BEFORE:
"Well, I think you ought to do it."
Though the declaration had neither been spoken firmly nor softly, it hung heavily in the air.
With his arms folded behind his back, Adam stood in front of the Victorian fireplace warming the small sitting room and stared thoughtfully at the flames. He did not venture a reply to Lil's statement, nor did he turn around when she continued speaking.
"I know that returning to Virginia City in such a way is not something you've ever anticipated, but this is an excellent opportunity. If Sheriff Coffee is intent on retiring his post, he is right to offer it to you."
"Coffee is wrong," Adam said emphatically yet quietly. Given the late hour, he had no intention of allowing his voice to become too loud, lest it awaken Noah, or worse: draw Peggy's attention. "I'm surprised you, of all people, would be in favor of such an offer."
"I'm in favor of anything that implores you to stop spending your mornings on the front porch, brooding. What I can't seem to understand is why you would not be amenable to the suggestion."
"Oh, I don't know; maybe it's because I can recall how bad things got before I walked away from that town. I was the talk of it, you know."
"You're worried that history will repeat itself. You're afraid that—"
"I'm not afraid," Adam snorted. "If anything, I'm astute. I'm trying my best to be circumspect."
"You're cagey, but I don't think anyone can really blame you for that. Not after the way Laura died or what she wrote about you when she was alive."
Lil was probing now, but Adam had no intention of expanding upon the topic of Laura or the scandalous diary the woman had left behind. Laura had taken one or two small truths, augmented and expanded them with lies. The Virginia City townsfolk had taken her story and used it to support their new-found unsavory assumptions about him. That book had destroyed everything, taking what little he was struggling to hold on to and stripping it from his grasp.
Staring at the lambent flames in front of him, Adam was suddenly, strangely, taken by the memory of an interaction long past. He had returned to Nevada exactly twice since walking away from his father's home. The most recent trip had culminated violently, leaving him returning to San Francisco with his brutalized cousin in tow. It was the first trip he was dwelling on now—the one he had taken intent on making things right with his father. Instead, he had gone to the Running D and found Will sitting on the front steps of the farmhouse. Dull-eyed and sober, he had greeted Adam with far more warmth than Ben Cartwright eventually would.
"I'd avoid town completely if I were you," Will had warned. "As nasty as talk was before you took Peggy away, it's even worse now. That's something your pa hasn't helped, I'm afraid."
"You're not a good choice for a husband," Ben would come to accuse. "You're selfish, self-righteous, and judgmental. You don't know how to love people because you will never allow yourself to need anyone."
At the time, Adam had denied the allegation, but with the way things had unfolded between him and Eddie, there would be no denying it now.
I should have believed her! Eddie's terse voice sprung forth to haunt him again. Laura warned me about you, in her letters, she did. She knew what kind of man you really were. The kinds of things you... Grimacing, he shook his head, forcing his mind to fixate on anything but the troublesome memory. Still, it refused to be silenced. I hate you!
Adam closed his eyes. That's all right. His silent retort was bitter and fruitless. I'm fairly certain I hate you too. Not so much for what you did, but all the things you didn't.
"Adam?" Lil prompted.
Opening his eyes, he found the flames in the fire flickering violently, burning white hot. "People don't forget," he said. "Years ago, folks believed I killed Laura because she was carrying my child." There was a time when it seemed as though his father had believed the vicious rumors, too. "There is just no telling what they're going to have to say about things now." Now that he had spent six years looking after Peggy. Now that he had his own son, and wife who was nowhere to be found. It wouldn't help matters that Eddie was Laura's cousin or that Peggy had taken to referring to him fondly as "Pa." The people of Virginia City wouldn't understand. He doubted his father would want to.
"Talk is cheap," Lil said, an overused statement Adam was certain had been meant to be comforting. If he had been a younger man, he might have been able to take solace in it. As it was, he was old enough to know it was the kind of thing people said when they didn't want to acknowledge how much words hurt them. There was a time when the townsfolk of Virginia City could not find a single kind word to say about him; there was a time when it seemed his father could not either. "And though folks don't tend to forget," Lil continued, "that doesn't mean they can't forgive."
"Lil," Adam said, his voice deepening with distain, "are you actually implying that the people of Virginia City have the authority or the right to forgive me?" The very notion was ludicrous. There was nothing for folks to forgive; he hadn't done anything wrong.
