NOW:
"Adam," Ben said, worry carving deep lines upon his face. "Buckley threatened you."
"He hardly threatened me."
"That's not what Hoss and Joe said."
Sitting in the green chair behind his father's desk, Adam crossed his arms and considered Ben, who was pacing in front of the grandiose piece of furniture. A part of him was disappointed their conversation had devolved to such a point. Another, much smaller, part of him was not surprised. He had not collected Noah this morning and rode to the Ponderosa intent on speaking about Buckley. No, he had reserved his impending conversation with his father for completely other matters. It was Ben who had other plans. The moment the Ponderosa's patriarch had laid eyes on them, he had called upon Hoss to take Noah to the barn to entertain the tot with benign morning chores while he ushered his oldest son inside the house. Though he sat in his father's chair, Adam was not wholly certain how he had ended up quite literally and figuratively cornered and captive beneath his father's serious gaze. He was, however, quite aware of how such a thing was making him feel. Anger was beginning to bubble in his stomach, frustration tightening his chest as he watched his father aimlessly pace. His anger was the result of his own inaction, knowledge that he had allowed such an interaction to unfold; his frustration was born from his father's action and the tone of the conversation. He wasn't a child. The passing years had rendered them both quite aware of that. So why was he permitting his father to treat him like one? Why was he sitting here listening to him at all? The answers to both questions were as clear as the validity of his father's concern.
Giving into frustration and anger would accomplish nothing and lead nowhere. It would only cause more problems to be fixed and more hurt feelings to be soothed. The kneejerk statement he had carelessly spoken to Lil sat heavy on his heart; vile and accusing, it echoed in his mind, reminding him of how malicious his fierce emotions could implore him to be. There were some things in life that should never be spoken aloud, and others that could never really be retracted once they were voiced. He prayed his interaction with Lil would not become one of the latter, but as it stood, the maternal woman would not entertain an apology. In fact, she would not entertain a conversation with him at all.
Inhaling deeply, Adam held on to the breath until his chest felt as though it might burst, then he expelled it. The action didn't calm his anger, but it diminished his frustration enough to allow civility to rule. "Okay," he said evenly. "So, Hoss and Joe told you one thing, and now I'm telling you another. Buckley didn't threaten me. You can keep standing there, trying to convince me that he did, and I can continue sitting here, trying to convince you that he didn't until we both get so frustrated and pissed off that we start screaming at each other like we used to, but in the end that will amount to nothing but a lot of nonsense and a big waste of time."
Ben stood still and shoved his hands into his pants pockets. "I agree," he said. "So, what do you propose?"
"I propose you stop pacing and sit down so we can have a real conversation instead of treating me like a boy who's been tattled on by his brothers and won't admit to the version of the truth you're trying to squeeze out of him."
Pressing his lips firmly together, Ben considered the statement, then pulled his hands from his pockets and moved to sit on the edge of the desk. He was silent for a moment as he crossed his arms and then uncrossed them, finally deciding to clench them together and rest them on his lap as he averted his gaze and locked it on the floor. "Your brothers hardly tattled on you," he said softly. "And I… well, I am not intending to squeeze anything from you. What I am trying to do… Son, what I am really trying to say is…" He faltered one final time, seemingly unable to find the correct words.
"What you're trying to say is that you're worried and that Hoss and Joe are worried, too."
Ben looked at him, a glint of relief shining in his brown eyes. "Yes."
"You're afraid of Buckley."
"I already told you I wasn't."
"Then you're afraid of me."
"I'm afraid of how far all of this is going to go," Ben clarified. "Or how far it will have to go before you decide that something needs to happen or change. Now, Hoss and Joe can say that Buckley threatened you; you can say that he didn't; and both of those statements can be true. Each man is entitled to his own point of view, his own opinions, worries, and fears. Hoss and Joe said Buckey came right out and said that the two of you have a score to settle. They said that Buckley said he was intent on calling you out, and they said that you said you would face him when he did. So, tell me this, Adam, how am I to interpret any of that?"
