Chapter 11

Scott looked up from the page and saw that Johnny's eyes had closed again and his breathing evened out in sleep. He closed the book he had been reading aloud and set it on the bedside table. His brother's recovery had been steady abet slow, and Scott thanked God each time he thought of how close he had come to losing Johnny.

He heard the door open and turned his head expecting to see Murdoch or Teresa, perhaps Sam, but instead watched Padre Benito walk into the room. The priest spoke in a soft whisper.

"He is sleeping?"

Scott started to rise, but the priest gestured for him to remain seated. "He just now slipped off."

"Then I would not want to wake him. The doctor says he is recovering."

"Yes, he is, thank God."

Padre Benito smiled. "Yes, we must all thank God for his blessings on your brother."

Scott looked up into the eyes of the priest who had come to stand beside him. "I do, Father."

Padre Benito placed his hand on Scott's shoulder. "I am very glad that God's plan allowed the two of you more time together." He looked down at Johnny. "Perhaps, we could pray together again. Express our thanks and ask for continued strengthening."

"Yes, yes, I'd like to."

Padre Benito sank to his knees, and Scott knelt beside him. The priest's soft whisper filled Scott's ears. He echoed the priest's Amen and then stood. "Thank you, Father."

"My pleasure, my son. I'll be going, but…"

"You don't have to." Johnny's voice startled both men.

"Johnny, we…."

"I did not mean to wake you."

"I've been sleeping too much, Padre."

"I doubt that the doctor would agree."

Johnny simply made a face that clearly conveyed the message that the doctor was overly cautious in his care.

"He wouldn't." Scott readied himself to prevent Johnny from trying to sit up and sent his brother a look that said, "Stay put!"

Johnny rolled his eyes but kept still. "Why don't the two of ya sit down and quit hovering over me. Makes me think of vultures."

"Johnny!" The rebuke in Scott's voice was sharp, but Padre Benito simply chuckled.

"My black cassock, no doubt." He turned to draw a second chair to the bedside, as Scott studied his brother's face.

Was that a test, little brother? He's not of Padre Mateo's ilk. Scott took his former seat. "The padre came to …" Scott's voice faded. Should I tell him about the Last Rites?

"I came to see how you were doing, my son. The doctor said you were conscious and gaining strength. I wanted to see you before you went back to your ranch. When Dr. Jenkins said that could be as soon as tomorrow…"

"Tomorrow! He said tomorrow?" Johnny's eyes lit up, and he made a move to rise. Scott's hand was on his shoulder pinning him in place before the move could be completed.

"If you're good, tomorrow if you're good and things are still going well." Scott gave his brother a stern glare.

The priest looked confused. "You did not know?"

"They don't tell me nothing." Johnny's lower lip slid forward in an excellent imitation of a three-year-old's pout.

"With good reason." Scott turned toward the priest. "My little brother can be, well, tell him ahead of time, and he'll pester the life out of you."

"Then I apologize for my improvident revelation. Still, I'm sure you and your father can handle him."

"I ain't no kid!" Johnny's arms began to slide across his chest but stopped with a wince.

"Well, Murdoch does have his ways." The Lord knows he would have tried getting out of bed by now except for our father.

"I'm sure." A grin spread across Padre Benito's face. It brought an inquiry from Johnny.

"You know Murdoch?"

"We've met. Your padre seems a most formidable man."

Johnny snorted. "My old man, well, he's a …"

"A what, John?" All three pairs of eyes turned toward the sound of Murdoch Lancer's voice. He had entered the room without its occupants hearing his approach.

Johnny ignored the question. "Didn't hear ya come in, Murdoch. The padre came to visit."

"Hello, Father." Murdoch's attention turned to the priest.

Neat save but you're still too weak for Murdoch to truly take you to task for anything but murder or ignoring doctor's orders. Scott caught his brother's eye and gave his pointer finger a slight shake in Johnny's direction.

