BEFORE:
"I just cannot believe Roy Coffee chose to relinquish his authority to a man like that," a woman said.
"I do not understand it either," a second woman said.
"He's a murderer," a third woman said.
"He killed Laura Dayton," the first woman said.
"He killed her because he couldn't stand the thought of his cousin having the life he had once intended to have himself," the third woman said.
"Yes," the second woman agreed. "But that wasn't the only reason why."
"Laura Dayton was in a family way when she died," the first woman clarified. "And it was Adam Cartwright's actions that precipitated both outcomes."
"He killed that woman and their unborn baby both," the third woman said. "Because he couldn't bear the thought of his cousin raising his child. Adam never did care for Will."
"Adam was afraid of his father discovering the truth," the second woman corrected. "Laura Dayton's baby belonged to him—that's what I believe."
"Or he was afraid of his cousin suspecting the truth," the third woman said.
"Oh," the second woman interjected, "I don't believe Will Cartwright would have done anything had Laura and her child lived. Even if he had suspected something was awry, he wouldn't have done a thing about it. He was more forgiving than Adam was."
"Will's disposition was always better than that of his cousin," the third woman agreed. "He was affable, friendly, and tolerant. He would have loved and accepted that child regardless of the circumstances surrounding its birth—"
"Will was so handsome," the first woman interjected.
"He was loyal," the third woman said. "He continued working at the Ponderosa long after his wife had been killed by his cousin. In fact, I do believe he remained in Ben Cartwright's employ for nearly a year after Adam stole Peggy away."
"Can you imagine such a thing?" the second woman said. "How must it have felt? For a man to not just lose the love of his life but to have his daughter kidnapped and stripped away by the very man who killed his wife."
"Even Adam's father thought he murdered Laura," the third woman said. "If you ask me, that's why Adam felt compelled to leave in the first place—because his father wanted him to. Poor Ben was forced to take justice into his own hands; Sheriff Coffee would not hold Adam accountable for what he had done to Laura, so Ben was forced to dispense his own punishment and exile his son."
"But Ben Cartwright never would have wanted his son to steal little Peggy Dayton," the first woman objected.
"Well, of course not," the third woman said. "That was something that didn't go as Ben planned."
"Nothing seems to have gone the way he planned," the first woman lamented. "Because, in spite of the terrible things he did and the fact that his father sent him away, Adam's come back."
"Ben was angry the evening his oldest son dared to reappear," the third woman said. "He was downright furious when Adam took up Roy Coffee's post."
"His father doesn't want him here," the second woman said. "And neither do I."
Standing outside of Virginia City's telegraph office, Adam pretended he could not hear the graceless discourse of the women who had congregated in a small group aside Will Cass' General Store. It was impossible, however, to ignore the barbarous manner in which they regarded him when he was forced to walk past them. If he were in his younger days, he might have taken the time to address them, point out the error of their words and ways. But he wasn't a younger man. He understood that there were just some things in life that couldn't be fixed or changed. There was nothing to be gained and too much to be lost by injecting himself into a conversation he wasn't meant to be more than the topic of. Nothing he could say would change their minds; his attention would only assert his frustration, reinforce their short-sided beliefs, and give them more things to discuss. He couldn't cite women for being presumptuous or publicly impertinent, and this morning, he had a much more pressing problem to solve.
His grip around the telegraph tightened, the edges of the paper crumpling beneath the force of his fingers. The message was from Lil in San Francisco, and it was not good news—not that he had expected it to be. From the second he became aware of it, he knew it would not impart favorable news, a detail made clear by the swift means his mother-in-law had chosen to communicate it. Noah and Peggy were not doing well in his absence. The boy had grown uncharacteristically inconsolable, the girl belligerent and downright uncontrollable. No longer able—or willing—to care for them alone, Lil intended to bring both to Virginia City via stagecoach at the beginning of the week.