"Honestly? I don't blame you for being worried."
"About Buckley?"
"About me."
Ben cast him a confounded gaze. "You don't," he said carefully.
Adam thought of Lil and how he had hurt her with his careless words. He thought of the illusory figure he had been haunted by as of late. It was Will; he was certain of that now. The figment of his cousin was not so much a bona fide apparition as an apparition of guilt. The former would have been more easily handled than the latter. Though dealing with such a thing might have been much less clear than how Adam knew he had to deal with his guilt. The only way to lessen it was to confront it. The only way to silence it was to acknowledge it for what it actually was.
"Of course, I don't," he said. "I can see why you would be worried about how far things will have to devolve until something changes or how long it will be before I see fit to change something. Sometimes I wonder that, too."
"You do," Ben verified, still treading carefully.
"Of course I do, and even more than that, Pa. I understand your worry and the urgency behind your determination to convince me to change my mind about whatever it is you believe I've decided or not decided not to do. Do you want to know why I understand your worry?"
"Why?"
"Because, fear of the past, volatile temper tantrums, and hurt feelings aside, you and I are not so different. In the end, we both want the same thing."
"Which is?"
"For our children to be safe and happy."
With his shoulders and facial expression softening, Ben smiled slightly. Unclenching his hands, he shifted in his seat, leaning back slightly as he crossed his arms once again. Any lingering tension was quickly chased away by silent understanding, unspoken mutual agreement that they were, in fact, remarkably similar men. "Well," he said softly, "I've already spoken my peace where your happiness currently stands, so tell me, Adam, are you safe?"
"With Buckley's sights set firmly on me?"
Ben nodded.
Adam opened his mouth, then closed it again. This truth came a little slower, with much more difficulty than the first. "I don't know," he admitted. "Sometimes people can do stupid things, and I've never thought of Buckley as a particularly intelligent man."
"He still thinks of himself as the quickest draw in town. It's a claim I'd like to dispute if I thought I could. He killed Ed Payson, a man once likened to a gunslinger, with extraordinarily little effort, and during your absence, he came up against quite a few men. Some of them were much more intimidating and formidable than the others, but none of them presented Buckley with any real competition."
"I know. That's why Roy Coffee tapped him to succeed me. He's got a temper; he can hold a grudge as proficiently as a gun. He's quick on the draw, and that makes him a damn good man to have around when things get tough. Unless, of course, he was never on your side to begin with, in which case he is more of an inconvenience than anything else."
"Inconvenience?" Ben repeated. "That's not the word I would choose." He grew quiet for a moment, his forehead wrinkling with thought. "Adam," he began, and then paused, seemingly rethinking what he had intended to say.
"What?" Adam pressed.
Shaking his head, Ben's silence endured.
Adam figured it was as good a time as any to finally broach the topic he had come to discuss. "I thought about your offer," he said.
Appearing slightly hopeful, Ben's interest peaked. "And?"
"And… I'm sorry, Pa, but I still can't do it."
Ben's disappointment was palpable, as was his reemerging fear. "Then what will you do?"
Adam shook his head. He couldn't provide an answer he was still unaware of himself. "Eddie wants to go back to San Francisco," he said. He didn't understand why he had volunteered the information. Why this was the moment to allow such a troubling truth to slip out. Maybe it was because Hoss had already alluded to being aware of Eddie's plight. Or maybe it was something else entirely. Maybe he was feeling more like his father's son than he had in a long time, tortured, afraid, and confused, in need of a light to guide him toward the right path.
"Oh?" Ben asked, obviously trying to mask the worry the statement had awoken.
Adam knew his father and Lil had shared discussions about him and Eddie and the state of things, but he didn't know how many specifics—if any—Ben was truly aware of. He wasn't even certain how many Lil was aware of. Some of Eddie's difficulties and a few of his own for certain, but there were others that it was unlikely anyone knew. There were things that happened between them that no one was aware of. Things that, some days, Adam wished he was not aware of himself.