"No, not the folks of Virginia City, Adam. You. Like it or not, you were the one at the center of all the talk. You were the one who scooped Peggy up, took her away from Will, and skipped town. You are the one who left, which means you are the only one who has the power to go back and change the way things currently are."
Turning, Adam planted his hands on his hips and appraised Lil disgruntledly. "In case you've forgotten, I didn't walk away from that town for my own benefit. I did it for Peggy."
"And returning would be beneficial to her. After all, Virginia City wasn't just your home; it was hers, too. You weren't born there, but she was. She had a family and a life there, just like you did. Since you were the one who took her away, then that puts a certain kind of responsibility on you, a certain kind of obligation."
"Peggy is not interested in returning to Virginia City."
"How do you know? Have you asked her about it recently? Of course you haven't. Why would you? Especially given the fact that you yourself remain so against the notion. Well, I hate to break it to you, hero, but part of being a good father is doing things you don't want to do for the sake of your children. Someday Peggy is going to need to make peace with the past; she's going to need closure. In fact, you could do with some closure yourself. And what about Noah?"
"What about him?"
"What if, once he becomes old enough to begin wondering about life outside of this home and the three of us, he wants to take a trip to Nevada? How will you cross that bridge and endure your son's curiosity and questions if you can't endure this?"
"I never said I couldn't endure it. I just don't want to." It was all so difficult to think about. Even if he were to return to Nevada—even if he and his father were to reconcile—how would he explain the existence of one son while ignoring the painful loss of another? How would he introduce his remaining son to his family without disclosing the whereabouts of the boy's mother and the terrible things that had driven her away?
Charlie.
Oh, God, Charlie.
Adam sucked in a deep breath to steady himself and held it until his lungs began to burn in protest. He wouldn't dwell on his oldest boy. He was determined not to think about him, as harsh and grievous as it seemed. He couldn't allow himself to feel or comprehend the loss. The agony of it promised to be immeasurable, infinite, and compelling. It would be the end of him; a morning spent drinking and brooding on the porch would pale in comparison to the things he would do if he allowed himself to feel the true weight of his grief. His anger would be palpable and cavernous, a fury that would adhere to no bounds.
"Remaining in place is easy," Lil said. "Doing anything other than what you've taken to doing as of late is going to be difficult, but like it or not, Adam, you will eventually be required to do something. While sitting around and waiting is fine for right now, a day will dawn when your responsibilities demand you make a move. Now your profession as a marshal guarantees you will be called back to the road, and you'll leave Noah and Peggy behind when you do. I know the thought of returning to Virginia City and taking up Roy Coffee's post isn't exactly a favorable one, but this opportunity is a gift. It allows you to remain mostly in one place and be there for your children when they need you."
"Yeah, if I don't get called out in the street and shot down for daring to show my face again."
"Your father and brothers would never allow that."
"Never say never."
"Your father always struck me as a forgiving man."
"He's a stubborn one, too."
"I think you're underestimating him. I do believe you are underestimating yourself, too."
"I won't do it," Adam said decisively.
"I've never known you to be the kind of man eager to run away from a fight or to choose paths with the least resistance."
"It isn't me I'm thinking of. I can't go back. Not with the way things are." And he couldn't. Not with Charlie buried deep in the ground. Not with Eddie gone. Not with the secret of Will. "I won't take Peggy back to Virginia City and force her to shoulder the things that are going to be said about me. Or her, for that matter. I don't want that girl to be privy to the things that happened when her mother was alive. I don't want her to know how my father felt about her and me remaining close after Will and Laura were married, or how he reacted when I took her away from the Running D and brought her here."
"You think you're protecting her, but you're not," Lil cautioned. "She has a place in all of this, Adam. You would be wise not to forget that. And although you don't want to consider it right now, Noah does as well. Like I said, you're underestimating your father. After all, nothing softens an old man's heart like a grandbaby will."
Though he was unwilling to admit she made a compelling point, Adam could not help but think of his marshal's badge. The dented silver star had been cautiously placed in the drawer of his bedside table, hidden but never quite forgotten, lurking beside Marshal Weston's unfinished list and a grisly photograph of a woman that should have never been taken or kept. He didn't know why he kept it. Why he so often forced himself to look upon it, committing every grotesque detail to permanent memory. Lil was right to worry about the difficulties the future would bring—especially if he remained here. In his sober moments, his badge and Weston's list called out to him and tried their best to convince him to make a different choice than the one Lil was eager to guide him toward. Maybe the woman knew that, and that was why she was so determined to see him accept Roy Coffee's offer. Maybe she didn't; perhaps she knew something else instead.
