Chapter 10

Scott opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it softly behind him. His eyes focused on the bed where his brother lay. "Is there any change?"

"No. Sam says we can't expect any for a while." Murdoch's hand rose and rubbed through his hair. "He's so still. Even when the priest…he's been so still."

Scott walked slowly over to stand behind his father. "He lost so much… well, he probably hasn't the strength; I mean he'll need some time."

"Yes, time, he just needs time, time and care." Murdoch turned to the table beside the bed. He picked up a cup and a clean cloth. Dipping the end of the cloth in the cup, he then brought it to Johnny's lips wetting them and letting a bit of water drip between his son's lips.

Scott saw the muscles of his brother's throat react slightly. That has to be a good sign. If he can swallow even just a little, that has to be a good sign. "He's strong, Murdoch; you know how strong he is."

Murdoch drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then turned his face toward his eldest. "He wasn't wearing his gun." The tone was flat.

"He took it off; he didn't want to wear it on holy ground."

"He was defenseless." Murdoch's voice now held bitterness and anger.

"Val's gone after the man. That's why he isn't here."

"I'll not leave him alone."

Scott drew in a slow breath. "He won't be alone; I'll be with him. You should…"

"I should be with my son!" The low volume of the statement did nothing to hide its vehemence.

Scott placed his hand on Murdoch's shoulder and dropped to his haunches. "Sam said it will be some time before we can expect Johnny to wake. You should clean up and, well, do what you need. I'll sit with Johnny. Like you said, he's going to need care. We'll need to take turns."

"Clean up?" Murdoch repeated the one phrase that had caught his attention.

"Your clothes…" Scot gestured toward Murdoch's blood-soaked shirt. "It's not what you want Johnny to see when he opens his eyes."

Murdoch gazed down and then blinked as if realizing for the first time how gory he looked. "I, no, he shouldn't see… I need…"

Scott felt the change in his father and stood. Murdoch stood also. When he spoke, it was in his calling-the-tune voice. "I'll clean up. You and Teresa will need rooms at the hotel. I'll send Cip back to Lancer; he'll see to things there. Send back some of our things."

Scott let the "you and Teresa" statement pass without comment for the time being. "Eat before you come back; some coffee at least. I'll be right here."

Murdoch's hand gripped Scott's arm. "I'll have a boy sitting outside the door. If anything, anything changes, you will send for me. You will send for me immediately."

"Immediately." Scott forced the corners of his lips upwards. "We'll take care of him, and he'll be fine. In time, he'll be fine."

"I'll not lose him; I'll not lose either of you again." Murdoch's grip tightened instinctively.

"He…he promised he wouldn't go without telling me. Johnny doesn't break promises, and since he hasn't said a word to me, I'm holding him to that one."

"Okay, then. Water, he needs water a few drops at a time only but often, often."

"I saw. I'll take care of him until you get back." Scott settled into the bedside chair. Murdoch leaned over and placed his hand against Johnny's check.

"Scott's here, and I'll be back quick as I can. You just rest and be good for your brother. Hear me, son." Murdoch's thumb slid gently across Johnny's skin, and then he was gone. Scott picked up the cup and the cloth and dripped a few drops of water between his brother's slightly parted lips.

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

Scott stood as Sam Jenkins came out of the room where Johnny had lain for the past three days. "He's better?"

"No."

"But not worse?"

"There's no infection, and the fever really isn't a strong concern, but…" Sam paused to search for the best words.

"But what, Sam? You said if no infection set in..."

"Infection was, still is, the greatest concern, but Johnny lost so much blood, and that has an effect on the body as a whole. Lying there unconscious, not moving, not eating, there's a limit to how long. He needs to regain consciousness, and he needs to do it soon." The look in Sam's eyes emphasized his words. "I need to go out and check on Mrs. Anderson. Just keep doing what you've been doing."

"I will." Even though it hasn't done much good so far. Scott watched the doctor walk away before going into the back bedroom to which Johnny had been moved and sending Teresa away.