"She doesn't like Virginia City?" Ben asked.
The question seemed innocent enough. Even so, Adam wondered if it had been a probe for new information or a purposeful inquiry meant to verify something Lil may have wrongfully disclosed. Eddie's hatred of the house on Kay Street was more than a blanket dislike of Virginia City. He wished he could have blamed the townsfolk's foolish gossip and Laura Dayton's damning diary for that. But he knew the only person truly responsible for Eddie's distain was himself—and maybe Will too. But Will was dead and therefore unable to soothe hurt feelings or correct past mistakes.
Why would you come back here? Will's voice whispered. What on earth do you hope to accomplish or find?
Leaving San Francisco to take up Roy Coffee's post, Adam did not know what he had been expecting to find. He hadn't known what he would find. Or what would eventually find him. The truth he had tried so hard to dismiss, ignore, and run away from. He thought of the last time he and his father had shared a serious conversation. The night he found himself in front of his father's door, grief-stricken and reeling in the wake of Will's death and Peggy's public declarations of past abuse. He and Pa had talked sparingly about Peggy and even less about Will. Still, Adam had invited Pa to Ohio to bury Will next to his parents. Despite his father's willingness to accompany him, it was a trip Adam ultimately decided to embark on alone. Because, despite his previous declarations or intentions, he was not yet ready to share all of his secrets. To allow someone else to help shoulder the burden he carried and his newfound horrific fear.
His hand found the scar near his upper lip, his index finger unconsciously running the length of the faded and slightly puckered skin. "Eddie doesn't like the house on Kay Street," he said, hoping his father's reply would serve as verification of something. If Pa knew what Lil had alluded that Eddie did, then he wanted to know where he stood with the man. Where his father stood on everything else.
"She doesn't?" Ben asked.
He was still treading carefully. Seemingly neither willing to confirm or deny anything. Waiting for Adam to share what he intended before jumping to conclusions or expanding the conversation beyond where his son wanted it to go. There were moments when Adam might have been grateful for his father's wisdom and prudence. But this was not one of them.
Just say it. Adam thought. Just open your mouth and let the words come out, so I don't have to. "No, she doesn't."
"Hm." Ben's lips formed a slight frown; his brown eyes watched Adam's finger with great interest and intensity.
"Is that all you have to say?" Come on, Pa.
"Were you expecting something more?"
Yes. "I don't know."
"Son, is there something you were wanting me to say?"
"I just think it's odd that you haven't once asked me about it," Adam said, his hand falling away from his face. Another action Ben watched carefully.
"About what?"
"The house on Kay Street."
"What about it?"
"You've never said anything about it."
"So, we've established," Ben said. "Is there something I should be asking about the house?"
Adam shrugged.
"Is there something you would like me to know about it?" Ben clarified.
Adam considered the question and his father for a while. There were a hundred things he could have said. A hundred more he suddenly wished he could share. And only one he could no longer keep to himself.
"I think I need to allow Eddie to return to San Francisco, Pa."
Ben expelled a taxed breath. "I see," he said softly, gently. "Because she hates the house on Kay Street."
"Because she doesn't love me anymore."
"And a lack of love doesn't coexist easily with hate. Distance seems like it would most certainly ease the situation. The passing of time could temper the ferocity of negative feelings, or it might intensify them instead."
"I thought you were an advocate for time, distance, and space," Adam said. He was slightly defensive now, his father's statements leaving him feeling a little too judged.
"In some cases, I am."
"But not with this one."
"Adam, if Eddie returns to San Francisco are you intending to go with her?"
"No."
"What about the children?"
"What about them?"
"Where do you intend for them to live? With her, or you?"
"I…" Adam closed his mouth and shook his head. These were details he was not eager to work out. The infants would have to remain in their mother's possession—that was a given—but where Noah would remain was much less clear and much more painful to consider. How could a man take a child away from his mother? What kind of person would want to? As a boy who had grown up without the love of his own mother, Adam was not eager to tear his son away from Eddie, condemning him to life without her. No, the children would stay with their mother. Of course, they would.