Johnny's eyes rolled again.

"It seems that I have, ummm, spilled the beans, Mr. Lancer."

"Spilled the beans?"

"The padre mentioned that Sam said Johnny might go back to Lancer tomorrow." Scott turned his gaze back on his brother. "I repeat might."

Murdoch also settled a glare on Johnny. "You're going to follow all Sam's orders, all of them." The glare slid away and was replaced with a smile. "The arrangements are all made. It will probably take most of the day, and I don't want to hear one word about hurrying up the horses, Johnny, not one word."

Johnny raised his eyebrow and then ignored the admonition. "Maria know I'm coming?"

"Of course." Murdoch's expression asked why.

"Is she baking me a cake?"

Murdoch rolled his eyes. "Possibly. Probably."

Johnny's eyes danced. "I want chocolate." Murdoch's look had him adding, "But I'll take whatever I get."

"Having tasted Maria's baking at church functions, I'm sure you'll enjoy whatever you get." Padre Benito observed quite pleased that the young man on the bed now had the strength for such banter.

"Yea, Maria's the best d…um dang cook in the territory. I really would like it to be chocolate though."

The other three men laughed, and the priest exchanged a few pleasantries with Murdoch and Scott before he left. Scott allowed himself a small sigh. You'll get around to asking why a priest stopped by, but at least I don't have to explain now.

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

"Go, Scott. Go get some sleep."

Scott's head jerked. "I'm fine." He resettled his long form in the bedside chair. "You're the one that should be sleeping."

"I don't need nobody staying through the night."

"Murdoch thinks you do." That's right. Blame it on our father even if you agree. "I don't intend to shirk my post."

Johnny rolled his eyes. "Ever the good soldier, ain't you, Lieutenant Lancer."

Scott was too tired to take the bait. "Absolutely."

"It's not like some infection's gonna walk through the door and pounce on me if one of ya ain't here to shoot it."

"No, but if one of us isn't here, you just might decide to do something foolish like try to get out of that bed."

"I could promise."

Scott shook his head. "I'd still have to face Murdoch. Johnny, you almost …"

"Ain't the first time a bullet's almost done for me."

Scott's face grew somber. "It's not even the first time since you came to Lancer."

"There you are. I'll be fine just like I was after Pardee."

Pardee, the name still makes my blood boil. "This was worse." It wasn't some strange half-brother with whom I thought I shared nothing I couldn't walk away from in the blink of an eye. It was you, Johnny.

"You all pussyfoot around just how bad it was, even Sam."

Scott heard the question in Johnny's words. He drew in a slow breath. "You received the Last Rites." Scott watched his brother's face: wide-eyed surprise quickly covered by Johnny Madrid's cool stare.

"Murdoch sent for a priest?"

"I did; Murdoch bodily blocked his entering the room." Scott saw self-condemnation flicker in the blue ice. "No, no, he thought it would be giving in; he was ready to fight – fight anyone even God- you didn't see him, you…"

"Padre Benito came?" Johnny's voice was still Madrid's.

"Yes. I…I thought… when we talked…when Sam asked, I thought you would want a priest." Scott leaned forward and searched his brother's face.

"Padre knew I was Johnny Madrid?"

"He knew."

Johnny shifted lower on the pillows and closed his eyes. It was as close as he could come to walking away. Scott settled back into his chair, reached out, and lowered the lamp's flame to the barest flicker.

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

"He took more laudanum?"

Scott nodded. "Not that he knew he was; I resorted to subterfuge."

Murdoch rubbed his hand over his face. "Perhaps we should have stayed a few more days at Sam's or maybe just moved to the hotel. The trip…"

Scott shook his head. "Wore him out certainly, but Johnny wanted to come home. He'll do better here."

"That's what I thought. Still…"

"Sam wouldn't have allowed it if he thought it would do any real harm."

"No, he wouldn't have."

"Maria's cooking will keep him eating."

"There is that."

