Home Is Where The Heart Is
BeckyS
© June 2000 as allowable
Based on characters created by David Dortort
and owned by Bonanza Ventures
Revised June 2003

Tired but pleased, Adam Cartwright rode into the yard of the Ponderosa ranchhouse, glad to finally be home. It had been a long trip, and he’d pushed his horse so he wouldn’t have to spend another night on the trail. Unfortunately that also meant he was arriving after midnight, but the thought of sleeping in his own bed had made the late night worthwhile. Besides, he thought as he led his horse into the barn to unsaddle and feed him, he could still see lights coming from the main room of the house, so someone was still up. He wondered idly which member of his family it was.

He grimaced at the thought that it might be Joe – if it was, he’d be in for another long discussion about his decision to leave the ranch and go East again. Much as he wanted to work this out with his youngest brother, help him understand that he wasn’t abandoning him again, Adam knew he was too tired to talk reasonably and would likely only make the situation worse. Tonight, he just wanted a cup of coffee to take the chill off, then to go to sleep in a nice, warm, comfortable bed.

He finished rubbing down his horse, picked up his jacket from where he’d tossed it earlier, and started across the yard. He didn’t hear the shot that spun him around and slammed him to the ground; he only felt a sudden impact, then his head seemed to explode and there was nothingness.

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

Ben Cartwright, Adam’s silver-haired father, had been working all evening at his big desk just off the living room on a particularly difficult contract. He leaned back in his chair and sighed – glad his oldest son was due home the next day so they could discuss some of the finer points – then rose and stretched. In the quiet of the late night, he clearly heard the steady sound of unhurried hoofbeats and peered out the window. A slow smile crossed his face when he saw that Adam had made it home a day early and was even now dismounting to put his horse away.

A cup of coffee would be just the thing, Ben thought, and perhaps Hop Sing had left some stew before going out to the range this morning. While Adam didn’t have the appetite of his next younger brother Hoss, he appreciated a hot meal at the end of a long trip. There was a nip in the air as well tonight, not that it was exactly cold, but a hot drink would likely be welcome, too.

Once in the kitchen, Ben pulled down a tray and a couple of cups then set about dishing up a bowl for Adam. Come to think of it, he was hungry himself. Wrestling with numbers could build up an appetite as quickly as wrestling with cattle, he’d found.

He was just setting the tray on the table in the dining room when he heard the shot. He ran to the door, wrenched it open and started out on the porch when the sound of a pistol being cocked stopped him.

“Stay right there,” said a raspy, nervous voice.

Ben halted, cursing himself for his stupidity in not assuming there was any danger. How many times had he drilled into his boys that you had to be careful, had to be prepared, always had to assume the worst, and here he’d run outside just like a greenhorn.

“All right,” he said. “What do you want?”

A slim figure detached itself from the shadows of the bushes by Hop Sing’s kitchen. “Just stay where you are.”

Ben raised his voice, hoping Adam was hiding in the barn after that warning shot. “Just tell me what you want, and you can be out of here.”

The man snickered. “Ain’t no one to hear you, old man.” He nodded toward the barn and Ben’s heart sank.

Adam lay crumpled on the ground, wedged on his right side between the woodpile next to the barn and a stray log. He’d fallen facing the house, and Ben could see a spreading red stain on the left shoulder of his white wool shirt. What little Ben could see of his face was pale in the moonlight. Ben instinctively started for him, but another shot blasted near his feet and he stopped again, staring at the gunman.

The man smiled. “He’s dead, and you will be, too, if you don’t do what I say.”

“No!” Ben cried out hoarsely, his heart squeezing painfully. “Adam!”

But his son didn’t move.

Then he heard Hoss’ voice from the doorway behind him. “Hey, Pa, what’s all the ruckus?”

“Hoss, get back!” But he was too late. The gunman fired again, and he heard the sound of a heavy body hitting the floor.

“Anybody else in there?” the gunman yelled.

Ben shook his head slowly, in shock. How had such a quiet evening degenerated so quickly?

The man waved his gun slowly, indicating Ben should return to the house. With a last agonized glance at Adam, Ben turned back to the house. He was relieved to see Hoss sitting propped up against the doorway, but he had both hands clenched around his thigh, blood flowing freely around his fingers and staining the brown cloth of his pants.

“Pa, what’s going on?”

Ben pulled his neckerchief off and held it against the wound. “I don’t know yet, but that man shot Adam, too.”

“Adam!” Hoss tried to get up.

Ben pushed him back down. “Stay put, or he’ll put another bullet in you. I couldn’t stand to lose another son tonight.”

Hoss’ face turned white. “He killed him?”

Ben’s jaw tightened as he wrapped his belt around Hoss’s leg, holding the wadded kerchief in place. “I don’t know. He’s lying over by the woodpile.”

“He’s dead, all right.” The gunman came up behind Ben. “Now stop your yammering and get inside. I want all the money you got in the house.”

“You’re welcome to everything I have,” Ben said as he helped Hoss stand. “It isn’t much. We just paid off all the men yesterday.” He supported his son over to the couch and whispered, “Where’s Joe?”

“Dunno. He was asleep when I went upstairs.” Hoss grunted in pain as he sat. “Since he hasn’t barreled down here, maybe he’s hidin’ out ‘til he can do something.”

“I hope so.” Ben readjusted the cloth on Hoss’ leg.

“Hey, you!” the gunman interrupted.

Ben looked up from what he was doing.

“Where’s that money?”

Ben squeezed Hoss’ shoulder. “In the safe behind the desk. But I’m warning you it isn’t much.”

“You better hope it’s enough, old man.” He waved Ben to the corner with his pistol. “An’ don’t you go trying anything, ‘cause I’ve got my gun pointed right at this big fella, here.”

Ben moved cautiously over to the safe, knelt, and spun the lock. When he opened it with a click, the gunman moved quickly to his side.

“Take it all out now, real slow.”

Ben removed the cash box and placed it on the desk. The man lifted his gun to Ben’s temple and said, “Open it.”

Ben lifted the lid and placed the cash on the desk, then dumped the coins out as well.

The gunman flicked through the bills with his left hand. “There ain’t hardly a hundred dollars here!” He narrowed his eyes. “That ain’t nearly enough money. Big house like this, big spread, you gotta have more than that.”

Ben held his temper with difficulty. “I told you, we paid the men yesterday and the bank isn’t open on Sunday. I usually go in on Monday morning to get what we need to operate for the week.”

Snakelike, the man struck Ben on the head with his gun, knocking him back into the chair. Hoss started up from the couch, but he whirled and fired. The bullet chipped a bit of wood from the back of the settee and sent it flying at Hoss’ face.

“Don’t move, big man. I already got a murder charge hangin’ over me, so it don’t much matter what I do to you and your Pa.”

Ben straightened slowly in the chair, head pounding. “Leave it, Hoss,” he said, but tried to tell him with his eyes to wait, that their chance would come.