"Forgive me for saying this," Ben continued, "but it seems to me this is a decision that requires much more thought than you've given it. Maybe you should take a little bit more time to—"
"To what?" Adam asked sadly. "To avoid the truth or pretend that things aren't the way that they are? To run away from something that no part of me wants to see but that I can't help but understand? From the moment that woman showed up here, I've been pretending, and Eddie, she's been pretending too, and that's why Peggy is here in your house. She can't stand being around either of us. I'm not saying that a separate arrangement would be permanent. I'm not talking about abandonment. She'd still be my wife. I'd still be her husband. I'd still support her and the children. We just wouldn't be-"
"Together." Ben shook his head mournfully, sadness etched on his face. "Oh, Adam, oh, son, you don't really want this. I refuse to believe that you could."
"Yesterday I don't reckon I really did." And Adam had not. But as Lil had said, there was a difference between wants and needs. When a man suffered, his family suffered. And at this point, they had all suffered enough. "If I hadn't gone for that drink with Joe and Hoss, if Buckley hadn't come upon us, I don't think this decision would have seemed quite so clear to me. Last night changed everything" It had frightened him in a way he never could have imagined it would, introducing him to a sliver of his father's fear. "I cannot allow my family to live in a town where the sheriff has a grudge against me. I won't subject my son to the authority of a lawman who publicly ridicules him."
Ben's confusion was as immediate as his anger. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his deep voice carrying a dangerous edge.
"Hoss and Joe didn't tell you about that part of the evening. Buckley insulted Noah; that's how he got a rise out of me." Adam tilted his head. "And Joe."
"What did he say?"
"Something I'm not going to repeat."
"How bad was it?" Ben darkly probed.
"On a scale of what? From bad to worse? It was not the worst thing he could have said, and it was far from the best. The problem is he's the sheriff, and a lot of people heard the words come out of his mouth."
"And you think that folks are going to feel comfortable repeating it?"
"It would not be the first time the people of Virginia City took immense joy in talking disparagingly about a Cartwright. I can tolerate the gossip where my name is concerned, but I am not going to abide people talking about my son, especially when it concerns matters outside of anyone's control. That boy didn't ask to be born without a voice. He didn't ask to be brought to a place where folks would rather make assumptions about the perceived shortcomings of others rather than take the time to understand them."
"So, that's what all this is really about. Not your wife, but your son."
"Noah will be better off in a city," Adam said, not so much to convince his father but himself. "Surrounded by folks who know nothing about the past."
Ben's expression was as serious as his tone. "Not without his father, he won't be," he said decisively. Pressing his lips firmly together, he shook his head and averted his gaze around the room. "You know, Adam," he continued eventually, in a tone that was too quiet and careful to be indicative of anything good. "After you decided not to run against Buckley, I promised myself I wasn't going to offer you any unsolicited advice where your family was concerned. I vowed that I would not interfere in your affairs. I decided I was going to give you room to make your own decisions and your own mistakes, and come hell or high water, I would do the one thing I had failed to do so many times before. I would support you no matter what; I would stand by your side while you fixed your life or destroyed it completely."
"I'm not destroying anything."
"No, I suppose you wouldn't see it that way. Not at your age. Not with how fiercely you've taken to clinging to your grief and fear. There were times in my life when I never intended to destroy anything either, but that doesn't mean I didn't. You and I both know that I did. Son, I have always seen so much of myself in you. I'm in your strength, your anger, and your willingness to fight when fate commands it. You can hide a lot of things from a lot of people, but you can't hide from a man who sees himself in you. I understand your torment and struggle, and I recognize the power of the grief that has taken over your life. I don't know what it's like to lose a son, but I know what it's like to lose someone I love. I was furious when your mother died. I would fight with anyone over anything. After Inger, I was determined to never love or need anyone again because I was terrified of enduring another loss. And after Marie, I was despondent for months; I was too hurt and too tired to deal with anything at all. I see you, Adam, and I understand what's happening here, even if you don't want to. You've relinquished yourself to your pain; you're allowing it to both trap you in place and propel you toward thoughtless action."