Scott leaned against the wall. "You had that wagon padded to high heaven, men clearing the way, and the horses at the slowest pace you could manage. Truly, I don't think any harm was done, and he'll rest better here at Lancer. I'm sure of that." Scott allowed a small upturn of his lips. "I think the greatest strain came from the indignity of it all, from Johnny's point-of-view I mean."

"Being an invalid is hard for your brother." Something beneath Murdoch's words reminded Scott of the bullet still lodged in his father's back.

"Which only means he'll fight all the harder to recover."

"I'll not have him doing something bull-headed and foolish trying to go too fast." The snap in Murdoch's voice gave the declaration finality.

"Well, if anyone can keep him in line, it's you." Scott saw surprise flicker in Murdoch's eyes or was it uncertainty?

"I intend to do just that, and you will back me up."

"Of course, sir." The slightly military ring to Scott's reply nudged Murdoch into a softer observation.

"I know you will do everything you can to see that he follows doctor's orders." One of Murdoch's rarest smiles appeared. "Yes, I think we were right to bring him home; Lancer will be the best medicine for him. I'll sit with him though; laudanum tends to give him nightmares."

"Let me." That trip home wasn't hard on just Johnny. Your back is acting up. "I've a book I can read, and Cip needed to speak to you. You can talk to him and then take a break until dinner. I had to promise Johnny I wouldn't let him sleep through that chocolate cake. I thought we might both eat in with him."

"Fine idea. I'll let Maria know. We'll move that small table into the room, so we all can eat with him regularly without him thinking we're sacrificing comfort. He'll need company until he can be out and about."

Scott watched his father stride purposely toward the kitchen before turning to reenter the room where his brother lay sleeping. They had not carried Johnny upstairs to his own room. The ranch house had been built with a large room in the back near the kitchen designed to serve as a birthing and sickroom, saving caretakers from endless trips up and down stairs. Sam had said it would be quite some time before Johnny was able to tackle the stairs on his own, and everyone feared a restive Johnny might attempt them far too soon. His brother had wanted his own room, but Scott had convinced him that he needed to agree to stay downstairs this time for Maria's sake. The room itself was large, airy, and considerably more convenient. Teresa and Maria had brought down some of Johnny's things, and several stuffed chairs made for comfortable seating. Scott took the chair beside the bed and reached for the book he had previously laid on the bedside table. He studied his brother. His breathing seemed easy enough, and there were no signs that his fever or pain had increased.

Lancer will be the best medicine for you because it's home. Scott smiled at the truth of it, opened his book, and began to read.

It was over an hour before the mumbling began. Scott put aside his book and leaned over his brother. Placing his hand on Johnny's forehead, he decided his brother was no warmer than he had been. Johnny began to move restlessly, and the mumbling turned into muttered words.

When you talk in your sleep, it's always in Spanish. Not that I'm surprised, but it is decidedly inconsiderate of you when I'm the one trying to listen. Scott sighed. You're dreaming again, aren't you, little brother. Why can't you just once have a pretty dream? Johnny movements were becoming stronger, and Scott decided to wake him before too much movement caused his brother to injure himself.

"Johnny, wake up; wake up." Scott repeated the words as he tried to rouse and restrain at the same time.

"Ughh" Johnny's eyes fluttered open and slowly focused. "Scott?"

"You were having…you were dreaming."

"Oh." Johnny moved as if to rise, and Scott swiftly slid him higher in the bed placing another pillow behind him.

"Do you want something?" Scott watched a pout slide Johnny's lip forward.

"I want to be out of this bed. I want to put my boots on and go for a ride. I want…"

"You want to be well, I know, I know, but for a while yet you're going to have to settle for little things like Maria's chocolate cake."

Johnny's lip slid forward even farther. "I ain't had any of that cake yet."

"No cake until after you've eaten a full dinner. Maria's adamant."

"If that means a stubborn ole…"

"Johnny!"