Hoss studied his father carefully then, apparently satisfied, he sank back onto the settee.

“That’s real good,” said the gunman. “Now, you go tie up your boy, hands and feet, and make it good.”

Ben rose slowly and took down the curtain tiebacks. He started to tie Hoss’ hands in front, but the gunman cocked the gun, so he tied them in back after all, then tied his ankles together, leaving Hoss half reclining on the settee. “I’m sorry, boy,” he whispered.

“Don’t make no nevermind, Pa,” Hoss whispered back. “We’ll get him.”

“Get his belt, then come back over here, old man.” The gunman gestured to the chair behind the desk.

Ben carefully removed Hoss’ belt and when he was again seated behind the desk, the man struck again at his head with the gun and by the time Ben’s vision had cleared, he was tied tightly to the chair. Satisfied, the man looked around the room and saw the food on the table. “You expecting company, old man?”

“Only Adam.” He glanced unconsciously toward the door.

The man laughed. “Oh, you mean that fella out there? Well, he won’t be needing this stew, will he?” He sat, as it happened, in Adam’s chair and ate everything Ben had prepared for his son.

Ben closed his eyes in pain. Then he heard a soft noise from the top of the stairs. Ben looked carefully at the gunman but, seeing that he was fully occupied with his food, risked a glance at the second-floor landing. His youngest, Joe, was leaning against the wall, trying to peer around the corner without being seen. Ben’s relief at seeing him was almost overwhelming. If Joe could just stay free . . . .

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

Joe could see his father, seated as so often at his desk, but now tied and with a bloody gash staining the silver hair at his left temple a bright red. Ben looked meaningfully at his son, then turned his head deliberately to the left, towards the dining room. His glare of hatred told Joe all he needed about the location of the man who had broken into their home and assaulted the other three members of his family. He knew from overhearing his father that Hoss was shot in the leg, and he could see his father’s injury, but Adam . . .

His heart still hammered from seeing his oldest brother shot down. Like his father, Joe had heard the hoofbeats entering the yard. He’d lain awake in bed, trying to decide whether or not to get up and talk with Adam about going East and finally rose, too restless to sleep any more. He’d looked out his window just in time to see Adam spun around by a bullet. He’d been about to run downstairs when he heard the second shot, then the third and, as hard as it was, he waited upstairs until he could find out what was happening. He had to do something soon, though – a last check out the window before coming to the head of the stairs showed him Adam still lying on the ground where he’d fallen, in the same position.

His brother was either seriously wounded or dead and he had to find out.

He knew he could climb out his bedroom window, but Adam was lying in full view of the front of the house, and all the gunman had to do was either look out the door or the window. So Joe stepped quietly along the second floor corridor to the top of the stairs and tried to find out where the gunman was without giving away his own presence. Now he knew.

His father was looking at him again, so Joe pointed at his own chest, then gestured back down the hallway and toward the front of the house. Ben didn’t move, didn’t give any physical indication that he understood, but Joe saw the relief in his eyes, the hope that at least one of them could get to Adam and somehow help him.

Joe nodded one last time and melted back into the shadows.

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

Ben turned back to the gunman. “What are you going to do?”

The man washed down the stew with a gulp of coffee. “Well, now, I gotta think on that a bit. Seems to me we gotta get you to the bank in town, but I gotta make sure you’ll come back, and come back alone.” He looked Ben over critically. “Gonna have to get you cleaned up a bit, too. You go into town lookin’ like that, and there’ll be too many questions. Well, it’s a problem that’ll keep for a bit yet. Sun won’t even be up for another couple hours. You just sit there, and I’ll let you know.”

“At least let me help my son.” He nodded at Hoss. “He could be bleeding to death.”

“And what if he is?” the man said callously, then rose and went into the kitchen.

“Pa,” said Hoss quietly. “Did you see . . .?”

Ben knew what he was asking. He nodded and glanced upstairs.

Hoss sighed in relief. “Then maybe . . . .”

“Yes,” Ben repeated. “Maybe . . . .”

But then there was another shot outside, and they heard the man’s voice, “Stop right there!”

They waited in silence and eventually heard bootsteps on the porch. The door opened and Joe entered, hands in the air. The gunman pushed him inside. “Well, lookit what I found outside. This one yours, too, old man?”

“I’m sorry,” Joe said, frustrated and angry.

“I know,” said Ben, ignoring the gunman. “Adam?”

A spasm of pain crossed Joe’s face. “I don’t know, Pa. He’s still just lying there, hasn’t moved.”

Ben’s anger rose to the surface and he turned to the gunman. “Why are you doing this? Is the money worth four lives?”

“Hey, what do I care about you folks? You’ve already had money and an easy life. I figure it’s my turn. Too bad I couldn’t just take over the ranch, too, but I think I’d rather just take the cash and head out.”

“Then do it!” Ben exploded.

A crafty gleam appeared in the man’s eyes. “I think I will at that. Yeah, I think I see how I’m gonna do just that.” He waved his gun at Joe. Ben was afraid he was going to shoot his son or pistol-whip him, but instead he merely motioned him into the kitchen. The two returned in a moment with the rope Hop Sing used for hanging laundry. The gunman pulled a chair out from the table and set it in the big room, behind Hoss. “Sit,” he said.

Joe sank slowly onto the seat.

“Tie your feet to the chair,” he instructed.

Joe took the rope and wound it around his ankles, then tied it to the legs. The man carefully took the long end and looped it around Joe’s chest, binding him to the back of the chair. Once he was securely fastened, he put his gun on the table within easy reach and pulled Joe’s hands behind his back, tying them securely as well. He pulled a knife from his boot and cut the remaining length off, then retied Hoss’ hands and feet with it.

Then he retrieved his gun, walked over to the settee, and held it to Hoss’ head. “Is that all of ‘em, old man?” he asked.

Ben nodded slowly. Whatever the man saw in his face seemed to satisfy him, for he dropped the gun back into his holster. He brought another piece of rope over to Ben and tied his feet to his chair. Then he checked that the bindings on each of his prisoners were tight, smiled, and wordlessly went upstairs.

“Joe?” asked Hoss, trying to turn his head to see behind him where Joe was sitting.

“Yeah,” his brother replied tiredly.

“You okay?”

Joe raised miserable eyes to his father as he answered Hoss. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I’m grateful for that, boy,” said Ben gently. “You may be the only one who can take him.”

“But, Pa . . . .”

“Joseph, he wants some money from the bank. He didn’t mark you, so he might send you to town. If he does, find some way to get word to Roy.” Ben was pleased to see Joe straighten slightly. “That’s it, son, we’re not done yet.”

“That’s right, little brother,” added Hoss. “An’ the sooner you get this done, the sooner we can get help for Adam.”

“You think he’s okay?” Joe asked.

“I think he’s hurt, or he’d either be in here with us or that feller upstairs’d be dead,” said Hoss decisively.

