Chapter 17

Scott and Johnny responded first to Teresa's and then to Murdoch's goodnights. Scott was studying the chess board between them when Johnny suddenly reached out and tipped his king to the board conceding the game.

"What?" Scott looked up to see Johnny staring directly at him.

"Tell me."

Evidently, we are better at not discussing a problem then we are at hiding that there is one. It's not as if... Scott capitulated. "Sally Crawford, Teresa's friend is marrying Alex Henson's son; it was announced in church today." Scott paused and cleared his throat. Johnny's eyebrow rose. "It seems Sally told Teresa regretfully that the Lancers were not invited to the wedding; Henson told Murdoch the same with more force and no regret."

"Now, you're worried, Murdoch's mad, and Teresa's hurt... all 'cause of me." Johnny rose with enough force to rock the table and topple a queen and two bishops.

"No, not because of you!"

"You're saying the reason ain't that they don't want Madrid at the wedding or anyone tainted by him? Ain't that why they told you when I wasn't around?" Johnny turned his back to his brother.

"Johnny..." Scott drew in a deep breath. "It is the Hensons' attitude, not you, that is in the wrong." He studied his brother's back. "It's just a party; it's not that important."

"Not to me or you, but to Teresa... Girls set store by such things, and Murdoch's been insulted. Henson probably used to be a friend."

"If you use the term loosely." Scott watched Johnny's fingers clench into fists and release several times in rapid succession.

Johnny turned toward his brother with a rueful chuckle. "Thing is if we'd got a big, old written invite I probably wouldn't have gone. Don't hardly know the happy couple, and I don't think it'll be my kind of party." His fingers drummed his thigh. "Teresa though... ya think if she told that Sally girl it was guaranteed Madrid wouldn't be attending, that..."

"I don't think Murdoch would even consider attending, and Teresa would need an escort."

"You could escort Teresa."

"I..."

"Would if I asked you."

To keep you from feeling guilty over Teresa being hurt, I would. "I don't see Teresa wanting to go at this point. She..."

"Suppose not. It's already been spoiled for her."

"Which is on the Hensons and the Crawfords not you."

"Just 'cause you think that way, don't mean everybody does."

"Murdoch isn't blaming you."

"He's not? Not even a little?" Johnny shook his head. "I'm going for a ride."

"Johnny!" Scott stood and took a step toward his brother.

"I ain't running off, just going for a ride. I'll be back in time to get some sleep and have breakfast."

"Fine but..."

"But what?"

Let me go with you. No, I know you don't want me to hover. "Give me a direction. If Barranca should step in a hole, and you break your leg in the fall, we'll know where to start the search." Scott watched his brother's eyes roll. "It's not an impossibility."

"Up toward Bleachers." Johnny sighed. "And so ya don't stay up waiting, I promise not to race Barranca, not none."

"Thank you. I'll see you in the morning then."

"In the morning."

Scott watched his brother exit the room, walked over to the liqueur cabinet, and poured a drink. Before he picked it up, he heard someone enter the room from the kitchen and turned to see his father. "I thought you had retired."

"I talked with Teresa."

"And now you need a drink?" Scott turned back to pour his father a large whiskey.

"Johnny?"

"Left to go riding."

"You told him?"

"He asked. He blames himself for Teresa being hurt. Which isn't very surprising." He reached for his own drink and downed it.

Murdoch walked across the room and took his whiskey from Scott. "Teresa does not blame Johnny." He sighed.

"Do you?" Scott's tone was entirely serious, and his eyes demanded an answer.

Murdoch swallowed a large share of his drink before he answered. "No."

"Not for the Hensons' decree, but... Murdoch, do you blame Johnny for the problems his being Johnny Madrid, Scourge of the Border, brings?"

Murdoch turned away from his son and walked to stare out of the great room window though darkness kept the normal expansive view concealed. "No."