"You're a runner," Will once accused him. "Trust me, brother, I know, because, deep down, I'm a runner, too."
"I'm coming with you," Adam had said to Will after storming out of his father's house for the last time. He was meant to return to San Francisco to marry Eddie and look after Peggy, but with Pa's cruel parting words circling his mind relentlessly, he hadn't the patience or desire to follow through. Instead, he had run away. From Peggy. Eddie. And, unaware of Eddie's condition at the time, he had run away from Charlie, too.
"She isn't coming back, Adam," Lil said bluntly, the declaration decidedly unsolicited. "If it's Eddie you're waiting on, then I'm afraid you're going to be waiting a very long time."
Eddie.
His once beautiful and eager bride, whom he had left anxious and waiting when he first followed and then chased Will. Though she had left him recently, he had left her first, and months later, when he finally came to his senses and returned to San Francisco, he still found her waiting, his first-born son nearly a month old in her arms. Throat constricting, he expelled a breath, the air emerging from his mouth in a thick huff. He had decided he hated Eddie; he wasn't certain if the things she had done could ever be forgiven. But God help him, he still loved her.
"But what if she does?" he asked, his voice deep but wavering, sounding a little too troubled and emotional—even to his own ears. Did he want her to come back? He wasn't sure. Even so, he clung to the question as though the answer to it would bestow upon him some kind of forgiveness and peace.
"She won't."
"How can you know that?"
Shaking her head sadly, Lil was unwilling to disclose the source of her certainty.
"Just a fairy godmother thing, huh?" he snorted. They were both close to tears now, he a little more aware of the deplorable nature of such a development than she would ever be. Fairy Godmother, or not, it wasn't seemly for him to be putting such things on display. His closeness to Lil notwithstanding, it wasn't right for her to speak to him in such uncertain terms about his absent wife. Even so, she was right—he knew that. Eddie would not be returning. Not with the way she had left. Not with the things she had said or done prior to taking her leave.
You're a monster! Eddie's proclamation, frenzied and dictatorial, resounded in his ears. I wish I had never met you! I wish—
"Adam," Lil said, "there is no reason for you to decline Sheriff Coffee's offer. There is nothing left for you to do here, or anywhere else other than Nevada, for that matter. Eddie left, and you went looking for Will. You didn't find your cousin; he's gone, and so is Eddie. It's up to you now to move forward and build a future for your children that can be sustained. To be honest and clear, I don't know if Virginia City is the place for you to do that. But I do know that Peggy deserves a Pa who isn't going to spend his days drowning himself in a bottle. As for Noah, well, a son has a right to know where his daddy came from. Don't you think?"
Adam didn't answer the question. Still, it consumed him later, as did the others it awoke. How much difficulty and pain could have been avoided had Pa been honest about where he had come from and the violence he and his brother had endured at their own father's hands? How different would things be if it was Ben rather than Eddie who dared take Adam to Ohio? These new questions circled his mind relentlessly, embedding themselves into his heart as any concern he had over either Eddie's or Will's whereabouts strayed further and further from his mind. His only concern was for Noah. If he didn't take the opportunity Roy Coffee had offered, what kind of agony and complications would his avoidance of Virginia City, the Ponderosa, and the family he had left behind cause Noah? What kind of pain was he inflicting upon his son, withholding him from the love and protection of his grandfather and uncles? What kind of life—what kind of existence—was he sentencing his silent son to by keeping the boy in San Francisco, requiring him to remain forever in his grandmother's home, surrounded by the walls that echoed the memory of an older brother who had died too young? Stunted by his mother's absence and a father who spent his days drunken and stewing on the front porch. If that was to be considered a life, it was far from a good one. Nothing about it was reminiscent of the one that Adam wanted to provide.
Sleep did not come easily to him that night. Or the night after. Or the one after that. And when Roy Coffee finally came calling again, seeking a final response to his proposition, Adam's answer seemed to take them both by genuine surprise.
"I'll do it," he said. "If the town council is amenable, I'll serve the remainder of your term as the sheriff of Virginia City."
He didn't think about the trouble such a decision was destined to bring. How he would continue to harbor Will or explain Eddie's absence to his father or brothers. Shamefully, he didn't think about how the seemingly impetuous decision would affect Peggy. His only concern was for Noah. His only desire was to give his son the only thing his own father had failed to provide.