“I don’t know, Hoss,” worried Joe. “You didn’t see him, did you?”

“Nope, but I know Adam. He’s a fighter, and it’ll take more than that . . . pipsqueak upstairs to do him in.”

Ben smiled for the first time since the shot that had taken down his eldest. “I hope you’re right, son. I sure hope you’re right.”

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

The morning sun shone into the ranchhouse through the dining room window, backlighting the slumped figure in the dining room chair. Joe woke slowly and raised his head carefully. He rolled it around a couple times, trying to work some of the stiffness out. His father and brother looked as uncomfortable as he felt.

“Pa, Hoss,” he whispered urgently.

Ben woke on a sigh and looked blearily around. “Joe?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” he said. “Can you see if Hoss is okay?”

Ben studied his middle son. “He’s a little pale,” he said. “Hoss! Wake up, son!”

Hoss groaned, but didn’t open his eyes.

“Hoss!” added Joe. “C’mon, time to wake up!”

Hoss shifted a bit and started to wake, but the settee wasn’t really wide enough for him and he slid to the floor. He cried out in pain when he landed on his injured leg.

“Hoss!” Ben called.

“Ahhh,” Hoss moaned.

“Are you all right?”

He breathed deeply before answering, “Gimme a minute, Pa.”

Ben relaxed back into his chair.

“So,” said a voice from the top of the stairs. “Are we ready to start the day?” The gunman walked arrogantly down the steps and checked the bonds on all three prisoners, leaving Hoss on the floor. Satisfied, he disappeared into the kitchen again and they soon heard the sounds of cooking. After a while he reappeared with a plate of food and a cup of coffee, which he sat down and ate. When he finished, he walked around in front of Joe and studied him carefully. “Yeah, you’ll do,” he said.

Joe narrowed his eyes and very carefully, very deliberately spat on his boot.

The man casually wiped his foot on his other leg and smiled. “Oh, you’ll do just fine.” He turned to Ben. “Old man.”

Ben raised his chin and glared.

“You’re gonna write a draft on your bank for your kid here to cash. I think it’d better be for, oh, say, ten thousand dollars. Big rancher like you wouldn’t get that much out in cash very often, but I’ll bet you do it every now and again. Say if you’re gonna buy some prime breeding stock or do some land deal. Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I think it better be a land deal. With some crazy old coot who’ll only take cash.”

He moved to the desk and checked all the drawers. In the top right he found a loaded pistol. “You wouldn’t be thinkin’ about using this, would you? You be right careful, old man, I already got one of your boys, and I don’t need this big one either.” He untied Ben’s hands then moved over to where Hoss was lying on the floor and held his gun to his head.

Ben groaned with the pain of release – his muscles were almost too stiff to use. He brought his hands together and chafed them, trying to bring the circulation back. He flexed his fingers and when it seemed he had some semblance of control, he pulled out his bank drafts and attempted to write. The result was legible, but shaky.

“Just leave it on the desk there,” the man commanded. “Now reach down and untie your feet.”

It took a long time, since his fingers were still stiff, but eventually he got the knots undone. He rose slowly. At the wave of the man’s gun, he moved toward the front door.

“Pa?” asked Joe.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout your Pa, boy. You just do what you’re told an’ you’ll get him back.”

Joe looked at his father. Ben looked back, a long steady gaze that heartened him, then he turned to Hoss. “I’ll be all right, boys.”

The outlaw walked him at gunpoint through the door. As soon as he was outside, Ben searched for Adam, hoping he wouldn’t be there anymore. His eyes dampened, though, for his eldest was still lying against the woodpile, in the same position as the night before. “Adam!” he whispered, but the gunman just prodded him past and into the barn, Ben searching his son’s body the entire time he was in sight for any movement, any sign of life. His grief almost overwhelming, he barely noticed the noose the man dropped around his neck.

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

Hoss and Joe waited, tense and afraid, fearing the sound of gunfire. As the long moments passed without it they gradually began to relax.

“Hoss, what do you think he’s doing?”

Hoss had managed to turn himself around enough to face his brother. “He’s a wild one, Joe, hard to predict. I figure he’s gotta find some way to hold Pa and me, if he’s gonna send you to town. I don’t know why he’d want us outside, but since he ain’t shot Pa, I guess he wants us alive a little longer.”

The gunman returned, and this time untied Joe. “Help your brother.”

Joe stiffly unbent himself from his seated position and rubbed his wrists.

“Move,” the man said, his voice the more threatening for being soft.

Joe untied Hoss and took his elbow, carefully helping him rise. Hoss wobbled on one leg, grateful for his brother’s slim strength. They moved slowly across the room, out the door and, like their father, spent the entire distance across the yard staring at Adam, hoping against hope.

“We’re too late,” Joe whispered to Hoss, his face reflecting his agony.

“I don’t believe that,” said Hoss staunchly. “I’m not gonna believe it, either, till I can find out for myself. You just do your part as good an’ as fast as you can, Joe, and I promise you, it’ll all come out right.”

They rounded the corner to the barn and stopped, shocked immobile. Their father appeared to be unconscious, hanging from a rafter by a rope around his neck, hands tied behind his back.

A gun barrel in his back prodded Joe to keep walking. “Oh, don’t worry. He’s not hanging, not yet.”

Ben opened his eyes. “It’s okay, boys.”

When they got closer they saw he was actually standing on a hay bale. Hoss sagged against Joe in relief, nearly knocking them both to the ground.

“Set him down over here,” the gunman said, pointing at a hay bale that sat in the center of one of the stalls.

Hoss sank down gratefully, and Joe remained next to him, hand on his shoulder. “Now what?” he asked.

“Now you’re gonna take that rope that’s tied off there,” and he pointed to the side of the stall where a rope was wrapped around the top board, “and you’re gonna tie it around your brother’s chest. Don’t leave any of it slack.”

Confused, Joe did as he said, and it was only when he was waved to the front of the barn that he saw what he’d just done. The rope ran from Hoss’ chest up over a rafter, along to the top of another rafter, and down to the noose around his father’s neck. Horrified, he spun on the outlaw, but the man cocked his gun and he halted.

“That’s right. Your brother there gets a little tired, maybe falls asleep, he’s gonna slide right off that hay bale, and what do you think is gonna happen to your old man?”

Joe clenched his fists. He wondered if he could rush him, and even if the man shot, could he take him down anyway?

“Joe,” came Ben’s quiet voice. “Just do what he says, and get back here as fast as you can. Hoss can hold on for a couple of hours, can’t you boy?”

“Yeah, Pa,” his voice strong and full. “We’ll be just fine, Little Joe.”

The tension went out of Joe’s shoulders. “Let me get the draft then, and I’ll be on my way.”

The man continued to hold the gun on him. “You know, as amusing as it would be to stay here and see if your brother is as strong as he says, I think I’d better go with you. Saddle up two horses.”

Joe paused.