"If not me, my mama then?" Both men turned to see Johnny standing in the entrance to the room. "Being as how I'm just like her. After all, a Lancer would never choose to sell his gun."

Why'd you come back now, little brother. Scott gave a mental shrug. Maybe it's best you did.

"No. No, I do not blame your mother." Murdoch's tone was the one that usually irrevocably ended discussions.

"If not Mama or me, then who?"

Silence filled the room, then Scott's glass dropped and shattered on the floor. It had all coalesced in Scott's mind. "Tell him, tell him, Murdoch, who it is you really blame!" Lieutenant Lancer had never sounded more commanding. If you won't... well, if you need some help, Father, who better than your eldest. "He blames himself, Johnny. That's what makes him angry over Madrid. He blames himself."

Murdoch's voice sounded weighted. "It's not your mother's temper or even mine, John, that made you choose as you did; it was the Lancer pride and my stubbornness. I knew you had them both from me when I read the Pinkerton reports, knew the blame was mine."

Johnny stepped further into the room. "Ya can't be taking all the credit, Old Man. I made the choice to start dancing, me, myself alone. I done already told Scott that. Right or wrong, I did the choosing."

"But..." Murdoch's voice faltered. "You shouldn't have been alone."

"Lot of couldas, shouldas, and wouldas in life, might haves too. I might have chose different if I'd known the truth of some things. No matter. Mama lived with her choices, you've lived with yours, and I gotta live with mine." Johnny's voice grew softer. "Just wish others didn't have to bear the brunt of 'em with me."

Scott's voice slipped softly toward his brother. "That's just it, little brother. You no longer have to bear the load alone. You made that choice when you took back the name Lancer."

Johnny's brief smile was meant for his brother, but he kept his eyes fastened on his father. "Yea, I chose to be Johnny Lancer, but- truth be- a part of me will always be Johnny Madrid. That skeleton's gonna rattle in the closet forever. Can ya accept that, Murdoch?"

"You're my son."

"Yea, but ya sent for me when ya needed a gun."

"He sent for me too, Johnny."

"His son, the experienced calvary officer. That's understandable." Johnny's dry chuckle was rueful.

"John!" Murdoch's voice was fierce, but he drew in a deep breath and found control. "Tell me how many fine gun hawks I could have hired for a thousand dollars. Would a third of Lancer have bought an army of them to fight Pardee?"

Johnny's mouth opened, but whatever he intended to say was drowned in his father's next roar. "I sent for my sons; I wanted my sons; I wanted you!"

Johnny's voice was barely above a whisper. "Ya wanted what ya thought belonged to you, what ya had lost, but now do you..." Scott and Murdoch watched the shudder that ran through Johnny as he wrapped his arms around himself. "Do ya still want what ya got?"

Murdoch's hand reached toward his son. "Yes." He stepped around the desk. "Come here." Murdoch's tone called the tune. Johnny took a step forward. "Both of you." Scott crossed the room and met his brother, so that they stood side–by-side a step from their father.

Murdoch's voice was steady and warm. "Even more. I would have said it was impossible, but I want the both of you here more deeply today than then." His long arms reached out, and he placed a hand on each son's shoulder. Then softly their father's voice filled Scott's and Johnny's ears. "Just as you are. Know that a mhic... mis hijos...my sons." His hands squeezed the shoulders beneath them, and he felt the tension leave his boys. Murdoch smiled and simultaneously patted each son's cheek. "Now go to bed. Morning comes early."

"Hear that, Brother? Pa's sending us to bed." Johnny's voice was young and lilting.

"Then I think it advisable that we go. Good night, Sir." Scott executed a perfect military about face. Then his arm reached out and settled across his brother's shoulders pulling Johnny to his side.

Johnny shook his head, nudged his brother in the ribs, and then settled his arm across Scott's shoulders. "Buenos Noches, Papi."

Murdoch settled against his desk as his smile broadened. "Good night, my sons."

The End*

*Epilogue coming