Always a Choice

His curse was loud, vulgar, and elicited by the burning ember that struck his hand. That hand flew to his mouth, and he was sucking on the burn when his father's voice reverberated through the room.

"John!" The single syllable snapped like a whip and hung in the air frosty with admonishment. Johnny swung his eyes toward Murdoch who gave a jerk of his head toward the side table where Scott and Teresa sat playing chess. Johnny's eyes followed the movement and settled on the pair. The startled look on Teresa's face brought a slight blush to Johnny's cheeks that was barely concealed by their tan.

"Pardon my language." Johnny mumbled. Then he spun on his heel and strode out the door. When fifteen minutes passed without his return, Scott tipped down his king, excused himself, and walked out into the courtyard. Locating Johnny, he sauntered over to stand beside his brother.

Johnny spoke first. "I shouldn't have cussed in front of Teresa."

"No, but actually I don't think it's the first time she's heard that. She grew up on a ranch after all."

"Not in the bunkhouse."

"Still, it's nothing to exile yourself over."

Johnny turned his face toward his brother and tilted his head to look directly into the taller man's face. "I was thinking."

"About what?"

Johnny turned his head away before he answered. "Do you ever think about, well, about. . . never mind."

Scott placed a hand on Johnny's shoulder. "Do I ever think about what, little brother?"

"Anything?" Johnny forced a teasing tone into his voice.

Scott gave the shoulder under his hand a slight shove as a retort sprang to his lips, but he swallowed it when he recognized the diversionary tactic. Johnny took a step away but stopped as Scott caught his arm. "Wait a minute. I asked what you were thinking."

Johnny leaned back against the arched support of the roof. "Do you ever think how you'd be different if Murdoch had raised you?"

Scott leaned against the opposite support. "Of course, I've thought what it would be like if we'd grown up here."

"That's not what I asked." Johnny straightened. "Oh, it doesn't matter."

"No, no, you asked if I ever thought about how I'd be different if Murdoch had raised me."

"Yeah, if the old man had raised you here or in Boston or anywhere. Who raises you makes a difference you know."

Or if you end up raising yourself. Scott kept his first thought to himself. "Yes, yes, it does. I can't say I've ever really thought about it that way though, not really the way you mean."

Johnny looked down at his boots. "Maybe that's 'cause for you there wouldn't have been all that much of a difference."

Scott's lips twisted. "My grandfather and Murdoch are about as different as . . ."

"But the kind of man they thought you should be, what they thought you needed to grow up right, a lot of that isn't different."

"Some things maybe not, still. . . I suppose there are things about myself that would have been different if Murdoch had been there instead of Grandfather." He watched Johnny finger the conchos on his pant leg. "The thing about if's, brother, is that you can't just change one thing. One thing changes everything; no matter what it is."

"I suppose."

"Come on." Scott turned toward the front door.

"No, I... I'm going for a ride."

"Johnny." Scott turned back, but his brother was already beyond the reach of even his long arms. Scott shook his head and walked back inside.

Murdoch looked up. "Your brother?"

"He went for a ride." Scott watched his father's face darken. "He's not in a sulk, Murdoch. He has something on his mind."

Murdoch Lancer studied his elder son before asking, "Did he share with you what that is?"

"You know Johnny."

Murdoch recognized the evasion but remained silent.

"I think I'll retire. Good night, Murdoch." Scott was ascending the stairs before Murdoch's reply reached him.

"Good night, Scott." Murdoch watched Scott's retreating back and reached for a book.

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

Johnny walked into the house and paused to slide the bolt into place. Then he turned. Murdoch sat in the only pool of light. The book in his lap was closed, and his gaze was directed at his son.

"I thought you would be in bed."

"You did?"

"Okay, I hoped." Johnny took a few steps toward the stairs.

"John."

He stopped and turned toward his father. "I apologized already, and I meant it. I'll be more careful in front of Teresa, in front of any of the ladies for that matter."

"Fine." Something in Murdoch's tone prodded Johnny.

"So can I go to bed now, Old Man, or do I have to listen to the rest of the scolding?"

Murdoch stood. "I didn't wait up to scold you."

"Oh, you just felt like reading, I suppose." Johnny's sarcasm held a challenge.

Murdoch closed the distance between them. "No, my book did not keep me from my bed." He tossed the volume in his hand onto a side table. "I waited for you to come safely home, Johnny."

Johnny's eyes widened at the admission. He chose to ignore any deeper meaning when he answered, "I didn't leave the ranch."