The gunman walked silently over to Hoss and quickly struck at his wounded leg. Hoss cried out and doubled over from the pain and Ben started to choke as the rope was pulled taut.

Joe ran to his father and grabbed his legs, struggling to hold him high enough in the air to keep the rope from strangling him. “Hoss,” he shouted. “Hoss, sit up, you’re killing Pa!”

Hoss straightened gradually, tears of pain tracking down his cheeks. Joe lowered his father back onto the bale, as Ben coughed and gasped for breath.

The man spoke again, smiling. “You want to try that again, kid?”

Joe shot him a look filled with hate, but he lifted a saddle from its tree, grabbed a blanket, and started to tack up the horses.

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

Stomach churning, Joe rode away from the ranchhouse, the gunman beside and a little behind him. Joe had the draft in his pocket and his holster was a familiar weight on his thigh, but the gun in it was empty. He considered outrunning the man, or trying to knock him off his horse somehow, but he couldn’t take the chance that he would get hurt himself and be unable to return to the ranch. As strong as Hoss was, his leg had started bleeding again, and he wouldn’t last forever.

If he’d been on Cochise he thought he might have tried it, but the man apparently hadn’t trusted Joe’s choice and had made him saddle up one of the others instead.

They were approaching Virginia City, and Joe still didn’t have a plan.

“I’m gonna go in with you, kinda casual, like one of your hands along to help protect that wad of money you’re gonna get.”

Joe nodded curtly, and they rode up to the bank, side by side. When they entered, the man stayed just inside the door, close enough to give the illusion of privacy, but Joe knew he’d be listening to everything that was said. He thought of his brother Adam, possibly fatally shot; his father, in deadly danger of strangling; and his brother Hoss, who, if he didn’t bleed to death, still might have to live the rest of his life knowing he’d killed their father. He straightened his shoulders, tried to affect his normal jaunty walk, and approached Jake Williams, a longtime friend who was the teller today.

“Hey, Joe,” said Jake with a big smile. He peered at his friend closely. “Lookin’ a little ragged around the edges. Late night?”

“Yeah,” said Joe. “Pa’s not feelin’ too good, kept us up all night with coughing and fever. He was going to come in himself to cash this draft, but I talked him into staying home.”

Jake took a look at the draft and whistled. “Gonna take me a minute, Joe, I don’t have authority to hand over this much cash.”

“I understand, but do what you can, would you? I’m kinda anxious to get back home to see how Pa’s doing.”

“Sure thing,” Jake answered, and went to the bank president’s office. He disappeared inside, and Joe glanced over at the gunman. The man tipped his hat in acknowledgement, then slowly fingered the kerchief around his neck in a reminder that turned Joe’s stomach. He shifted back to the teller’s window as Jake reappeared.

“It’ll be just a minute, Joe. Say, you going to the dance Saturday night?”

“Yeah, Jake, and I’m planning to take Emma Coffee, so don’t you go messin’ with her, you hear?” The glare he gave the teller was hard and unfriendly, and startled the young man.

“Well, yeah, sure, Joe. Whatever you say.” He looked relieved to see the bank president arrive with a money belt.

“It’s all there, young Joseph. You want to count it?”

“No, Mr. Jenkins, I trust you. I need to get home to Pa – he’s pretty sick.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that. You tell him to take care.”

“I will,” Joe said as he turned away.

“Bye, Joe, see you Saturday,” Jake called.

Joe turned back, his unhappy eyes in direct conflict with his words and tone of voice. “And you stay away from Emma Coffee, you hear?”

Jake stared after him, and once he and his extra ranch hand had left, he turned to his boss. “Mr. Perkins?”

The bank president was also looking after Joe Cartwright, a worried frown on his face.

“Mr. Perkins, there ain’t no Emma Coffee in town. The sheriff don’t have a daughter.”

Perkins’ head whipped around.

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

They started back to the ranch, Joe wondering if his message had gotten through, wondering if the man would let him live until they got all the way back to the Ponderosa. He hoped he would be in time, hoped Adam was still alive, hoped Hoss had been able to hold off blood-loss-induced unconsciousness.

He rode steadily, as aware of the gun at his back as if it were jammed against his spine.

Joe could never figure why the gunman had returned all the way to the ranchhouse, unless he was curious to see how his experiment had turned out. They dismounted in the yard, not fifteen feet from where Adam still lay against the woodpile.

Joe untied the money belt from his waist and threw it on the ground in front of the gunman. “You’ve got your ten thousand, now take the horse and get out of here and let me take care of my family.”

“Strong words from a man with a gun on him.”

“You’ve had that gun on me since last night. I guess I’m getting used to it.” He started to walk towards the barn. “Hoss,” he called. “I’m back! You all right in there?”

“We’re fine, Joe,” came Ben’s relieved voice.

“Yeah, little brother, just get in here.” That was Hoss, but his voice was weak, strained.

“Stop where you are, kid,” said the gunman.

Joe kept walking.

“I said, stop right there!”

Joe spun around. “Or you’ll what? You’ll shoot me? You’ve already killed Adam, you’re gonna kill Hoss and my father, and you’re gonna kill me.” He slowly approached the man. “So why don’t you just go ahead and do it? You’re gonna shoot anyway, aren’t you?”

The gunman cocked the pistol. “Yeah, I will. But when I want to.”

“Joe, what’s going on out there?” called Ben, distracting the gunman for an instant.

But that was all Joe needed. As soon as the pistol barrel moved out of line with him he leaped forward and knocked it out of the man’s hand. Free for the first time from the threat of the gun, Joe swung with all the pent-up rage and fear that had been building in him since last night. The man didn’t go down, though. He punched Joe in the gut and the world grayed, but Joe latched onto an arm and came back up swinging.

They rolled in the dust, at one point banging into Adam. Joe tried to get a solid hit into the man’s kidneys, but couldn’t quite connect. The gunman pulled free and ran for the barn, but Joe pulled him down at the doorway. He had a fleeting glimpse of his father stretched tall, standing on his toes, then a fist connected with his cheekbone. He slammed the man against the inside wall of the barn, but the outlaw kicked him off, jumped on top of him, then made a quick swipe at his boot and came back with a knife, which he held at Joe’s ribs. The man was tremendously strong and Joe couldn’t get any leverage. He felt the prick of the point, then a gradual, increasingly searing pain as the man pushed it quarter inch by quarter inch into his side.

Joe’s head started to roar and with an explosion of sound he felt the weight come off his chest. By the time he could roll over there was silence in the barn except for a steady click, click he didn’t recognize at first. Then he realized the gunman was lying beside him and there was a figure in the door. At first Joe couldn’t see who it was – the sun was too bright outside – but the man was leaning against the doorframe, left hand hanging limply at his side, right hand holding a gun loosely toward the ground. As Joe’s vision came fully back, he realized it was his oldest brother.

