd you come back?"

Scott played with the edge of Ben's quilt, rubbing it between his fingers. "I'm not sure why. I had a feeling about Lizzy." He looked up. "And you."

Ben's eyebrow cocked upwards. "Me?" He developed a tick at the corner of his mouth, and his gaze shifted away. "I wasn't doing so well, maybe a long time before then, if I was truthful."

The sadness in Ben's voice pulled at him. He understood something about the old man he hadn't known before. Ben had followed his dreams, and in doing so lost more than he bargained for. When Scott met him, he was staying low, licking his wounds, trying not to get hurt again. But he'd changed since that day.

Ben spoke up, "Lizzy was smart to find you."

"Probably." He smiled a full, toothy grin.

Ben caught his smile, and chuckled. He snaked his hand from under the spread and captured Scott's sleeve. "This is good land, boy. Look out the window, are the sugar bushes still there?"

He left the chair and went to the window, peering out. He braced his thighs against the sill and felt the lingering heat of the day filtering through the glass. The warmth against his chest was soothing. Scanning the striped earth, he found the greenery jutting out from the dirt like an island in a sea of brown. He closed his eyes for a moment and felt his anger and frustration leach away.

He turned around to find Ben watching him.

"Are they still there, Scott?"

"Yes, Ben." He went back to the bedside and sat down. "Their edges look a little curled from here, but they're still here."

"Some things you just know for sure." Ben's gnarled hand found Scott's knee and patted it. "I'm glad you came back, boy. Mighty glad."

Eyes closed, Ben's white head nodded in tune with some internal drummer. The corners of his mouth lifted, and his next words trailed out on a whisper. "Would you read to me?"

Scott settled back in the worn chair and picked up the book from Ben's small table. Opening to a dog-eared page, he started to read, his lone voice taking them into the night.

~o~o~o~

Ben's funeral was held on Thursday. There were more people attending than Scott imagined. Ed Farley was there, taking out a handkerchief to sop up the sweat from his broad forehead every now and then. Val was talking to Johnny at one corner of the site. Mr. and Mrs. Corley stood arm and arm together making conversation with another couple. A few more citizens milled about waiting for the service to begin. He looked them over, one by one, and wondered if any had a part in what happened to old Ben.

Scott cast a look over his shoulder to see a buggy making its way through charred grassland to the burial sight under the poplar tree.

Murdoch followed his gaze and gave a considering sigh. Taking off his hat, he wiped the sweat from its inside leather band. "The morning is heating up."

Keeping an eye on the carriage, Scott replied, "Better than rain." But he gave a surreptitious tug on his string tie. Johnny was dressed more casually in an open collared shirt. For a moment, he envied his brother and his lack of social graces. Or maybe he envied Johnny's ability to get away with being a nonconformist. He conceded that this time Johnny was on to something. He reached up and pulled the tie away, stuffing it into his pocket, and undid his collar.

Jean descended from the buggy, looking a little lost as she scanned the small crowd of visitors. Their eyes met over the distance. She hesitated, then walked towards him.

Murdoch looked at him, the lines tightening around his eyes. Scott knew that look—it was concern. But he wasn't facing a bullet, or a beating, or a fire—just Jean.

Her face was white and pinched, eyes reddened. In a moment of spite, he wondered just who she'd been crying for—herself or Ben. It passed in an instant and he was anxious to clear the tension. Funerals had a way of doing that to him. They made him think of the past and all the things better left there—and of correcting things that were wrong while there was still a chance.

He left Murdoch's side and met Jean halfway.

She held up her hand as if to ward him off. "Don't Scott, not here."

He frowned, keeping his feelings to himself and guided her to the gravesite. They looked down at the simple wooden coffin.

The ceremony began without fanfare, made less somber by birds flying in and out of the tree limbs and the sunny skies overhead. The last shovel of dirt was placed over Ben's gravesite before Scott really had time to think about it.

Jean brushed the front panel of her bodice in a nervous gesture. "That's a splendid headstone. It must have been quite expensive."

Scott took her elbow and led her away from the grave. Like a fool, he wanted things out in the open. "Ben didn't plan for it to happen this way. He just wanted a chance to be reunited with his family."

She gulped and started to breathe. "And I kept that from him."

Jean was a shrewd woman; he couldn't see how lying would end up with anything good. "In part."

She searched his face and started to say something but stopped herself.

Scott abandoned all pretenses. "Ben was disappointed, but he came to accept that it wasn't to be. The hardest part for him was when you asked where the gold was hidden at the Monarch. Even then he forgave you."

Wariness showed in her eyes. Did she not believe him? Or maybe she was trying to sort through all he had told her.

"And you?" Her low voice was cautious.

Ben had died in his sleep during that night. Not saying another word about Jean or Darcy. It hurt Ben, but he'd moved on in his pragmatic way and came to peace with it. Scott couldn't do the same—not yet. "I require more time."

She gave him a sudden, piercing look. "I see."

Did she? Scott wondered.

Jean straightened, her hands curling around the top of her purse. She turned to leave, walked a few steps then stopped. "I would go back and change it if I could. God knows, I've been an idiot."

She walked back to the carriage, but he remained standing there, watching as she gathered the reins.

Johnny nodded to Jean as she drove off. "How'd it go?"

"She's still angry."

"At you?" Johnny asked.