"That's not fair."
"Nothing in this life is fair; you already know that. It's a lesson you learned a long time ago. I will have you know that Noah is not that much younger than you were when I took you to my brother in Ohio. When I left you there, you didn't understand, and if you allow Eddie to take Noah away from you, he isn't going to understand either. I don't say these things lightly, and I don't mean them cruelly."
"Then why say them at all?"
"Because you need to hear them. Adam, I promised myself that I would support any decision you decided to make, but I can't back you on this one."
The declaration hung heavy in the air as the pair were enveloped in an onerous and electric silence.
Nodding bitterly, Adam stood and pushed back his chair. "Can't or won't?" he asked angrily, peering down at his father, who remained seated on the side of the desk.
"Both," Ben said, not breaking his son's intense gaze. "I can't stand back and be forced to watch as all the pieces of your life slip from your hands because you refuse to tighten your grasp. I know you're hurting; I know you're in pain, but too many people depend on you for you to continue traveling down the road you're on. You're not just my son anymore; you're a husband and a father, too, and your wife and your children deserve much more consideration than what you've been giving them as of late. I won't allow you to send your family away. If Eddie no longer wants to remain in the house on Kay Street, if the two of you intend to live apart, then she and the children can come here."
"Oh, and that's just your answer for everything, isn't it? Come to the Ponderosa, and all your problems will just magically disappear. You're still the same as you ever were, only supporting your sons if they make the decisions you want them to. Well, I'm not like you, Pa. My life is messy, and the fallout of my mistakes isn't as easy to make peace with as yours seem to be. I can't do what you want me to do. I can't be who you want me to be. Not when I've already become somebody else."
Hands clenched into tight fists he held at his sides, Adam stormed out of the house before his father could reply. There was no point in allowing their conversation to further devolve. In allowing himself to speak the unkind things that lingered a little too closely to the tip of his tongue.
The ranch yard was empty. With the exception of Sport standing obediently in front of the hitching post, he was alone. He thought about storming into the barn and collecting Noah from Hoss, but he didn't want to subject his son to the volatility of his mood. He considered mounting his horse and riding away. But he wouldn't give his father the satisfaction of thinking he was right.
Expelling a deep breath, he strode toward the vacant corral in the distance, hoping the short trek would be enough to dispel the fury that was threatening to overcome him. Although the walk quelled his anger, it couldn't eradicate the pain or disappointment that sprung forth to take its place. Folding his arms over the wooden fencing, he placed his chin atop his hands and stared blankly at the dust-covered ground. His father was right, though he did not want him to be. Sending his family to San Francisco would solve nothing. It would only cause more pain. Billy Buckley and Will were right too. He was a coward, and he was a runner. Maybe he had not always been those things, but he could not deny the way things were now.
He stood there for a while before he heard footfalls behind him, warning of someone's slow approach. He didn't turn around until they stopped. He didn't speak until he looked his father in the eyes. "I don't know what to do," he admitted sadly, leaning his back against the corral.
"I know," Ben whispered.
"So many things have gone wrong now that I don't even know how to begin fixing them."
Closing the distance between himself and corral, Ben rested his hands on the top of the fencing and focused his attention on the empty space inside of it. "I don't think that's necessarily true," he said after a time. "After all, you're still here, and your family is still here, too. If you wanted to leave, or you wanted them to leave, then those choices would have been made long before now."
"Is that what you've chased me out here for?" Adam asked wryly. "Not that we've both calmed down, you're going to try extending a little fatherly advice?"
"Maybe, but only if you feel like you're amiable to it."
Adam shrugged.
"I don't want to offer advice if you don't think you need it," Ben said. "And I hate to think that you think I haven't changed."