Exhaling uneasily, he neither knew how he could allow nor prohibit such a thing. Lil was a woman of determined disposition; if she intended to bring Noah and Peggy to Virginia City, there was little anyone could do to change her mind. His hand crumpled the paper further, forcing it into a ball he held in a tight fist. Given the dismal tone of the townsfolk, the thought of bringing Noah and Peggy to Virginia City was as unsettling as it was unfeasible. He could not bear his son's name being included in the gossip being shared; he couldn't tolerate Peggy overhearing what was being said about him—or her, for that matter. He couldn't protect them properly if they came; he didn't know how he would explain things if they were here.
"Hey, brother!" Stepping off the boardwalk in front of the bank, Joe grinned as he crossed the thoroughfare and joined Adam in front of the telegraph office.
"What brings you to town this morning?" Adam asked.
Joe nodded at the saddlebag slung over his shoulder, pregnant and protruding from the withdrawal he had made. "Payroll," he said. "What about you? Out and about on official business or were you just in the mood for a stroll?"
"Neither." Eyeing the woman in front of the general store, Adam shoved the telegraph into his shirt pocket. Pressed up against the photograph of the deceased prostitute, it sat heavy on his heart.
The moment was not lost on Joe. "Bad news?"
"It's not particularly good."
"I'm sorry to hear that." Joe's eyes found the group of women still collected outside of the general store. Though their voices were now nearly inaudible, their gazes remained rooted on the brothers. Joe tilted his head at the thoroughfare. "I'll walk you to the sheriff's office if you're headed that way."
"Alright."
"I haven't seen you since Roy Coffee pinned that star to your chest," Joe said once they had moved beyond view of the group. "How have you been?"
"How have you been?"
"I've been okay."
"And things with the townsfolk, how have they been?"
"They've been…" Adam wondered how he should answer. If he should be honest or lie, "terrible," he finished eventually, only allowing the truth to pass his lips as a chuckle meant to lighten the heaviness of the truth.
"Yeah, I've heard some of the talk."
"Folks still have a lot to say about me, it would seem."
"They do. What have you been saying to them in return?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing much? Or nothing at all?"
"Nothing at all."
"That's good, I suppose. The last thing you need is trouble."
Adam glanced at the star pinned to his vest. "Brother, I think that's going to be a very difficult thing to avoid, considering the circumstances."
"Speaking of trouble, I have a question I've been meaning to ask you."
"What's that?"
"Have you seen our cousin, Will, lately?"
Taken aback by the question, Adam nearly broke stride. "No," he lied, the word deep and sharp. "Why?"
"No reason, really," Joe said. "The night you showed up at Pa's birthday party, you said you'd come by way of Carson City. Not long ago, I heard talk that Will was back and hanging around those parts. Did the two of you happen to cross paths?"
"No." Adam was uneasy. "Did the two of you?"
Joe shook his head. "Nah. If our cousin really was kicking around Carson, he didn't bother to come back around here. That's a good thing, I suppose. With the way things stand right now, the last thing you or Pa need is for Will to show up."
Adam did not disagree. He thought about Will, drugged and captive in San Francisco. He couldn't keep him hidden forever, but, like Peggy and Noah, it was impossible to bring him to Virginia City. He had nowhere to keep him if he did, and no palatable explanation for continuing to unlawfully imprison him—at least not one that would be easy to share or believe. Would his father believe him? Would he try to understand? Or would he condemn and permanently forsake him instead?
"What do you think you would do?" Joe asked.
"About what?"
"If Will came back?"
"I don't know. What do you think Pa would do?"
Eyebrows raising beneath the brim of his hat, Joe tilted his head. "Hard telling," he said. "Given how things were before and how they are now, I would like to think that Will's presence wouldn't further the rift between you and Pa. I swear, Adam, I've thought about the past and tried to understand what really went wrong between you and Pa at least a thousand times over the last six years."
"Yeah? Did you ever figure it out?"