"Don't you worry," Roy Coffee assured warmly. "I'll take care of everything, with your pa or otherwise. I promise you, Adam, stepping into my boots is going to be one of the easiest things you have ever done in your life."
The passing of time would prove the elder man's assurance was false. The transition was one that was destined to be fraught with opposition and pain. The first hints of such things occurred the moment Adam shared the plans he had made with Peggy.
"You cannot be serious," the teenage girl declared.
"I am," he said. "Peggy, I'm returning to Virginia City. Noah is going to remain here with Lil for the time being, and in three weeks, I expect you to board an eastbound stage to attend college."
"I won't do it." Crossing her arms obstinately, Peggy shook her head. "And neither should you."
A week later, as he jumped from the stagecoach and planted his boots firmly on the platform in Carson City, the teen's declaration sat heavily on Adam's heart, threatening to instill within him paralytic doubt. She had looked so determined when she said it, wrenchingly astute and a little too wise. With statements like that, it was easy to imagine the teen's criticism had been born from her recently building opposition to leaving San Francisco to attend college. It was easier yet to believe she knew much more about the dire state of things than she should have.
He did his best to stifle the memory, ignoring the uncertainty it threatened to impart. He had not dedicated a single moment to questioning his decision to return to Nevada after it was precipitously made, and he certainly would not allow himself to do such a thing now. Let Peggy be skeptical about the decision; time would sort the girl out.
He rented a horse at the Carson City Livery, pulling the brim of his tan hat down to disguise his face. He wasn't certain why he did it. What did it matter if he was recognized? If word of his presence in these parts made its way back to his father and brothers. He was coming back, wasn't he? He'd be on his family's doorstep by dusk. Of course, perhaps the action had nothing to do with his family at all, not any of his immediate relatives, at least. It had not been too long ago when he tracked Will to this town and fought with him in the wilderness lurking outside of it. His recollection of that day lingered a little too close to his mind, trying its best to cling to his heart and instill within him a staggering, regressive weight. He didn't want to think of his cousin or the problem he still posed, a difficult thing to ignore when faced with the silent, extensive landscape surrounding him. Still, stifling such thoughts, he squeezed his fingers into a tight, bare fist, the worn leather of the reins cutting into his palm, and urged his mount to increase its pace.
They made good time, coming upon a secluded stretch of Ponderosa land long before he anticipated they would. He stopped only briefly, taking a moment to appreciate the beauty and sheer magnitude of the terrain. It was incredible that after six years it could still look the same and that he, himself, could feel so changed.
He traveled his family's property uneasily, unable to steel himself against his sudden doubts—a new crop of questions he could neither answer nor ignore. When faced with his father and brothers for the first time in years, what would he say to them? What would they choose to say to him in return? Would they welcome or condemn him? How would he navigate—how would he feel—faced with either response? His father would be angry—that was a given—but how would he be received by his brothers? After all, when he walked out on his father, he had abandoned them as well. Time had passed without word to any of them; he had not sent a letter or telegraph to advise of his wellbeing or whereabouts. Never in Adam's life had he followed one impetuous decision with a second. Even after spontaneously accepting Roy Coffee's proposition, he had not crafted a letter or telegraph. He had not contacted his family to let them know he was returning or why. No, he had allowed Roy Coffee to handle that part of it—that was if the man had actually handled it at all.
The Ponderosa ranch yard was littered with buggies, buckboards, and obedient lines of singular horses tied to hitching posts, evidence of the grandiose celebration taking place inside. Strangely, the porch was empty, a detail too glaring and telling to ignore. There had once been a time that, when anticipating the return of one of his sons, Ben Cartwright would await their arrival on a chair in front of the table just outside the house. He would sit there for hours sometimes, sipping coffee, casually reading, or calmly overlooking all he had achieved. This was a habit his sons had grown accustomed to and mirrored themselves. No matter the hour or circumstance, rarely did a member of the Cartwright family return home without being received by someone. It was difficult to believe the passing years had changed that. Still, no one was waiting for him outside. Either his father didn't know he was coming, or he didn't care.
The overflow of activities taking place inside the house filled the evening air. A mixture of guests' exuberant chatter and the resounding jubilant music a small group of Virginia City's musically endowed had gathered to play for the festive occasion. In these parts, Ben Cartwright was a man of importance; his birthday was a day to be celebrated and recognized rather than ignored.