"Hey, Johnny." Scott sat down in the bedside chair and tried to force a cheery tone into his greeting. "Sam says you're doing fine. Murdoch said there weren't any problems last night. He ate some breakfast and went to bed. I told him to stay there the rest of the day, but I expect we'll see him here by lunch." Scott's eyes stayed locked on Johnny searching for the slightest response. Seeing none, he rubbed his hand over his face and then reached for the cup on the bedside table. He filled a spoon with the broth it held and set it down. Placing his left hand beneath Johnny's head, he lifted it and placed the spoon gently between his lips. Johnny swallowed reflexively. He repeated the procedure three more times before the spoon suddenly felt too heavy to lift again. He set it back in the cup. Are you there, Johnny; are you really there? Do you want to come back? Scott closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair. He was tired, so tired of feeling helpless, so tired of hoping, so tired of pretending he was sure that everything would be all right, so tired of seeing the fear grow in his father's eyes.

"It's killing Murdoch, Johnny." The words were soft and heavy with despair. "Whenever you called him old man part of me just shook my head, but now…" Scott leaned forward and took Johnny's hand in his. "If you can, you have to come back. If you don't," Scott drew in a long breath and let it out slowly, "He'll break, Johnny; he'll break." His voice cracked, and his fingers tightened willing the hand he held to squeeze back. When it did not, he stood so suddenly that his chair was knocked backwards to the floor. The anger rising in Scott held him rigid and then burst from his mouth. "You're going to do it, aren't you! You're going to die and disappoint us all." He turned his back and strode over to the door. As his hand felt the metal of the doorknob, the anger seemed to drain out of him, and he simply slumped against the hard wood. Lord! How could I say that! How could I?

There was a sound, not a cough, not a spoken word, just a sound. Scott turned and stared at the figure in the bed. The sound came again, and movement flashed. Scott was beside the bed in a second.

"Johnny!" Scott saw his brother's eyelids flutter and his lips move. "Come on, brother, open your eyes." The fluttering repeated. Scott slid his arm beneath Johnny's shoulders and lifted him to lean against Scott's chest. "Johnny, please, little brother."

"S..ot" It was more of a croak than a word. Scott reached for the cup and brought it to his brother's lips letting the spoon fall out of its own accord. He counted the swallows: one, two, three, and then lowered the cup and listened. "Scott."

Oh, God Almighty! Thank you! "I'm here. I'm here. You're going to be fine. Just fine."

"I…I…"

"You were shot, but Sam took the bullet out and sewed you up. You've…you've been resting, but you're going to be fine."

"Dry."

Scott grabbed the cup and brought it to Johnny's lips. He felt Johnny's arm try to rise. "Take it easy. Let me. Drink it down."

"Blahhh."

"I know. I know. I'll send for some that's warm. Just…" Scott slipped from behind his brother, and took a half-step toward the door, but felt the touch of a hand on his leg. "What? What do you need?"

"Who?"

Scott took the time to raise the chair and sit down. "Who shot you?"

"Who?"

"Name was Chambers, Enoch Chambers. Val thinks he was just looking…"

"Take Madrid."

"To make a name for himself. He didn't see you didn't have a gun, at least, well, that's what Val said he said." Scott's eyes were fixed on his brother's eyes which seemed more focused each second.

"Val has him?" Johnny's voice was clearer.

"Val couldn't take him alive. He was buried yesterday."

"Val, okay?"

"Yes. Fine except for worrying about you. We've…we've all been worried."

"Worry too much." Johnny shifted and then winced.

"Take it easy. You still need to rest." He placed his hand on Johnny's shoulder.

"Been resting. How long?"

"It's Wednesday morning." Johnny's curse was soft but vehement. "Now, little brother, you know Murdoch doesn't like you cursing." Scott stiffened. Murdoch!

"He mad?" Johnny shifted again, and Scott watched the pain flash across his brother's face.

"Be still." God, I thought I'd never want to say those words again.

"Is he?"

"No, no!" Scott gave a sheepish grin. "Not at you anyway. If he finds out I waited more than one second to send for him, well, he's going to skin me and nail my hide to the wall."

"For real?" Scott nodded. "Our secret then." When he saw Johnny smile, Scott felt tears burn in the back of his eyes and turned away quickly. He strode to the door, opened it, and bellowed for the boy waiting in the outer office.