"At herself."

Farley approached them. "Scott, with Tom Darcy in jail, the Monarch and all its staked and titled property will be auctioned off to the highest bidder to pay off taxes and money owed."

Scott nodded, he thought that would happen.

The lawyer pulled out an envelope, the same one Ben had stashed away in his desk drawer. "But what you might not know is that Ben deeded this land to you.

"What? When did he do that?"

"He had me draw up the papers the same day his niece arrived in town." Ed flashed him a small grin. "I wanted him to wait, to be sure. But Ben was set on you receiving this land after he died. He knew he didn't have much time and couldn't take a chance on family ties." He tipped his head to Jean's departing carriage. "Or lack of them."

Scott took the papers and saw Ben's broad scribble at the bottom of each page and the doctor's signature as witness. He handed them back to the lawyer.

"This land was freely his; no claim from Darcy's estates can be made on it. You'll need to sign these at some point, just come by the office when you're ready and we can make it legal.

"Ben wasn't a fool, Scott, but I expect you know that. These people here, some of them were at his competency hearing. They're just trying to make right—too late—but the effort is there." He reached into his coat pocket and drew out a smaller sealed envelope. "Before I forget, Ben wanted you to have this."

Farley looked around and dabbed the handkerchief at his brow. "At least it's not raining. Nothing more maudlin than a funeral in the rain. I can just imagine old Ben in heaven, sitting on top of a heap of pure gold."

He watched the lawyer trundle off then looked down at the envelope in his hands. Ed Farley was wrong. Ben wouldn't be sitting on a hill of gold ore. But he would be sitting on a bed of green grass surrounded by trees and flowers.

~o~o~o~

The rain started three days after the funeral. It was a hard soaker that brought a dash of coolness to the air. Jelly called it a fall rain, and it broke the dry spell, signaling the beginning of the wet season in the valley. Ben's mountain had early dustings of snow on its highest peaks and ridges. Scott looked outwards from the headstone and saw a fine mist of green, like the first sign of growing grass. The seeds along the sub-irrigated portion of the land—his land now—had re-germinated after the fire.

He strode out from Ben's resting place, stopping from time to time to prop up a lone plant that had escaped the burning. A careful survey of the land uncovered a few more pockets of green not taken by the flames, mostly on the fringe. But the biggest and best of them stood right in front of him. Scott stared at the sugar bushes and their eight-foot height with a kind of awe. They'd survived the intense heat of the fire when everything around them had dried to tinder.

A sleek palomino, with rider, was making his way in a hurry towards him. Johnny pulled up and dismounted. "Thought I'd find you here."

"I wanted to look around the place, assess the fire damage."

His brother had questions about Jean but decided not to ask them—at least not yet. Together they looked out and saw the valley, dotted with cloud shadows.

Johnny nudged Barranca away from lipping his shirt sleeve. "Have you told Jelly about the new mouth to feed at the Lancer stables?"

"Not yet, but I think he'll figure it out once he goes near the corral."

"Lizzy's not real quiet, is she?"

"That would be a decided 'no'."

"You know he's going to make a fuss over her."

"I'm counting on it."

Scott felt a light touch on his shoulder when Johnny's hand rested there. "Guess now that you're a regular landowner, you might want to spend some time out here."

He flashed Johnny a grin. "Ben built for the view. A place to get away from town, and his nephew." Scott tweaked a leaf from the foliage in front of him. "He felt at home here and was always talking about these bushes."

Ben loved his corner of the world, and he knew every inch of it, including the lines of underground water that fed the bushes. He told Scott where to find shale and limestone. Quartz and agate. Remembering the note, he fished it out of his pocket to show Johnny.

You've been family to me, Scott. I only wish there was more time. This land is yours now. I hope

you'll keep it and watch the living things grow. Enjoy the sugar bushes, and remember what I told

you about them. They only ask for sun and water, but they'll give you beauty in return, and so much

more.

"Old man Riley sure was something." Johnny scuffed the toe of his boot against the ground, digging under the dirt softened by the rain.

Scott inhaled, bringing the sweet smell from the greenery into his lungs. "We'd better get going or Murdoch will wonder happened."

"Wait a minute." Johnny bent down and lifted the sugar bush stems off the ground. "Look there. Do you see what I'm seeing?"

It was all about them, at their feet and hidden under the green bushes. The foliage cloaked the working of an old mine. Johnny pulled out a small chunk of ore, seamed with gold. He whistled under his breath. "Look at that…"

Scott took the piece and turned it over in his hands. Streaks of yellow color splintered through the rock, making it gleam in the sunlight. He dropped to his knees and swept aside the green stems. More ore winked at him from underneath. He sat back on his heels.

"You think Riley knew about this?" Johnny asked.

He stared at the bushes for a few long moments. "Ben knew."

Johnny pushed back the brim of his hat and squinted down at him. "What are you going to do about it?"

Standing up, Scott slapped the damp earth from his trousers. "Nothing. I'm not going to do anything about it, Johnny. The ore can stay in the ground."

The note Ben left for him had hinted about the ore. But Riley left him with more than gold. He gave Scott his love of flowers, trees, the valley and hills. And because Scott shared in that love, Ben had wanted him to have the land. He couldn't—wouldn't—betray that trust now.

The End

Notes:

The "sugar bush" of this story is California's Rhus Ovata.