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

Adam had come up from darkness to a world of cold and pain. His head pounded, his shoulder throbbed in agonizing pulses, and his whole body ached and shivered. He tried to figure out where he was, what had happened, but could only remember he was on his way home. A fall from his horse? He had to get up, get moving, or his family would never find him.

But, no, there were voices near.

. . . take care of my family . . .

Joe’s voice? Then a stranger saying something about a gun.

. . . had that gun on me . . . getting used to it . . . Hoss . . . !

Something was very wrong.

He tried to move, but seemed to be wedged into a small space. His head spun and was filled with a rushing sound that made him dizzy and sick to his stomach. He consciously relaxed his muscles and breathed deeply, and the sickness and noise slowly subsided.

He could hear Joe again.

. . . you’ll shoot me? You’ve already killed Adam, you’re gonna kill Hoss and my father, and you’re gonna kill me . . . .

No! He had to get up, had to help. He opened his eyes and had a fuzzy impression of two men rolling toward him. Someone knocked into him and while the impact drove spikes of fire into his shoulder, it also dislodged whatever he was lying against, and he rolled flat onto his back. He stared at the sky for a moment, but Joe’s words rang in his head, insisting that he get up, help his brother. He levered himself to a sitting position then rolled to his knees, his sense of urgency increasing. He crawled to the barn wall and used it for support as he slowly got to his feet. He staggered along the wall to the barn entrance, following the sounds of the fight, and stopped in the doorway.

He had a confused impression of his father with a rope around his neck, watching with horror the two men rolling on the ground in the opposite corner of the barn. Adam tried to focus, tried to figure out what was going on, who was on top, then saw the flash of a knife blade. He heard his little brother moan, and some last functioning portion of his brain put the sound together with the knife. He automatically slapped at his gun. It was in his hand, and the barn rang with gunshots until finally it just clicked over and over on empty chambers.

Then Joe was next to him, saying something he couldn’t quite hear over the increasing roar in his ears. His nerveless fingers dropped the pistol and darkness overtook him again.

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

At the sound of gunfire, Ben had turned to the doorway. Aghast, he’d stared at the figure in the door. His initial relief at seeing his oldest son alive quickly transformed to horror. The right side of Adam’s face was bloody and bruised, his shirt was more red than white and his eyes were glazed, unfocused.

“Adam!” Joe cried, and ran quickly to his side. Adam turned to him, but he didn’t seem to see, didn’t seem to hear anything around him. His gun fell with a thud, his eyes closed and his knees gave way.

Joe caught him as he collapsed and eased him to the ground, feeling frantically for a heartbeat.

“Joe,” wheezed Ben, and he coughed.

Joe looked up at his father, saw the rope stretched taut. He ran to Hoss who was slumped over, still sitting by pure force of will, but he was white as a sheet and Joe could tell he wouldn’t last much longer. Joe ran across the room for the knife and back to Hoss, and used the bloody blade to saw through the rope. As soon as he was free, Hoss slid to his knees on the floor. Joe cut the rope around his hands, eased him onto his back on the straw, then ran to his father. Noose hanging limply around his neck, Ben was stepping carefully off the bale of hay. Joe cut his hands free as well. Ben crossed to Adam and knelt where he was crumpled on the floor, touching his son’s cheek with his barely functioning right hand.

“Joe.” He looked up at his youngest with pain filled eyes. “Are you all right?”

Joe was stuffing his kerchief into his shirt against his ribs. “I don’t think he got me too bad, Pa. How about you?”

“As soon as I get my hands working again I’ll be fine. We have to get these two into the house. Hoss!” he called.

“I’m here, Pa,” came a faint voice from the stall. “Just give me a minute and I can take care of my own self. How’s Adam?”

“Bad, son, he’s real bad. We need a doctor right away.” Ben rose and took Joe’s shoulders in his hands, his face lined with exhaustion and grief. He looked deeply into his son’s eyes. “Tell me the truth, Joe, are you fit to ride? Adam’s life could depend on it.”

Joe pulled his shirt open and checked the wound in his side. “It’s not that deep, Pa. I can last till I get to the Doc’s, and if I have to, I’ll stay in town once I find him.” A rare concession from Joe, but he knew his father didn’t need anyone else to worry about.

Satisfied, Ben slapped him on the back. “Grab his legs, then. Hoss, I’ll be back for you in a few minutes. Just stay still and rest.”

“Okay, Pa, you just take care of Adam. I can wait.”

Ben was starting to feel dizzy and Joe’s side was hurting like fire by the time they got Adam into the living room. They laid him on the settee, both too worn to try the stairs. Joe grabbed the Indian blanket from the railing of the stairs and tucked it gently around his brother. He was appalled by how cold his brother was.

“I’d better get going. Cochise is fresh, so I’ll make good time.”

“Ride safely, son,” Ben offered.

Joe squeezed his shoulder. “I will.”

But Joe had barely gotten onto the road to Virginia City when he saw riders in the distance. He hailed them, waving his hat high above his head, then waited, arm clasped tightly around his waist to hold in the pain.

As they got closer, Joe made out Sheriff Coffee, his deputy, Clem, and . . . he squinted . . . his friend Jake Williams!

Roy rode up next to him. “Joe, you got trouble out at the Ponderosa?”

“Yeah, I gotta get Doc Martin – Adam’s in a real bad way. You go on and help Pa, tell him I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Roy took note of the blood seeping between the boy’s fingers where he gripped his ribs. “Now hold on, Little Joe, you’re not in such good shape either, and besides, the Doc is comin’. You tellin’ Jake there that Ben was feelin’ poorly, well, Doc had to come see for himself.

Joe sagged in relief. To tell the truth, the ache in his side was making his head swim. He felt a hand on his arm and realized he’d almost fallen off his horse.

“We’d better get this boy home,” said Clem.

Joe raised his head and focused on the sheriff. “Would you go on ahead? Hoss is in the barn, he needs help, too.”

“I’ll stay with Joe,” said Jake. “We’ll take it slow and easy.”

Joe’s mute look of anguish was enough to decide Roy. “C’mon, Clem.” He kicked his horse into a gallop.

“Jake, I want to thank—” Joe broke off as a spasm of pain robbed his breath.

“No need.” Jake took Cochise’s reins. “You’d help me the same. Now let’s get you back to your Pa.”

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

The thunder of hooves in the yard came much sooner than Ben could have dreamed. He’d built up the fire in an effort to warm the room, to warm his son. His own head was pounding, but he ignored it and crossed swiftly to the door. It opened before he got there, though, to the welcome sight of his good friend Roy Coffee.

“Roy!”

The sheriff took him by the arm and ushered him to a chair, telling him everything he’d want to know in one long sentence. “We met Joe on the road, he’s fine, sent us on ahead, Doc’s comin’ just a bit behind us, and Clem’s in the barn helping Hoss. Now you just sit down here and rest a minute while you tell me what needs doing, ‘cause you’re about to fall down your own self.”