"Not really. Even after all this time, there are some things that probably won't ever make sense. Like how Pa acted toward you before you left or the things he had to say when we finally realized you'd taken Peggy and gone. It's funny to think about, Adam. How much Pa cared that you had taken that little girl, and how little Will seemed to."
"Hoss said Pa was hard on Will after I left."
"That's an understatement. It was strange, Adam. The way Pa pulled Will closer after pushing you away. There were days when it seemed like Pa was afraid of letting our cousin out of his sight. Back then, it seemed like he was determined to hold on to him because he had failed to hold on to you. But of course, Will eventually left, too, but, unlike you, he hasn't come back."
"Do you think his absence troubled Pa?"
"I don't think it did. He was relieved."
Coming upon the sheriff's office, the brothers stood outside of it. They avoided each other's gaze, both unwilling to allow their conversation to end, neither wanting to leave the presence of the other. With the Ponderosa's ceaseless tasks demanding his attention and presence, it could be weeks before Joe set foot in Virginia City again. With the way things were—with their father or otherwise—Adam knew he would not be traveling to the ranch anytime soon.
"Just so you know, Pa finally came out of the wilderness," Joe said. "I do believe his time away did what it was intended to."
"Returned home declaring promises to be a better father, did he?"
"No. He hasn't said a whole lot. That's the thing that changed."
"Was he saying a lot before?"
"Not particularly, but then again, he never really has to. You know Pa; his silence says more than his words ever do. I reckon your silence says a lot, too. You always grew quiet when something was really bothering you. You'd disappear to some unknown place when something was really bothering you to wage an invisible war with yourself. To agonize over things you should not have or could have done while struggling to decide what you ought to do next. Just so you know, I wouldn't do it if I were you."
Adam cast Joe a guarded gaze. "Do what?"
"Bring Peggy back to this town."
Adam was momentarily uncertain of how to reply. "Little brother," he eventually said, "I may have taken that girl away, but what makes you so certain I kept her?"
"Little brother," Joe repeated with a grin. "Goddamn if hearing you say that again doesn't sound like music to my ears. I know there was a time when I didn't take too kindly to it, but a lot has changed since then. I reckon you could even take to calling me your baby brother again, and I wouldn't receive it unkindly. You were always such a good big brother—that's something time has allowed me to understand and see. Shepherding children comes so naturally to you; I'm sure you're a damn fine father, too. With the way that little girl loved you and the way you loved her back, you wouldn't have taken her away from Will only to abandon her. You always had a way of taking responsibility for other people's wrongs, fixing things you didn't break, and helping those who no one else would."
Adam was startled by Joe's apt assessment of both his character and actions. He was relieved and touched by his brother's acceptance; like Hoss, Joe seemed decidedly uninterested in holding him accountable for the past. But that did not mean that Adam did not feel a certain responsibility. "What do you need me to say, Joe?" he asked. "That I'm sorry for how things went down, or what?"
"I don't need you to say anything," Joe assured him. "I know better than to seek out apologies for things that couldn't have been changed. One way or another, you would have ended up with that little girl because you were the only one who was meant to do right by her. Hoss and I, we understand that. Given a little time, Pa will come to understand it, too."
"Do you really believe that?"
"I do. Although I can't pretend to know what your grand plan is, if you've finally come back because you decided it was time to make peace with Pa and the past, or if you've returned because you know that someday Peggy will have to make peace with those things, too. I don't know if you're open to suggestions on the matter, but I do think it would be prudent to give yourself, Pa, and this town a little bit of time before you think about bringing that girl back here. Not because Hoss or I would be unhappy to see her, mind you, but because being young is difficult enough in the best of circumstances. She doesn't need to hear the gossip folks around here entertain themselves with. She doesn't need to know the things people say about her mother, Will, and you."
"What about Pa?" Adam asked.
"What about him?"
"How do you think he would react if Peggy were to come back?"
"Given the distance between you and him, I'm not sure."
