Chapter 8

Three saddle blankets on a wooden floor do not an adequate substitute make for my comfortable bed, little brother. Scott stared through the dark at the spot where he knew Johnny lay curled up on his own blankets. Johnny's soft snores brought a smile to Scott's lips. Do you know that you snore when you're drunk, Johnny? Scott rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair. Johnny had consumed nearly half the tequila in the bottle, and Scott had discovered that, snoring aside, his brother was a quiet drunk. He himself had taken only a few swallows and had not revealed that when inebriated he became quite verbose. Scott rose and walked to the window where some weak moonlight made sight more possible. Taking out his watch, he peered at it until he made out the hour.

"What time is it?" Johnny's voice coming suddenly out of the darkness caused Scott to jerk.

"You come awake quicker than any man I've ever known." Scott turned towards his brother. There was just enough light for him to discern that Johnny had risen to a seated position.

"And you prowl around in the dark more than most." Johnny's hand came up and rubbed his forehead. Scott moved toward him and decided to answer Johnny's original question.

"It's about an hour and a half until breakfast. Are you planning to eat breakfast?" Scott dropped down to sit on his makeshift pallet.

"Ain't planning to work all day on an empty stomach."

"So, you're planning to work?" The question was asked softly and carried another on its back.

"I ain't leaving Lancer over a book, Boston."

It wouldn't be over the book, and you'd have reason, but… "Wise choice." Silence hung between them for a minute.

"Scott, well, I ain't saying I'll never decide it's time to go, but, well, I ain't just gonna up and ride off without a word." Johnny's eyes were focused not on his brother but on the window behind him. "You've..." Johnny swallowed; Scott's words slipped into the pause.

"What if it wasn't just Murdoch that set off that temper of yours, what if it was me?"

"Naw, not even then." Johnny's voice was softer than Scott had ever heard it before. "There's others here. Teresa, Maria, Cip. I got folks here that that would hurt." Johnny's smile was even softer than his words. "Don't think even I could get that mad at all of you at once."

"I never underestimate what you can manage." Scott's fear was not completely hidden under his teasing tone.

"You believe I don't break promises?"

"Certainly."

"Then I guess I'll have to promise. If I'm gonna leave, I'll tell ya first."

"And…" This time I must push.

"And if I leave, I won't disappear. I do know how to write a letter."

"You promise?"

"I promise, brother." Johnny listened has Scott let out the breath he had been holding then asked, "Do you?"

Scott pointed his finger and traced a cross on his chest. "I promise too."

"Well, then, ain't nothing left but to decide if we're sneaking in and cleaning up before breakfast or just strutting to the table as we are."

"Do you even want breakfast?"

Johnny rubbed his hand over his face and through his hair. "Not as much as usual, but I wasn't that drunk, and I ain't that hung over."

"If you say so. Actually, though, you're not a very hard drinker, are you?" And this is the first time I remember seeing you get drunk.

"Pistoleros who are don't last long, Boston. It messes with the reflexes, you know."

"You're not…."

"Until everybody, and I mean everybody, knows that, I still better keep a rein on my drinking."

"Last night…"

"Last night I had my reasons for drinking and for not worrying." The whiteness of Johnny's teeth allowed Scott to see the smile that slowly appeared. "Being to home and all, 'sides my big brother weren't hardly drinking, and he's a passable shot."

"Passable!" Scott sputtered with half-feigned indignation and then snorted. "No matter, neither of us has a gun with us."

"True." Johnny's ruefulness was aimed at himself. "Can't believe I did that."

"Johnny, Murdoch..."

"Our old man, Scott, I don't know how, but that old man just..." Johnny sighed. "Only three times in my life I run off so…well, like some kinda fool kid." Johnny settled back against the wall. "And I guess the first one shouldn't have to count."

"Why not?"

Johnny chuckled. "'Cause I was seven, and Mama was doing the yelling."

"So that temper that Murdoch has mentioned..."

"Oh, Mama had a temper; that's true enough. Burned fast and hot but cooled quick enough, probably why I risked running."

Scott's fingers picked at a thread in the blanket beneath him. "And the second time, does it count?"

"I was fourteen."

Your mother was dead by then. "And who was doing the yelling that time?"

"Val."

Scott's eyes lifted from the blanket. "You've known Val for a long time."

"He's a good man, Scott." There was a trace of challenge in Johnny's voice.

"I think so. Murdoch does too." Johnny made no responding comment. "Val said your knowing each other is your story to tell. Why are you so hesitant to tell it?"

Johnny shrugged. "I ain't much on telling stories; you know that."

Just ask! "Is it…is it because…because Val, uh, taught you how to, uh, dance?" The faint light did not allow Scott to read his brother's reaction in either Johnny's eyes or face.

"Val…he…he may have taught me a reel or two, Boston, but learning the dance was all on me."

I shall take that as a yes, brother. "You don't think Murdoch would understand?"

"Nope." Johnny leaned forward. "You think on it different than the Old Man, Scott." Johnny shook his head as if he still could not believe that Scott did. "Val was there for me when I needed him; more than once he was there."

"Murdoch... well, our old man has a shrewd mind, brother mine; he might well come to the same conclusion I did."

Johnny settled back against the wall. "Thinking you know something probably might be so, and knowing, say from the horse's mouth, that it is so are two different things. Lots of town ladies whose husbands visit the rooms above the saloons could explain that to ya."