"Well, how long is it until dinner?"

"About an hour. Of course, if you're hungry, I'll…"

"No, if it ain't cake, I can wait."

"Fine. Murdoch and I are going to eat in here with you. In fact, since you're awake now, I'll go tell them to come ahead and bring in the table." Scott turned toward the door.

"Wait. You don't have to do that. You and Murdoch…"

"It's Murdoch's orders, and I, for one, don't intend to ignore them."

"The old man…"

"Thought you were well enough for company at meals, but…"

"No, no, I mean, I'm fine." Johnny chewed his lower lip. "Company would be nice."

"Then I'll see about having that table brought in."

Scott supervised the movement of the furniture and then settled into the bedside chair once again. He studied Johnny for a moment. "If you need more pain medicine…"

"Speaking of pain medicine…" Scott watched the anger flare in Johnny's eyes. "If you ever try sneaking…"

"I didn't think a confrontation between you and Murdoch over laudanum would do either of you any good." Scott watched the anger subside to be replaced by another pout. He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. "The trip back was a long one for Murdoch too, Johnny."

Johnny gave his brother a sideways glance and slowly crossed his arms on his chest. "Our old man is tough as nails, Boston."

"True, but even iron can break, little brother. That bullet in his back." Scott let the thought settle into Johnny's mind.

"His back acting up again?"

"Well, yes, though he doesn't admit it." Scott saw the subtle change in Johnny's eyes. "It isn't your fault; none of it's your fault. That man…"

"Wanted Madrid. That's me."

"That was you!"

"Is, was, always will be to some."

Scott closed his eyes and drew in a long, slow breath. "Eventually enough time will pass." Scott opened his eyes. "Don't think that Johnny Madrid will be a legend forever; others will step up and take his place."

"So, I just wait until everybody thinks Johnny Madrid has to be such an old duffer that he ain't worth the lead?"

"If necessary." Scott watched Johnny's finger pluck at the sheet beneath his hand.

"You were standing next to me." Johnny's voice was Madrid's, but the concern was obviously Johnny Lancer's.

Scott's own tone was distinctly Boston Brahmin when he replied. "I really think that few of your up-and-coming pistoleros would be quite that poor of a shot."

"Boston! You, Murdoch, Teresa, any of you could get hurt because of me."

"Any of us could get hurt for countless reasons. My horse could step into a gopher hole. Do you suggest I give up riding?"

Johnny huffed and then in an unexpectedly swift move pulled a pillow from behind him and threw it into his brother's face.

Scott stood with a jerk and stared down at his brother. He crossed his arms and tapped his toe against the floor. "Feel better?"

"No." Johnny grimaced and sunk his teeth into his lower lip.

"Did you hurt…"

"No. Quit fussing." Johnny looked up at Scott. "I'd say sorry, but I ain't."

Scott arched his brow. "Is that so?"

"Yep. Well, mostly."

Scott took his seat again. "You're injured, so this time I'll overlook it, but do that again, and I'll…"

"You'll what?"

Scott allowed the smirk to appear slowly. "I shall tell our father."

"So." If Scott had not spent so much time since their first meeting studying his brother, he would have believed that Johnny was honestly unconcerned. His smirk widened.

"Don't try that with me. I've seen you take laudanum because Murdoch gave the order. That, little brother, says it all."

"So, you woulda been one of those tattling big brothers always getting me in trouble with the old man."

"No, no more than you would have been one of those tattling little brothers always getting me in trouble with our father."

The corners of Johnny's mouth turned up and all traces of Madrid disappeared. "You woulda had more to not tattle about."

Scott stretched out his legs once again. "Probably." He paused and then smiled. "But only because I was always very good at not getting caught. You would simply have known about less."

Johnny turned and gave Scott a challenging glare. "You sure about that, Boston?"

"Very sure." Before Johnny could retort, the door opened, and Murdoch entered. Their father never asked either man why the pillow was lying on the floor.