Tethering his horse to the hitching post closest to the front door, Adam looked between the house and the quickly darkening sky. Maybe Coffee was wrong. Regardless of whether he was expected or not, perhaps the evening of his father's gregarious birthday celebration was not the correct time to reappear. The house was full of townsfolk, a gaggle of folks who had no business bearing witness to a reunion, and there was no predicting how he would be received. Would he still be considered a member of the family, an interloper, or some maddening combination of both?
He made his way to the front door, only to hesitate outside of it.
This is a mistake.
Absently, he lifted his hand, his fingertips seeking and failing to find a badge pinned to his breast. He didn't have to do this. Not right now. Not like this. Putting himself on display for the whole town to see. Thrusting himself at his father's feet, leaving the tone of their reunion up to a foolish old man's discretion. He could turn around and walk away. He could mount his horse, leave, and take a long ride to clear his thoughts, seeking clarity from the doubts that seemed a little too eager to overwhelm him. He didn't have to do this. Not right now. Not like this. Not ever, if he didn't really want to.
Time was ticking away around him; the longer he stood here, paralyzed, and ambiguous, the more likely it was that someone would stumble upon him. His presence would be known, and it would be too late. Too late to walk away. Too late to turn around and travel another path.
He didn't have to be here. He could walk away. He could. He could go back to San Francisco. To Noah, Peggy, and Lil. He could re-don his marshal's badge, refocus his attention on Weston's list, and return to the road, focusing his time and attention on something he was good at. He could go somewhere else, a place where no one knew him as Ben Cartwright's oldest son and Laura Dayton-Cartwright's once-slighted beau and alleged killer. God, what was he thinking? Coming here now? Like this? With his father and brothers and what appeared to be the whole damn town lurking behind the front door of the house? How did he really expect his father to react to him? Did Roy Coffee actually think that the people of Virginia City were going to accept or overlook him?
There are just some things that can't be fixed or changed. Ed Payson's words circled his brain, rising from his memory to haunt him. The people in that town didn't care what really happened between me and Will Cass's boy. They had their story, their truth about me, and now they have theirs about you, too.
What kind of stories would folks tell about him now? Would his father choose to believe rumors over the truth this time around? Had the passing years made Ben Cartwright a wiser man, or, like his oldest son, had they rendered him stupefied and foolish?
You're a lot like me, Adam. Payson's voice sprung forth from the depths of Adam's memory. Of course, you're a lot different, too. My name was written on a bullet the moment I walked back into Virginia City. You ever find yourself thinking that maybe you oughta go back there, then you might find there'll be a bullet with your name on it, too.
Who's it gonna be, Ed? Adam thought, a silent, rash inquiry destined to remain unanswered—at that moment, at least. Who is going to fill their head with enough foolish talk to get a wild hair, pull their gun, and finally do what half the men in town wanted to do six years ago?
Years ago, the only things that had prevented such an incident were Roy Coffee's authority and the mess one would find themselves in the middle of if they dared kill the oldest son of the most prominent man in the territory. Not even God could have helped a man who became the primary focus of Ben Cartwright's wrath. Back then, Adam still stood firmly beneath the coverage of his father's protective shadow. Now he wondered if such graces would endure. Or if he wanted them to. Which would be better: his father being surprised by his return or indifferent to it? Which outcome was the empty porch symptomatic of? He hadn't come back thinking—wanting—to find himself immediately standing within the Cartwright family fold, but he hadn't anticipated he would stand alone either. But what if he was forced to? What would happen then? And who would it be? The person whom Ed Payson had once tried his best to warn him about. The one foolish enough to take up a gun and make him a target now?
"Man, you got a lot of nerve," a familiar voice suddenly said. The statement was accusatory, the tone disgruntled and cold.
Stunned out of his tortured revere, Adam turned around and found that Billy Buckley and his wife, Sally, had stumbled upon him. Neither appeared particularly pleased to see him, although Buckley was decidedly more infuriated than Sally. Taking hold of her husband's hand, she looked up at Buckley through the corners of her eyes, her expression rife with uncertainty. There was something about that look that didn't sit right with Adam. He didn't like the meekness of her stance or the glimmer of fear lurking in the depths of her eyes.
"Sally," Adam said, nodding at her before focusing his attention on Buckley. Lord, the boy looked the same. He appeared as young as he ever had. Furious and foolish. Sally, conversely, seemed to be a little too tired. She was slightly gray-haired and hollow-eyed, a little more withered than her age should have allowed.