Adam wasn't certain either. He didn't want to think his father would greet Peggy with anything other than relief, joy, and open arms. But, with their lingering tenseness between them, it was a difficult outcome to imagine. That was a problem for another time. A day far removed from this one.
"Well," Joe said. "I better get going. The hands are going to have a thing or two to say if I delay their pay any longer, and so will Pa, for that matter."
Nodding, Adam bid his brother a silent farewell. It was only when Joe began to walk away that he spoke again. "Joe."
"Yeah?"
"Just because there's space between Pa and me, that doesn't mean there needs to be space between you and me, too. Don't be a stranger."
"Oh, don't you worry. I have no intention of becoming one. I'll come back around when my workload demands a visit to town or allows a day off."
"I reckon Sunday morning might be good for a visit," Roy Coffee drawled. His sudden presence was as unwelcome as his pronouncement. Both Joe and Adam stared at the older man, who appeared out of nowhere to join their conversation.
"Sunday?" Joe asked.
"Yes, sir," Coffee affirmed. "Sunday."
Adam frowned, the telegraph from Lil feeling suddenly and oddly heavy in his pocket. "Why Sunday?" When Coffee smiled, he thought the man appeared a little too pleased with himself.
"The stage comes on Sunday," Coffee said.
"The stage," Joe repeated. "I don't reckon I'm expecting anyone."
"You ain't," Coffee said. "But your brother is."
"I wouldn't count on it," Adam said sharply, casting Coffee a disgruntled gaze.
"I wouldn't not count on it." Coffee remained immune to Adam's annoyance. "In fact, Joe, why don't you invite Hoss, too? I wouldn't bother with your pa, though. I reckon his invitation is one that your oldest brother here would like to extend himself."
"Who's on the Sunday stage?" Joe asked. It was unclear if he was curious or surprised.
"Nobody," Adam said. "Forget about it."
"Don't you dare," Coffee warned Joe. "Come meet the stage on Sunday and bring Hoss with you."
Joe looked dubiously between the pair. "I guess I'll see you on Sunday," he said to Coffee. He looked at Adam. "If not to meet the stage, then at least for breakfast at the International House. Tell you what, I'll bring Hoss and the three of us will leave Pa alone to drag Jamie to church."
And with that, the decision seemed to be made. Not waiting for a reply, Joe stepped into the thoroughfare. It did not take long for him to move beyond view, his form becoming lost amongst the other folks who were crowding the street.
"Now that it's just the two of us, can I offer a bit of advice?" Coffee drawled.
"Can I stop you?" Adam asked, annoyed. What he would not give for a little privacy—a morning or afternoon without Coffee inserting himself in his affairs. "Intercepting my telegraphs?" He shook his head disgustedly. "This is a new low, Roy, even for you."
"It could not be helped, Adam. I was just in the right place at the right time, is all."
"Sure, you were."
"The way I see it, it doesn't matter how I found out about Lil's plans anyhow. It doesn't change anything. I'm pleased, Adam…"
"Just as long as you're pleased."
"…It's about damn time you started making some real plans for the future. As for that bit of advice, now you really need to find new living arrangements. You can't be bringing kids home to live in a brothel—not that I reckon your pa would allow such a thing."
The advice was as unwelcome as it was unnecessary. Leaving the older man to stand alone in front of the sheriff's office, Adam began his trek back to the telegraph office. He had no intention of allowing Lil to bring her plan to fruition.
He walked unbothered for the majority of his trip. If folks assessed him in a judgmental manner or traded whispers, he remained unaware of it. But as he passed the livery, the Bonner Brothers emerged, one right after the other, from the inside of the building. They traded a glance, their lips curling into twin snide grins.
"There he goes, Rick," Jeff Bonner declared loudly. "Our newly appointed sheriff."
"Can you believe the audacity of Roy Coffee for allowin' the Town Council to swear in such a man?" Jeff Bonner asked his brother.
"No, sir, I cannot. But I'll tell you what I can believe."