"No need." And no need to say that I'll not be the one to tell Murdoch. "So, are we sneaking in or strutting?" Scott peered through the dim light.

"My choice, uh? We ain't gonna be taking no baths without waking him. Murdoch sleeps too light for that."

"Sponge baths can be taken quietly and clean clothes..."

"You are a one for baths and clean clothes, but to tell true I've come to appreciate some of that myself." Johnny's sigh was soft. "Just how good are ya at sneaking in through the kitchen, brother, 'cause I don't relish meeting our pa on the back stairs."

"We're of age, little brother."

"Something I try hard to remember when that mountain of a pa we have is frowning down at me." Johnny tossed some bit of debris he had plucked from the floor at Scott's shoulder and laughed.

Scott snorted and rose swiftly reaching his hand out to Johnny. Johnny grabbed it and was pulled upright, yet Scott did not let go but used his brother's momentum to pull Johnny over his shoulder.

"Scott!"

"I don't want you cutting another foot."

"Let me…"

Scott's long strides were already bringing them to the door. "Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh, you don't want Murdoch to hear us."

Johnny cursed, but extremely softly, the entire trip across the yard halting only when Scott pushed against the kitchen door. Then Scott loosened his hold, and Johnny slid to the floor. Thereafter Johnny discovered that his brother was quite adept at sneaking through kitchens and up backstairs. They were both washed and in clean clothes when Murdoch came down to breakfast.

"Boys.' Murdoch took his place at the table as Maria came to fill his cup. The morning's discussion consisted solely of ranch business and plans for the workday as the night before was sent to sit in the corner with the rest of the matters the Lancers did not discuss.

(L)(L)(L)(L)(L)(L)(L)(L)(L)

Scott watched Johnny set down his fork and wiped his lips with his napkin all the while looking at their father from the side of his eyes. As Johnny shifted in his chair, Scott blotted his own lips. What is it, little brother, that has you squirming? If you were six or even sixteen…

"Murdoch, uh, I wanted to let ya know I won't…uh, that I'll be staying the night in town." Johnny reached for his water glass and took a long swallow.

"You can ride back with us after church then." Scott slipped his comment into the pause between Johnny's statement and any possible reply by Murdoch.

"Yea, I guess I could at that." Johnny's acquiescence was swift, and everyone at the table viewed it as a preemptive peace offering.

"Services are over about twelve. Maria sends lunch, you know. Quite a few picnic in the churchyard before the trip home." Murdoch locked his eyes on Johnny. "You'll join us?"

"Sounds good. Maria was baking a pie for the basket when I came in. Cherry." Johnny made a show of licking his lips and rubbing his stomach. "See ya tomorrow then." Johnny addressed himself to the table at large, rose, and headed toward the front door.

"If you will excuse me." Scott rose and followed his brother. He did not call his name until they had both exited the house.

"Johnny."

His brother turned. "Didn't think ya was coming into town tonight."

"I hadn't planned on it." Scott settled his big-brother stare on Johnny. "Should I change my plans, little brother?"

"What ya asking, Boston?"

"What aren't you telling Murdoch?"

Johnny's sigh was both exaggerated and indignant. He shook his head and turned his back to Scott. Scott's hand caught Johnny's arm.

"John."

Johnny cursed softly before turning back toward his brother. "Ya say it the same way as him, Boston. Now just how can that be?"

Scott shrugged. "Just tell me."

Johnny gave a soft snort then swallowed. "Val, well, Val got wind of some trouble brewing for tonight, and he, well, I said I'd be there to help him throw cold water on it. That's all."

"What kind of trouble?" The edge on Scott's voice sliced the air.

"Back down, Boston. Nothing much really. Just some boys without a lick of sense and a bad reputation looking for a high time. It's just there's enough of them that Val figured it might take two to make 'em see the light. That's all. Probably won't amount to nothing."

"No, it probably won't, if one of the two has a big enough reputation." And Johnny Madrid's should just about be big enough, uh, brother? Johnny considered the sound that came from his brother's throat akin to a growl.

"Val's got a reputation of his own, Boston."

"Three can throw more water than two." Scott spun on his heel; his own gun belt was still inside the house.

"Scott!" This time Johnny's hand caught his brother's arm. "Wait. There ain't no need." Johnny's tone softened. "There just ain't no need. Val's better at this sorta thing than most lawmen I've known. Really. I just sorta take his back and, yeah, the fact that they'll know I'm Johnny Madrid will make it easier. Best chance of it all coming to nothing. We've done it before."

"And it should work even better with…"

Johnny shook his head and then locked eyes with his brother. "You ever tried to run in a three-legged race?"

"No." Scott let out his breath in a long, slow exhalation. "But I understand your reference. I don't like it, and Murdoch wouldn't either."

"Which is why, big brother, I didn't tell our father and you won't either." Johnny shot his little-brother grin at Scott. "Will you, Hermano?"

Who would have thought that after thank you the first Spanish word I'd learn would be brother? "No." That would only result in a fight and you being angry when you left. "But if you get hurt, you'll answer to me as well as Murdoch."

"Is that so?" Scott nodded, and Johnny chuckled. He turned and headed toward the stable muttering several negative monikers and shaking his head. Scott stood outside in the shadows watching until Johnny rode away.