Ben allowed himself to relax and let his friend take over for now. “Roy, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you. It’s too complicated to go into right now, but a gunman shot Adam and Hoss last night. I think Hoss will be all right, but Adam . . . .”

Roy crouched next to the settee where the oldest Cartwright son lay and checked the pulse under his jaw. “He’s mighty cold, Ben. Well, Doc’ll be here in a few minutes, so we’d best leave him be till he can tell us what to do. I’ll build the fire up a bit more.”

The door opened again, and Clem came in, supporting an ashen-faced Hoss. Ben started to rise, but Roy pushed him down again in his chair and strode to Hoss’ other side. “You got friends here now, Ben. You just stay put. Clem, let’s get him into this other chair. We’ll take him upstairs in a bit.”

“Thanks,” said Hoss. “Just set me down anywhere I can see my brother.”

They settled him in the chair opposite Ben and plopped a pillow on the coffee table. Clem gently lifted Hoss’ leg onto the pillow and started to examine the wound. “Bullet’s still in there, Hoss,” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” Hoss sighed. “Time enough for that later. Pa, Clem says the Doc’s on his way.”

“So Roy said. Joe’s coming back, too.” Ben rose from the chair and sat on the coffee table in front of Adam in spite of Roy’s hovering. He took up his son’s hand and held it tightly between his. “We’d all be dead without him, Roy.”

“I saw the body in the barn,” said Clem. “Shot six times, square in the middle. Adam?”

Ben nodded. “I’m not sure he even knew what he was doing. Just pure instinct, to save his brother.”

The door opened again, this time to the doctor and Jake supporting Joe. “Just put him in the chair, Jake,” Paul Martin said. He took a quick look around the room, evaluating Ben and Hoss with the ease of long practice. “I’ll want all three of you lying down, but for now, let me see Adam.”

Ben moved away from his son to make room, but stayed nearby. Now he was the one hovering.

Paul did a quick examination, hands moving quickly and surely about their business, then he stood up straight. “Roy, Clem, get Adam upstairs, then come back down here. I’m going to need boiling water and clean rags, and once that’s started, you can work on getting these other three upstairs. Ben, let me see your eyes.” He pushed Ben over by Hoss so Clem and Roy could get to Adam, and gently pressed on the bloody gash over his ear, and studied the rope burn on his neck. “Hmm. Maybe a bit of a concussion, but you’ll do. I know better than to send you to bed just now, so go on up and start getting Adam settled.”

Ben clasped him on the shoulder. “And Hoss?” he asked.

Paul was already prodding and probing at Hoss’ thigh. He looked the young man straight in the eye. “If we had another doctor here we’d get right to this, but you understand you have to wait.”

Hoss’s gaze never wavered. “You just take care of Adam. I’ll still be here.”

Paul nodded and turned to Joe. “I already took a quick look at Joe’s side, Ben. He’ll need it dressed, but it can wait, too. Joe, make sure Hoss stays put until Roy and Clem can help. You go trying to get him upstairs with that hole in your side and you’ll end up in worse shape than him.” He looked around at the three of them. “You can tell me the whole story later,” he said, then grabbed his bag and headed upstairs after his first patient, Ben practically on his heels.

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

An hour later Joe and Hoss were asleep in the living room – Hoss now on the settee – with temporary and rather inexpert bandaging applied. Jake had turned out to be a pretty fair cook and supplied everyone with coffee while simultaneously heating water for Doc Martin, making sandwiches, and even cooking up some broth for Joe, who couldn’t face solid food. Roy and Clem were seated at the dining room table trying to reconstruct the events of the night before when Ben came downstairs. He’d washed the blood off his face, though it still stained his shirt collar, and he looked haggard and drawn.

He stopped next to Hoss and stared down at him, lost in thought. Roy rose and went to him.

“Ben?” he asked quietly.

Ben rotated his head, stretching out the kinks in his neck. “He got the bullet out, says Adam lost a lot of blood and has a concussion, not too serious, but . . . .” His voice faded and he looked back upstairs.

“That’s good news, isn’t it?” Clem asked.

Ben took a deep breath. “He’s got a fever, and Paul says his breathing isn’t clear.”

Joe spoke quietly from the depths of his chair. “Pneumonia?”

“He’s afraid that’s where it’s headed. Lying outside all night . . . .”

Joe’s face crumpled. “If only I could’ve—” he started.

“Joe,” Ben commanded softly. “There are a lot of if only’s about last night. None of them matter. You got help, got these folks here sooner than I could have hoped. Adam has a chance because of you. I don’t think he would have made it even this long if Paul hadn’t gotten here when he did.”

Joe held his father’s gaze for a long moment, then relaxed. “Thanks, Pa,” he mumbled.

Roy looked down at the big man asleep on the settee and sighed. “Doc ‘bout ready for this one?” he asked.

Ben nodded. “He said to bring him upstairs.” He shot a quick glance at his youngest, not surprised to see him beginning to get up. “Joseph!” he said sharply.

Joe froze, halfway out of the chair, then slowly let himself back down.

Clem walked over and put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Let us take care of him.”

“Thanks, Clem,” he said softly. He leaned his head back in the chair and closed his eyes.

Ben watched him carefully while Roy and Clem slowly raised Hoss to a sitting position. He’d been so worried about Adam and Hoss that he’d taken Joe’s word that his knife wound wasn’t serious, but it wasn’t like Joe to cave in that easily. He had to get Hoss settled with the doctor, but then he thought he’d better check on Joe.

“I’m all right . . . .” he heard Hoss mumbling.

“Sure you are,” said Roy. “Just lean on us and we’ll get you up to your room where Doc Martin can get that bullet out.”

Hoss grimaced as his foot touched the floor, but hung on to the sheriff and the deputy. They had to go up the stairs sideways, and it took a while, but eventually they had him all the way upstairs.

Ben went to the kitchen while the lawmen helped Hoss and gratefully took a cup of hot coffee from Jake. The young bank teller watched him carefully, noting the lines of pain between his eyebrows, and when he began to sag Jake immediately grabbed his arm and helped him to a chair.

“Mr. Cartwright?” he asked urgently and took the cup from him. “Mr. Cartwright, are you okay?”

Ben nodded automatically, though, to tell the truth, his head felt like someone was beating on it with a hammer, and his stomach churned with nausea. He kept seeing Paul digging into Adam’s shoulder, cutting, probing for the bullet, pulling out little slivers of bone, wiping away blood, blood, more blood . . . dear God, how much could his boy lose and still live—

“Pa!”

Joe’s voice. He frowned. Joe shouldn’t be here. Joe needed to rest, he was hurt . . . . Ben raised his head, surprised at how heavy it was. He blinked and his youngest son’s face swam before him. “Joe?”

“Yeah, Pa. Let’s get you upstairs, too.”