"What's that?"
"That one thing we heard about him."
Adam ignored them. If unkind and clumsy talk was to be considered cheap, then anything the Bonner Brothers could say was not worth anything at all. The Bonner Brothers were the same as they ever were and would be. They didn't care about the past—not in the same way other people did. Though ignorant, their disparaging comments weren't born from a misguided sense of morality. They were merely doing what they'd always done. What they always would do. Grabbing a hold of Adam's chain for the sole purpose of yanking him around, they would glean their satisfaction from provoking him to anger. They didn't care about anything other than his reaction.
"Which thing was that?" Jeff Bonner asked. "I reckon we've heard more than a few."
"Oh, you know, the one we were told the other night."
"You're gonna have to be more specific."
"I'm talking about his fondness for whores, of course," Jeff Bonner said.
"Ah, Jeff, it ain't like that information is new. At least, not to us. Back in the day, when the three of us used to consider each other friends, I recall he had quite the penchant for such company."
"I do recall. I also recall that his pa had quite a few things to say about that, which leads me to wonder what he's saying about this."
"Sayin' about what?"
"Our boy's appointment as sheriff, of course."
"Oh, come on now. You and I both know that Ben Cartwright stood in opposition to his son takin' Roy Coffee's place."
"We do."
Leave it alone. Adam squared his chin and his shoulders. Responding to them wasn't worth the fight that would ensue, the attention it would command, or the irksome additions to the town's rumor mill.
"Do you know what else Ben Cartwright used to stand in opposition of?" Rick Bonner asked.
"What's that?"
"His boys falling behind on their hygiene. What was it that old man used to say when one of his kids took to growing their hair a little too long or neglected to trim the daily growth sprouting over their chins?"
"Well, I do believe he likened them to riverboat gamblers. No, sir, the Great Ben Cartwright never did take kindly to having his boys represent him or themselves any other way than respectfully."
"I reckon that was a lesson lost on his oldest boy. After all, you and I have known for a long time now about Adam's fondness for working gals, and now there he stands, no more than three feet away, having not shaved for what looks like months."
"Well, maybe that's what his dear old pa is most upset about."
"The fact that his oldest son dared show his face around here again?"
"No, sir, I reckon what really pissed him off was his older boy showing up with a beard. Well, that and the other thing."
"You mean the tale that Laura Dayton-Cartwright wrote about him. Do you think it was true?"
They aren't worth it. Adam forced himself to keep pace. Engaging them wouldn't solve anything. It would come at a much higher cost than he was willing to pay. The only thing worse than stomaching their jabs was responding to them. He had no intention of giving them what they wanted.
"Of course it was true," Jeff Bonner said. "We both know Adam ain't the honest kind, not where no woman is concerned. He never allowed one to put a ring in his nose, and he never once came close to being hogtied. When his cousin came along and rustled that little gal away from him, I'm sure he was downright relieved."
"He didn't have a good reason left to hitch himself to her. She had already lifted her skirts and given him what he was really after."
"The way I understand it, she kept lifting her skirts and givin' it to him, even after she had married his cousin. I do believe that is the thing his father disapproves of the most."
Adam entered the telegraph office seething. He slammed a dollar down on the counter, a superfluous payment for dispatching his reply to Lil. He let the operator keep the change, an incentive that did not come without firm stipulations. He was forceful and clear; the man was to exercise extreme discretion when it came to his personal affairs. He left the office in a huff and stalked through the thoroughfare. Though he had not reacted to the Bonner Brothers' taunting, their jeers had left him unsettled and inflamed, and his message to Lil instilled within him a deep agitation. What if she didn't heed his explicit instruction to keep Peggy and Noah in San Francisco?
"Adam Cartwright!" the sour declaration rang out.