"In some ways, you have," Adam conceded. "In others, you have not."
"That angers you."
"Of course, it angers me. It's frustrating how easily you spring forth to rectify situations that aren't yours to fix. How quickly you can sometimes still corner me, leaving me with no other option but to follow through with something you planned. That's how Peggy ended up here, isn't it? You felt you were a solution to a problem that I didn't know existed until the two of you already decided what would fix it."
"That's not exactly how that happened."
"Maybe there were more details to iron out, but the outcome was the same. I took my family back to Virginia City, and she remained with you."
"And that frustrates you."
"That's not the word I would choose." It hurt him. It made him feel like he was standing on the outside of a circle he had formed. "You took my kid away from me, Pa," he said. "You left me with no easily discernible way to fix something I broke."
"I am sorry for that, son. I am. I've been thinking a great deal about you and Peggy as of late, and I think I may know how the two of you can begin to mend things."
"Here comes that bit of fatherly advice."
Ben smiled slightly. "You know, Adam, you never cease to impress or amaze me."
"With my enduring stubborn nature and inability to take note of the past in order to avoid future mistakes?"
"No. With your strength. You are by far the strongest man I've ever known."
"Yeah, well, I haven't been feeling particularly strong as of late."
"Sometimes courage doesn't look the way we think it should. Sometimes holding the line can look a lot like running away. It took a great deal of courage for you to take Peggy away from Will. It took strength for you to return to Virginia City and don a sheriff's badge. It took both strength and courage to allow Peggy to come back here. To allow yourself to step aside so that Billy Buckley could stand in your place. And everything you faced and endured in the time that passed in between those two days is a testament to your bravery and wisdom."
Adam shook his head. "That's not true."
"Yes, it is. Although you may not feel like it right now, you have always been the kind of man who knows when too little is too little and enough is enough. You know when to fight and when to let things ride. When to toe the line and when to step away. You easily see the best in people, and you don't allow their worst behavior to dictate your opinions of them. You are by far a much more forgiving man than I am, as evidenced by the fact that you ever dared to set foot in Virginia City or on the Ponderosa after leaving. You know, sometimes I wonder if things might have been different between us, if things might have been different for John and Will, or you and me, if I had been a little less like my father and a little more like you."
Adam frowned. "You're not like your father."
"Adam, you have no idea how much I wish that statement were true."
"But it is true. You're nothing like him. You're not even like John, for that matter. You're far more gentle, more tolerant, patient, and understanding…" As Ben looked at him, Adam took note of his father's pained expression. "What?"
Lifting his hand, Ben cupped Adam's cheek, moving his thumb to trace the outline of the scar above his lip. "It should have been different," he whispered. "I hate that there are still so many pains you carry alone and so many questions that I never found the courage to ask." Suddenly seeming to take note of his action, he pulled his hand away abruptly, shook his head slightly, and looked back at the corral. "Adam," he said, his eyes locked on some unseen thing. "Son, I know neither of us want to, but I think it's time to talk about Ohio. The only way for you to help Peggy move on from where she is is for me to help you move on from where you are."
"What makes you think my current circumstances have anything to do with what took place in Ohio?"
"What makes you believe it doesn't? A man who doesn't understand the source of his pain is only destined to repeat his mistakes."
"You think Ohio is the source of my pain?" Adam asked, slightly irritated. "Out of everything that's happened, that's the choice and event you settle on." Not what had happened with Will. Or the state of affairs with Eddie. Not the things Will had done to Peggy. His father had pinpointed a mistake that was decades old and decided it was the root cause of everything else. And maybe, in a way, that was true, but in too many others it was not. "Like you said yourself, I wasn't only a little older than Noah is now. I hardly even remember—"
"You didn't," Ben said morosely. "Not before, not when Will came back into our lives, not even when you took Peggy away from him. But now, now that you've lived the life that you have, heard and seen the things that you did, you remember. The scar on your lip is telling, son. You spent nearly your whole life ignoring it, and over the past few months, you haven't been able to leave it alone."