"You got a lot of nerve," Buckley repeated, his eyes locked on Adam.
"Billy," Sally urged softly. "Please, let's just..."
"I was just saying hello to your wife," Adam said.
"Not for that," Buckley seethed. "For daring to show your face around here again, among other things."
Adam wasn't as taken aback by the accusation as he thought he would be. It didn't bother him nearly as much as he feared it would. The very notion that he could be standing in front of his father's home, having Billy Buckley stare at him with fire in his eyes, vehemence seeping from every inch of his body, was oddly familiar. Strangely, something about it was downright comforting. Or maybe it was the fact that Buckley was in the company of his wife, dressed in his best Sunday duds, sans gun belt and sidearm, that was reassuring. The man was not a threat. Not to him, at least, but the way Sally was appraising Buckley made Adam wonder.
"Sally," he said, focusing his attention squarely on her, her quiet neediness superseding her husband's disgruntlement. "It's good to see you again. It's been a long time." He appraised her covertly, carefully, trying to discern if her apprehension was to be noted or dismissed, easily explained by the current company and circumstances, or something else entirely. Was she okay? Lord, if she was, she didn't look it.
"Don't talk to my wife," Buckley ordered. Pulling his hand from hers, he took firm hold of her upper arm. Sally cringed, sucking in a deep, painful breath.
Adam's expression darkened. "Sally, are you—?"
"Don't talk to my—!"
The front door opened, disrupting the potency of the moment, and when Adam turned around and stood face-to-face with a duo he had not seen in years, Hoss's exclamation dissolved it completely.
"I'll be dad-burned!"
Joe was the first to pull Adam into a tight embrace. "I can't believe it!" he whispered fervently into his older brother's ear as he finally found his voice. Pulling back, he held Adam's upper arms, rooting him in place as he appraised him, his green eyes sparkling with excitement and awe. "I just can't believe it."
When he finally let go, Adam found himself wrapped up again, held in a hug so tight and warm that he was certain it would suffocate him. "I'm so happy you're here," Hoss said, his voice laden with emotion. "Oh, Lord, Adam, it is so good to finally see you again."
When the embrace finally ended, Adam's eyes found his father. Ben approached him quickly, his thunderous expression seeming to darken a little more with each step he took. The expression said more than words could; a horrifying mixture of fury and contempt, it hurt more than it should have. Adam shifted his weight upon his feet, his legs feeling slightly weak beneath him. His father walked bristly past him, not speaking so much as a word as he walked out the door and disappeared into the evening.
Where are you going, Pa?
As soon as the mournful question entered his mind, Adam silenced it. Such inquiries wouldn't serve him now; they would only add to his pain. As a son, he was hurt, but as a father himself, he couldn't abide such infantile behavior—from a grown man of Pa's age, no less. It was despicable, reprehensible even. Didn't Pa understand what a gift it was to see him again?
Charlie.
Eyes narrowing with distain, he frowned.
No.
He wouldn't think of his son. Not here. Not right now. Not like this. His anger surged, a simmering fury gathering in his chest. What did he care if his father chose to walk away from him? Why should he be so important? His actions still somehow allowed to influence and dictate his oldest son's own. But goddamn it, it did matter. It stung, and it hurt. Didn't his father understand that dead was different than gone? Dead was done forever; gone meant you could go back. And he was here. He had come back.
This is all your fault. Eddie's voice whispered. The aged accusation was a little too taunting and apt. If you had been half the man you pretend to be, none of this would have happened!
Stifling a cringe, Adam shook his head to clear the statement. This was far from the right time to recall any of that. It was far from the right time to be thinking about a lot of things. Even so, he couldn't stifle the memories that overtook him. He couldn't silence his building doubt.
"I defended you," Will once said.
"To the people in town?" Adam had asked.
"To your father."
Lingering in the foyer, Adam wondered who would defend him now. From his father, who had stormed from the house. From the crowd of people scattered throughout the room. His sudden entrance and his father's terse exit had not been overlooked by anyone. Those who recognized him regarded him with a mixture of shock and anger, and those who did not appraised him with a great deal of curiosity, silent questions sparkling unasked in their eyes. Who was this man who had forced the Great Ben Cartwright to abandon his own birthday party? Who was this person—this stranger—whose very presence disturbed the Ponderosa's patriarch so much?