Standing in front of the swinging batwing doors of the saloon, Billy Buckley was disgruntled and inflamed. It was not clear if the man was sober, but the distinction served little purpose. Sober or not, Adam could not tolerate someone of Buckley's stature speaking to him in such a tone. Though the folks traveling the thoroughfare seemed to be ignoring their fledgling interaction—for now—the badge pinned to Adam's chest demanded he address Buckley's impertinence.
"Buckley," he said coolly.
"Cartwright!" Buckley sneered. "I'm calling you out. You know why."
"I'm sure I don't."
"You took something from me, and I want it back."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do!"
"I'm sure I don't." Since returning, the only thing he had done to affront Buckley was kick the man out of Eileen Terry's room.
"I want it!" Buckley declared, his eyes narrowed and gleaming. It was obvious now that he was impaired, his current mysterious accusation bolstered by inebriation. While his fury was palpable, his balance was precarious. Standing on swaying legs, he took a step forward and nearly lost his balance.
"Come on, Billy," Adam urged. "Go home."
"I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to do anything you ask me to."
"Well, lucky for both of us, I'm not asking. I'm telling."
"Well, I ain't listening to you!"
Pressing his lips firmly together, Adam considered the precariousness of their mutual predicament. He did not want to speak to Buckley any more than the man wanted to listen to him, but there was a difference between wants and needs, and duty had an aggravating way of superseding both. "Get home, Billy, and sleep the night off," he said firmly, leaving no room for contumacy. "I'm not going to warn you again."
Visibly affronted by the order, Buckley frowned and reached for his gun. He pulled it, cocked it, and aimed it at Adam.
Adam looked at the barrel of the gun, then at the scattered townsfolk who had taken note of their volatile interaction. An audience was the last thing they needed, prying eyes that would bolster Buckley's insolent determination and further siphon Adam's authority.
"You don't want to do this," Adam said. He did not reach for his weapon; his right hand remained loose at his side.
"What do you know about what I want?"
"I don't have a problem with you."
"Well, I have one with you!"
"And shooting me is going to solve it?"
"Well, I reckon I don't rightly know."
"If you pull that trigger, you better be willing to find out," Adam warned as he took a step forward toward the gun. He paused for a moment, feeling out Buckley's determination, waiting to see if the movement would provoke a response.
It didn't. At least not a physical one. While he took note of Adam's slight advancement, Buckley remained rooted in place, his finger frozen on the trigger. "Oh, I'm willing."
But the man's actions seemed to prove otherwise as Adam took another uneventful step forward.
"What do you think it'll do for you, Billy?" Adam took another step. "To be yet another man who pulled a drunken gun and shot and killed a sheriff in the street?" Another step.
"It won't just be that."
"How come?" Another step.
"We all know who you are, Adam. We all know what you've done. We all know that bullet is a lot less than what you deserve for what you did."
"I see, so I'm Goliath and your David, huh?" Another step.
"Something like that."
Taking his final step forward, Adam stood in front of Buckley. He nodded at the gun. "Well?" he asked. "Are you going to do it?"
"I…" Seemingly rethinking his impetuousness, Buckley appeared to be losing his nerve. "You…" Threatening Adam was one thing; a consensual, matched gunfight was another; but aiming a gun at a sheriff who refused to draw was something else entirely.
"Here, let me help you." Boldly taking hold of the barrel of the gun, Adam adjusted its position, aiming it directly in front of his heart. "Go on," he said.
"Draw, Adam."
"No, sir. This is your decision, Billy. Your fight to win and mine to lose."
"Draw."
"Nope. So, why don't you go ahead and shoot?"
"Draw."
Nonplussed, Adam glanced at the gun as Buckley's hand began to slightly shake. "Still not going to do it, huh?" He looked at Buckley and noted the glimmer of fear in his eyes. The other man hadn't wanted an interaction like this. He didn't even know what to do now that he was presented with it. "Fine. My way it is then."
Adam grabbed the gun barrel, yanked the weapon from Buckley's hand, and spun it around in his own. Glancing around, he took quick assessment of the sparse crowd of folks who had stopped to watch them, then forced Buckley off the boardwalk and into the privacy of a nearby alleyway.