"What do you know about it?"
"Not nearly as much as I should. Like I said, there are so many pains you still carry alone. So many questions I'm sorry I didn't find the courage to ask."
"So, you're going to ask them now?"
"Yes," Ben said. "In the hope that you're not too old to learn from my example, that by answering my questions, you will find the desire to begin asking some of your own."
Turning around, Adam rested his arms on the corral, his eyes drifting to the landscape beyond the other side of the fence. In the distance, he could see a man on horseback. Though he was looking in the same direction, Ben made no mention of the figure who had come to stop to watch their interaction from afar. Adam knew his father could not see it; with all his patience and probing, he was not privy to his son's guilt-fueled delusions.
Nor would he be.
Suddenly and without warning, Adam felt two arms take hold of his legs from behind. Small but sturdy, they held on to him with a vice-like grip.
"Well, hello there, Noah," Ben said, forcing a smile and enthusiastic tone to mask his disappointment.
Judging by the power of his son's hold, Adam was briefly uncertain if the backwards hug was merely an overzealous greeting or a sign of something serious. It took a few seconds for him to pry Noah's hands off enough to turn around, bend down, and take stock of the situation. Crouching in front of the boy, he was presented with a beaming, exuberant smile. The boy's forehead was sweat-covered, his curly bangs moist, and pushed to stick up at all angles. "Well," Adam said, his eyes finding Hoss, who was approaching at a much slower pace than the boy obviously had. "Son, it looks like you've won the race."
"Not that I was much competition," Hoss said. "Dadgum, he may have little legs, but he is darn quick."
"Or you're just slowing down in your old age," Adam quipped, scooping Noah into his arms as he stood. "Even so, your timing is impeccable."
"I don't think that's the word I would have chosen," Ben said.
"Oh, I know," Adam said to his father. "I'm sure, given the chance, you would have said a lot more. But you're just going to have to have faith that the ones you were able to say were enough."
"Were they?"
"I think so."
Adjusting his grip on Noah, Adam sat the boy on top of the wooden corral fence. "I'll tell you what," he began enthusiastically, planting his hands next to his son's legs and steading his balance with his extended thumbs. "I have a grand idea. Noah, how would you like to stay here with Papa and Uncle Hoss? You can visit Uncle Joe when he comes home and play with Uncle Jamie and Peggy when they return from school."
The boy's blue eyes sparkled with joy, his head bobbing exuberantly up and down.
"And what will you be doing, Daddy?" Ben asked.
Adam peered at his father out of the corners of his eyes. "I will be returning to Virginia City and the house on Kay Street to have a very serious and much-needed conversation." Removing Noah from the fence, he deposited him into Ben's open arms. "See," he said to Ben, "I heard you."
And though he said the words, Adam knew they weren't enough for his father. He wondered if they were enough for himself. If the words he had not yet settled upon saying were enough to implore either he or Eddie to change their minds about themselves and each other. If, when everything was said and done, they would want to.
Atop Sport, he traveled the road leading back to Virginia City at an even pace, fighting a feeling of wrongness as it began to overtake him. His conversation with his father—Pa's sudden eagerness to talk about Ohio—left him feeling off-kilter and paranoid. He felt on display beneath the early afternoon sun. Looking upon the surrounding landscape, he neither saw a hint of the figure on horseback nor anyone else. Still, the troubling feeling lingered, inviting his stomach to turn slightly and gooseflesh to pepper his skin, his body screaming what his eyes and mind were struggling to understand and confirm. Something was off. Something was wrong.
He was nearly halfway to town when the first shot rang out, a bullet implanting itself deep in the ground in front of them and prompting Sport to break into a wild run. A second shot came just as Adam's hand found his holstered gun. His horse broke stride abruptly, swaying violently to the left and then to the right before dropping them both to the cool and rocky ground. Landing hard, he felt an explosion of pain as the third and fourth shots rang out consecutively. When the fifth shot came, the world around him went black.
TBC