"Don't you pay your pa no mind," Roy Coffee said, appearing at his side from seemingly nowhere. Smiling, he forced a glass of whiskey into Adam's hand. "Give him a little time, and he'll come 'round. Just you wait and see."
Adam didn't want to wait. He didn't want to see. He felt like an open wound, raw, sensitive, and inflamed. "You said he knew," he accused. "You said you spoke to my father. You manipulative, conniving, old—"
Coffee's smile did not falter. "Careful, Adam," he warned as he eyed the people around them. "There's lots of folks in here; a lot of 'em don't know you the way I do, and some don't know you at all. I'm sure you don't want the first thing they witness you doin' is verbally accosting the sheriff. You go on now; drink that whiskey down. You'll feel better."
Scoffing, Adam looked at the drink. He didn't need the alcohol to embolden his temper, heighten his grief, or dull his sense of time. His grip on the glass tightened. No, it wouldn't help him feel better. It would just make matters a hell of a lot worse. What was the purpose of it? Of any of it? Of offering him the alcohol. Of offering him a job. Of bringing him back here to put him on display while his father avoided him completely.
"I don't want it," he said, all but slamming the glass down on the sideboard. The amber liquid sloshed violently, spilling over the rim to rest in a small puddle on the wood.
"I thought you liked whiskey," Hoss mused.
"Yeah, me too," Joe said. "It used to be your favorite."
"It still is," Adam said. "I just don't feel much like drinking tonight."
"Hmm." Shoving his thumbs between his belt and the waist of his pants, Hoss nodded as though he understood. "Probably smart, given..." He tilted his head at the now-closed door. "You know Pa didn't really..." He began, then trailed off weakly. "I mean, don't you worry about what just happened. You know how he is, how knee-jerk he can sometimes be. He just wasn't expectin' you, that's all. He'll take a long walk and let some of that shock ebb, and then he'll come back and greet you proper."
"No," Adam said. "I don't reckon he will. Even if he decides he has something to say, I don't believe I'll be sticking around to hear it."
"You just walked in the door," Hoss protested.
"You're not leaving again," Joe declared in unison.
Coffee was unfazed by the declaration. "Where are you stayin'?" he asked.
"What do you mean, where is he staying?" Joe scoffed. "This is his home; he's staying right here."
"I took the stage to Carson," Adam said. "Rented a horse. I suppose that means I'm headed that way again."
"But you'll be back, right?" Joe pressed. "You're coming back. You didn't show your face, only to disappear again."
"Don't you worry none," Coffee assured. "He didn't come back with the intention of leaving. Pretty soon, the three of you will be seeing so much of each other that you'll grow downright weary of one another."
Looking between his brothers, who were standing beside him with as much familiarity and ease as they had six years ago, Adam prayed Coffee was wrong.
"Well, boys," Coffee drawled. "The catching up will have to wait, I'm afraid. Adam, I would consider it a great kindness if you would accompany this manipulative, conniving pirate back to town. I think that maybe now there's a few things we ought to discuss."
"Not tonight," Adam said, his stomach turning at the thought. Given the way folks were looking at him now, there was no telling what kind of attention his presence would receive in Virginia City. It wasn't necessarily the looks he was worried about. It was the whispers. The talk. And the actions that some men might be compelled to utilize to back it up.
"Yes, sir." Coffee nodded affirmatively, authoritatively. "Tonight."
And with that, Adam knew the decision had been made for him. He couldn't delay the inevitable, and he had no desire to remain in place, lest his father return and the two of them partake in what promised to be a very volatile reunion, putting both their tempers on display for all to see. Bidding a regretful farewell to his brothers, he followed Roy Coffee out of the house and to the Virginia City Sheriff's Office.
He left town in the middle of the night, finally tearing himself from Coffee's company with a vague, furtive claim of needing to return to San Francisco to attend to his family before the Virginia City Town Council voted on his appointment. But Adam didn't go back to San Francisco. Having already bid a difficult farewell to his children and ensuring Will's current whereabouts were secured for the immediate future, he had no reason—or desire—to.
Renting an isolated room in Carson City, he lay down wearily and fell into a troubled sleep. When he dreamed, he saw visions of an ethereal saloon, glasses that magically filled themselves with whiskey, and Ed Payson standing behind the bar.
"Oh, buddy, what are you doing?" Payson asked, his eyes glistening with sadness. "Don't you understand that town means to kill you? If you go back to Virginia City, you're going to end up dead."
TBC