"Boy, what the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded, shoving Buckley against the side of the saloon. "Christ, Billy, you don't ever pull your gun on a lawman unless you're ready for a real fight."
Back resting against the cool brick, Buckley appraised him in a ferocious manner; his mood seemed to be bolstered in the absence of his gun, his temper rekindled by their change of surroundings. "Oh, I'm ready," he seethed. "I'm ready and eager—"
"Oh, shut up. Do you have any idea what I could have done to you? What I would have done if I was a different kind of lawman than Roy Coffee wants me to be?"
"I'm gonna take it back," Buckley continued. "I'll have what's mine. I'll do to you what you've done to me, and then I'll take it back!"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Judging by the smell of Buckley's breath, Adam doubted the other man did either.
"It wasn't even meant for you in the first place! You have no right to have it. No right at all! I know what you are, Adam Cartwright! I know what you did to Laura Dayton. I know why your pa hates you, and I hate you, too!"
This was the third time Adam's character was insulted; Buckley's veiled accusation was the last he would endure this day. He could abide whispered rumors, and even words between brothers spoken a little loudly. But there was something deeply troubling that a drunken man was the only person who would dare accuse him outright. A small part of him hated Buckley for daring to do such a thing, and an even smaller part of him was grateful he was doing it. He was tired of pretending he didn't see how people looked at him. Sick of ignoring the things they said. What purpose did his eternal, forced equanimity serve? To make everyone in town believe their lies undisputed. To make those around him call him a coward. No, the latter wasn't possible, not anymore. Not with the scene he just pulled.
"And what about you?" he demanded, finally relinquishing what little remained of his finite patience and releasing his frustration, full force.
Shoving Buckley's weapon into his gun belt, he took a firm hold of the front of the younger man's shirt, pushed his back further against the wall, and held him there. "Man," he said, his voice deep, dangerous, and grinding, his hazel eyes darkening with fury. "All I am hearing out of you is a lot of cheap, drunken talk. You think you know things about me because you believe the asinine fairytale Laura Dayton wrote to entertain herself? You think you know me now because of who I was six years ago?"
"You're not that tough!" Buckley declared.
"Boy, you have no idea who you're talking to. The man the passing years have turned me into, or the things I will do to you if you don't calm down and quit."
"You ain't gonna do anything!"
"There are going to be serious consequences if you continue to make yourself a problem for me."
"The truth is the only thing that's going to cause you problems."
"You have no idea what the truth is. You couldn't comprehend it even if you did."
"Are you calling me dumb?!"
"Boy, you sure as shit ain't smart. And just because I'm not certain you're intelligent enough to glean another truth that's looking you right in the face, I'm going to explain it to you outright. Roy Coffee isn't the sheriff of this town anymore; I am. It isn't his law that's governing these parts now; it's mine. If you continue to make yourself a problem for me, then I might just find myself in a mind to do what Roy Coffee didn't after you gunned Ed Payson down."
"That was a fair gunfight, and you know it!"
"Sure, it was. It was as fair as any other fight that took place between one man who's dying to win and another who's just plain dying to die. It was as fair as the gunfight between Ed Payson and Dave Cass. It's easy for a swift gun to win when faced with a slow one, and it's even easier to win against a man who won't fight at all. Payson did time for what he did, Billy. You walked away without recourse."
"That's because everyone around here was sure of my innocence, and I was innocent, no matter what you believe. Sheriff Coffee, he knew that!"
"I'll tell you what I know. You weren't a match for Ed Payson. He could have killed you if he really wanted to, and if he would have been able to continue living with the blood of yet another man marking his hands, he just might have. You didn't win that gunfight; you got lucky. Deep down, you know that. If you didn't then you wouldn't have hesitated when you aimed that gun at me. You're a coward, Billy, a sniffling and incessant pain in the ass. A man who only draws on those he knows he won't fight back. You got lucky with me today. But in the future, you better be damn careful. If you ever draw against me again, I'll kill you, Billy. I'll make you an example for the whole town to see."