Murdoch raised an eyebrow as he asked, "And all danger stops outside our boundary line? Even if it did, I had no idea where you had gone."

Johnny bit his lower lip but then raised his chin. "I'm not a child, Murdoch."

"A fact for which you should be profoundly grateful at this moment." Anger edged Murdoch's statement, but as he watched Johnny blink and take a single step back, the anger slipped away, and Johnny's response came as Murdoch was remembering a two-year-old with tousled hair and wide sky eyes.

"If..., what would you do if... if I were a child, if I were ten years younger?"

"Even five and you be sleeping on your stomach tonight." There was neither anger nor teasing in Murdoch's voice. Several seconds passed before Johnny's eyes dropped, and a smile slipped onto his lips.

"I always sleep on my stomach, Old Man." He laughed softly and slid past Murdoch. Then he took the stairs two at a time. As he reached the upstairs hall, he heard a squeak. He stopped in front of Scott's door, opened it, leaned against the jam, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Eavesdropping's a bad habit, Boston."

Scott had managed to stretch out on his bed before the door opened. He crossed his ankles nonchalantly and replied, "But a useful one."

"No one taught you better?"

Scott turned his head and sent Johnny a wicked grin. "I seldom got caught."

Johnny shook his head and sent back a grin of his own. "And you're supposed to be the good example." He turned his back and stepped into the hall. He did not turn his head but stopped and sent his words back over his shoulder. "When would you and the Old Man have decided to send out the search party?"

"You had about another hour." Just how much truth and how much teasing was in the statement was difficult to tell.

Johnny shook his head again. "Night, Boston."

"Night, little brother."

Scott watched his door close and then rose from his bed and walked to the window. Leaning against the frame he stared out into the night until he heard a rap on the door. "Yes?" The door squeaked as it opened, and Scott's head turned as Murdoch entered the room, closing the door behind him. "Sir?"

"You never answered my question, Scott." Murdoch stood in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips.

Scott faced his father. "Johnny thinks he would have been a better man if you had raised him."

Murdoch's face showed his surprise. "He said that?"

"Not those words exactly, but it is what he thinks." Murdoch didn't comment, so Scott continued, "The problem is he thinks that mostly because he doesn't think very highly of the man he is or at least was." Scott watched Murdoch's face and tried to read his father's reaction. With Murdoch Lancer that was seldom easy. Scott waited for affirmation that Johnny was a fine man. When it did not spring automatically from Murdoch's lips, Scott snorted and turned to gaze once more out of his window. "You can't get past it, can you?"

Murdoch crossed the room in a few deliberate strides. "To deny there are things Johnny has done in the past that he…, well, that are less than admirable is no more truthful than to deny the good things that are a part of him."

Scott turned and settled a heated stare on his father. "Just exactly what is your opinion of my brother?"

Murdoch bristled. "Scott!" The reprimand was clear in that single syllable.

Scott's gaze remained fixed and challenging. "Well? Do you agree with Johnny? Do you think you would have made a better man of him?"

Murdoch's chin lifted, and he seemed to grow a foot in height. "Do you?" he asked softly. "Johnny sold his gun. He killed men as a way of life."

"It wasn't that simple, Murdoch. Johnny did what he had to do; you know that."

"There are always choices, Scott. Johnny Madrid..."

"Managed to maintain his decency!" Scott spit the words into Murdoch's face. "When most men would have crawled deeper into hell and donned a devil's horns, Johnny stayed a decent man. John Lancer is a good man."

Murdoch drew in a deep breath. "We can both agree that that is the most remarkable thing of all." He turned and walked out of the room.

Scott closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. Did we shout? Could he have heard us? Scott walked softly across the hall and eased open his brother's bedroom door. There was enough light streaming through the window for Scott to see his brother's reflexive reach for the gun whose holster hung from the bed frame.

"It's me." He watched the figure in the bed relax and lower the gun. "You wake up faster than any man I know, brother."

"Old habit, Boston. There something you need?"

"I... I was thinking."

"'Bout what?" Johnny tried peering through the dim light to focus more closely on his brother.

"Nothing that can't wait until morning. I thought you might be awake."

"Well, I am now," Johnny drawled.

"Then go back to sleep. I shouldn't have disturbed you." Scott stepped back and pulled the door closed.

Johnny rolled his eyes and placed the gun back under his pillow. Sinking down into the pillows, he decided to pursue the matter in the morning.