Jake took one arm over his shoulder, Joe took the other, and they maneuvered Ben through the dining room, living room, and started up the stairs. Jake went first, trying to bear the burden of the older Cartwright’s weight, but Ben missed a step and fell backwards against Joe. Joe braced himself, feeling the muscles pull across his abdomen as he strained to keep his father upright. Jake hurried to his side and took Ben’s weight onto his own shoulders.

“Why don’t you go sit down again?” he told Joe. “I can get him upstairs.”

Joe nodded, fingers white where they gripped the banister. Jake guided the older man up to the second floor and into his bedroom, and helped him into a comfortable position on the bed.

Downstairs, Joe leaned against the banister, trying to get his breath back and waiting for the fire in his side to settle down. He’d forgotten the knife wound when he’d heard Jake’s panicked cry, his only thought to help his father. He climbed the steps to the first landing, but when he made the turn to the second flight something seemed to rip free in his side and then the world went dark.

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

Doc Martin had just finished suturing his second bullet wound of the day and was getting ready to bandage Hoss’s leg when he heard a commotion from the hallway. He slapped a clean cloth over his work and told Clem, “Tie that down, not too tight. I’ll be back in a while to check him.”

Clem nodded and reached for the bandages the doc had laid out earlier for just this purpose.

Hoss opened his eyes blearily. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked.

“Doc’s just about finished with you – went to check on your brother, I think. You just lay there and try to get some sleep. We’ve got everything under control.” I hope, he thought to himself.

But Hoss was too worn to pick up on his concern and just went back to sleep. Clem finished tying the last knot and slipped quietly from the room. He met Roy in the hallway. “What’s going on?” he asked softly.

Roy pressed his lips together, and gestured for his deputy to follow him into Adam’s room. He wrung out a cloth in the basin by the bed and wiped the perspiration off Adam’s face, careful around the bruising on the right side. “That fool boy,” he said, almost under his breath. “He tried to help get Ben up the stairs and now he’s gone an’ ripped something open inside. He’s bleedin’ somethin’ fierce, passed straight out on the stairs. Jake an’ me got him up to his room, and the Doc’s workin’ on him now.”

Clem sighed. “Does Ben know?”

“Nope, and I ain’t gonna tell him, neither.” The sheriff dampened the cloth again. “Leastways not yet. Jake has just got him laid down in his own bed. From what he said, Ben was lookin’ pretty peaked, too.”

Clem watched his boss with concern. “You’ve known the Cartwrights a long time.”

“Yep. Adam, here, was just a boy when I first met Ben.”

Clem had always known the sheriff had a soft spot in his heart for tough Adam Cartwright, but had never really been able to understand it. He’d known Adam a few years himself, and respected him professionally and personally. That the man who lay so still in the bed, fighting for every breath, could inspire the deep affection he saw in Roy’s gentle tending made Clem wonder what hidden depths he’d been missing. He hoped he’d have a chance to find out.

“You think they’re going to make it through this?” he finished his thought.

“Ben Cartwright’s a stubborn old man,” Roy said, “and all three of his boys got their fair share, too. You take this one, here. You shoulda seen the battle he put up once he decided he wanted to go to that Eastern school. His mama musta been something, ‘cause as bull-headed as Ben is, he still didn’t stand a chance against that boy. Oh, Adam’s a fighter, all right. An’ Hoss is bull strong. He’ll likely be up by tomorrow, if not sooner.” His brow creased in worry, and he went back to trying to cool Adam’s face. “But Little Joe . . . .”

“Little Joe what?” came a deep voice from the doorway.

Roy looked up guiltily. “Now you just simmer down, Ben. We was gonna come tell you when there was somethin’ to say.”

“Something to say about what, Roy?” An edge of anger laced Ben’s tone.

Clem started to edge his way out of the room, but Ben nailed him in place with a glare. “Clem?” he asked.

Clem looked at Roy; Roy sighed and rose to face his friend squarely. “Doc’s workin’ on him now. He hurt himself tryin’ to get you upstairs, young fool that he is.”

Ben’s anger dropped in a heartbeat. “What do you mean, hurt himself?”

Roy shook his head. “I don’t know yet. Doc’s still in there, in Joe’s room.”

Ben had just turned on his heel to go to Joe when Adam moaned. Ben glanced across the hall, torn. He looked back at his oldest son, who had subsided to silence again, broken only by his rasping breaths.

“I’ll stay here with Adam,” Roy said gently.

“Thanks,” Ben said gratefully, and crossed the hall. He opened the door to Joe’s room to find Doc Martin with needle and thread in hand, arms streaked halfway to the elbow with blood, Jake acting as his assistant.

“Paul?” he asked, appalled to find that Joe was almost as pale and still as Adam.

“I don’t know yet, Ben,” the doctor answered without missing a stitch. “Go outside and wait. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

Ben started moving slowly from the room, loath to leave Joe, but knowing he couldn’t really help by staying. Then Clem came one step into the room.

“Doc? Adam’s waking up and he’s having trouble breathing.”

“What kind of trouble?” Paul asked over his shoulder.

“He’s kind of . . . well . . . wheezing, I guess you’d call it.”

Paul took a moment from his stitching to glance at Ben. “I left a bottle of medicine on the table in there – see if you can get two spoonfuls into him, then try to keep him quiet and cool. I’ll be in as soon as I finish here.”

Ben took Clem’s arm and they went out into the hall. “Clem, would you go check on Hoss for me? Stay with him for a while?”

“Sure thing,” he said, glad to be able to do something useful, even if it was something as trivial as watching someone sleep. If it would help Ben’s worries, he’d do it and no complaints.

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

“Adam,” Ben called softly. He knew his son was at least minimally aware because of his pain-furrowed brow, but he hadn’t opened his eyes yet. Clem had been right, every breath, both in and out, was a struggle. Ben sat on the bed next to his son and slid an arm under his shoulders. He lifted him carefully, head supported in the crook of his arm.

Roy piled the pillows up behind Adam and kept them in place with a hastily rolled blanket between them and the headboard. Ben settled his son in a more upright position, and his wheezing eased a little.

Ben brushed his hand over Adam’s forehead. His fever was rising. “Roy, can you pour out the medicine into a spoon for me? Paul says he needs two doses.”

Roy measured out the first dose and held it ready.

“Adam, open your mouth,” Ben said firmly and massaged his son’s jaw. Adam’s lips parted and Roy was quick to insert the spoon. “Drink it, son.”

Eyes still closed, Adam frowned slightly but obeyed.

Roy swallowed a laugh, but Ben caught it anyway. He raised an eyebrow at his old friend.

Roy rubbed his nose and his eyes twinkled. “Just ain’t never before seen that boy do what you told him so easy.”

Ben tried, he really did, but soon a laugh started to grow somewhere deep inside and for a moment the fatigue was washed from his face as he smiled back. “Let’s see if we can get two for two.”

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

Ben was just beginning to think the medicine was working – Adam seemed to be breathing more freely – when Jake appeared at the door, fastening the cuffs of his sleeves. “Mr. Cartwright? Doc said you could go see Joe, now.”