"You're not a quicker draw than me. I'm the fastest in the territory."
"Not anymore, you're not."
Adam let go of Buckley abruptly. Without the stabilizing force of his powerful grip, Buckley stood on swaying legs, nearly toppling over to sit in the dirt as he watched Adam walk toward the thoroughfare.
"I'll be keeping your gun for now. You can have it back when you prove to me that you act right."
"I know what you are, Adam!" Buckley roared. "I know what you've done! You're a murderer! You killed your cousin's gal. So, what's going to happen to you? Who's going to strip you of your gun and make you pay for what you did? You can't hide behind Roy Coffee's badge forever! You can't pretend you're anything other than the monster you've become!"
Neither man could have predicted the nerve the questions and accusations would so unexpectedly and directly hit—or the person it would lead Adam to think of. Surely, Buckley had meant to invite torpid contemplations about Laura Dayton or Eileen Terry. Certainly, after all that had already been said, no word that could escape Buckley's mouth should have unsettled Adam at all.
But they did.
Hesitating in place, Adam thought of Will and the small, dank room in San Francisco where his cousin was captive and drugged. He rested his hand over the breast pocket of his shirt, the tip of his index finger idly stroking the grizzly photograph hidden beneath the material. He thought of the woman, the way her body had been violated and brutalized. How he had woken next to her naked and screaming, his own tortured cries implicating him, declaring guilt for whatever had taken place. He had no memory of the woman when she was alive. He only recalled the moment he realized she was dead.
Had she taken his clothes off? Had he allowed her to? Had he employed her? Had he laid with her, too? He didn't want to think—he just couldn't believe—he would do that, at least not anymore. What did it matter if he ever recalled the truth? His wife was gone, and the prostitute was dead. But he was still here, left alone to carry the burden of everything lost. He had woken up next to that poor woman, naked and covered in her blood. Whether he had laid with her or not, he had been there when she died, and that was reason enough to believe that things should have been different. That she could and should have been saved. Her blood was on his hands. It could never be washed off or forgotten. It would never go away. Just like details of what happened to Laura Dayton would never go away. She was another woman Adam once laid next to. Another woman who was violated and brutalized, her bloodied corpse left abandoned and rotting for him to find. Though he suspected Will was the one responsible for her death, he wasn't certain because he had never directly asked. He didn't want to ask. He wasn't brave enough to shoulder the responsibility of that truth. To consider what such a thing could or would mean. To his father. To Peggy. For Will. Or for himself. Because Laura's blood was on his hands, too. She could have been saved. He could have saved her. But he had not.
And Charlie. Oh, God, poor, little innocent Charlie—no.
Shaking his head violently, Adam forced himself to abandon the thought. He would not think of his son now. Not here. Not like this.
"I don't know who's going to punish me for my sins," he said gruffly. "But it isn't going to be you."
"You're gonna pay! Just wait and see! You can't walk away from what you've done! Soon, there'll come a day when you're going to pay for it all! You'll get yours, and I'll have what's mine! I'll take back everything you took from me!"
Adam left Buckley, drunken and swaying, his precarious balance bolstered by the saloon wall against his back. Squaring his shoulders and holding his head high, he stepped into the thoroughfare. Someone forcefully grabbed his shoulder from behind, pulled him backward, and spun him roughly around.
"Billy, I swear—!"
As he was spun roughly around, Adam's eyes widened with pure shock. Buckley was not the man who had grabbed him or who was standing in front of him now.
"What are you doing here?" Adam asked breathlessly.
It couldn't be.
But somehow, it was.
Shock and fear paralyzed him, freezing his arms as they hung heavy at his sides, holding his feet in place for a beat too long. He heard nothing but silence as his head exploded with pain and the world around him went black.
TBC