Ben crossed the room swiftly, stopping only to pat the young man on the shoulder. “I appreciate your help, Jake.”

A pleased flush rose in his face. “Whatever I can do. Joe’s a particular friend of mine, and his family . . . well . . . he’d do the same.” He looked at the floor, embarrassed.

Ben squeezed his shoulder. “Yes,” he said softly, “he would, wouldn’t he?” He glanced back at Adam, checking one more time, then crossed the hall.

Joe was tucked into bed; head turned slightly away on the pillow, blankets pulled up to his shoulders, covering the bandages Ben knew must be wrapped around his waist. Where Adam’s normally almost olive complexion was sallow in its paleness, Joe was just white – about as white as the pillowcase. He bent over his son, listening for his breathing, watching his chest rise and fall steadily. He heard Paul close his bag with a snap, then felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

“It could have been much worse, Ben,” the doctor said. “Another half-inch . . . .” His voice trailed off and he stretched upward, working the kinks out of his back.

“It almost was,” said Ben, his throat starting to close with emotion. “Adam saved him. He dragged himself to the barn and shot that madman right off his brother. Two seconds later, and the knife would have been in that next half-inch—” His knees started to buckle.

Paul slipped an arm around his waist and helped him to a seat. Ben rested his head against the back of the chair, eyes closed, as he tried to believe his sons would all get well. He felt torn in every direction. Each of his sons needed him; he needed to be with each of them. He hadn’t even seen Hoss. And his head ached from the blows he’d taken, as well as with unshed tears.

He felt a glass at his mouth, liquid against his lips, and swallowed once automatically, then pushed the glass away.

“No, Ben, I want you to drink the whole thing. It’s just for the headache, and it’ll make it easier for you to think.”

“It’s not going to put me to sleep?” he asked, opening one eye to glare at his friend.

Paul’s mouth quirked upward in a brief smile. “No, not by itself. But you’re tired – even though you won’t admit it – and you’re likely to fall asleep the minute you settle yourself in one place, medicine or not. So you may as well take it.”

“Oh, all right,” he grumped. He finished the glass. “How are my boys, Paul?”

The doctor started examining the bloody lump on the side of Ben’s head. “Well, Hoss will be fine in a few days. He lost quite a bit of blood, which is hard on a fellow his size, but he’ll make that up in no time. We’ll see how Joe does tonight. If there’s no infection, he’ll be on the mend after a few days.”

“How likely is an infection?” Ben winced as Paul brushed the cut on his head with some cold liquid.

“I didn’t see any sign, at least not yet. He’s a little warm right now, but that’s to be expected. Keep an eye on him, keep him quiet at least until the fever goes away.”

“And Adam?”

Paul didn’t answer directly. He put his equipment away and pulled a chair over by Ben. “You’ll do. Some dinner and a good night’s rest would help, but I suppose it’s asking too much of you for now to take care of yourself.”

“Paul,” Ben warned.

“All right. The truth is, I don’t know yet, and we probably won’t for another day, at least. I’ll do what I can to keep a full-blown case of pneumonia from developing; that’s the real danger.”

Paul had been right about the medicine. His headache was easing, and he found it easier to gather his thoughts. “What about the fever? Should we keep him cooled, or let it burn itself out?”

“Honestly, Ben, I don’t think he’s strong enough right now to fight it. If we can keep it down a bit, he might make it.”

“Might?” He felt cold fear wash through him. He leaned forward in the chair and grabbed the doctor’s arm. “What do you mean, might?”

Paul looked him straight in the eye, the caring and compassion in his gaze nearly undoing Ben’s fragile control. “I don’t know why he isn’t dead already,” he said. “Must be that Cartwright stubbornness, because anyone else would be.”

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

Ben kept his vigil that night, alternating between Joe’s room and Adam’s with occasional visits to Hoss. His middle son was sleeping comfortably, with no trace of fever. Ben wasn’t surprised that Joe, with his high-strung, excitable nature, was warmer than usual, but he also seemed to be in a deep, healing sleep. Adam worried him, though. His breathing deteriorated again and his skin was burning hot. He occasionally moaned, but never became completely aware.

Roy and Clem had had to return to Virginia City but Jake stayed, having sent a message to his family with the sheriff. Roy also carried a request to Bill Rhodes, a cook who sometimes worked roundups, to relieve Hop Sing and send him home.

Paul Martin finally insisted that Ben go to bed, as well, but found him in his youngest son’s room shortly after two in the morning when he took a break from his constant efforts to keep Adam cool and went to check Joe. Ben was asleep in a chair next to his son, one arm lying on the comforter, his left hand covering Joe’s right.

“Ben,” he whispered, shaking his friend’s shoulder.

He mumbled something unintelligible.

“Ben,” Paul said again, a little more insistently.

Ben jerked awake and looked up at Paul with alarm. “Adam?” he said anxiously, rising.

“The same,” Paul said.

Ben sank back into his chair.

Paul shook his head. “I thought I told you to get some rest.”

“I did rest,” grumbled Ben. “As much as I wanted.” He felt Joe’s forehead. “He’s a little warmer.”

Paul checked as well. “Not much, though. Not enough to worry about. He had a rough time.” He took Ben by the arm and levered him out of the chair. “Now this time I want you to go to sleep in your bed.”

“But—”

“No, Ben,” Paul said firmly, “you’ll be of no use to your family if you collapse, too. Jake is still here, so he can sit with Adam, and I’m staying at least until morning. There’s nothing more any of us can do tonight except keep Adam cool, and Jake can do that as well as either of us.” He pushed Ben into the hallway and pulled Joe’s door most of the way closed.

“All right,” Ben said, raising his hands in surrender. “Just let me take a look at Adam—”

Paul turned him back down the hallway to his own room. “No, you leave him alone. I’ll check on him, you go to bed.”

Ben’s shoulders dropped in defeat and he nodded. “I know you’re right, it’s just hard . . . .”

Paul squeezed his arm. “I know,” he said softly. “I’ll call you in a few hours and you can relieve Jake.”

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

With the exception of Adam, whose condition was still precarious, the next morning saw the Cartwright family beginning to heal. Ben felt almost normal after four solid hours of sleep and, as predicted, Hoss was able to get up and visit his brothers once, with the added help of a walking stick that Joe told him looked more like a small log. Hop Sing returned mid-afternoon, releasing Jake from kitchen and sickroom duty, though he stayed around to do chores and visit with Joe. Paul Martin went back to town, with a promise to return the next day. Ben didn’t like to see him go, but knew there was little more the doctor could do at this point, and he had other patients who needed him.

Joe took a little longer to recover. His fever had risen after all, and even though it was never dangerous, he felt uncomfortable and ill enough to willingly stay in bed all day, the occasional visitor sufficient to keep him occupied between naps. He did, however, sneak across the hall that night to check on his oldest brother.

He knew he shouldn’t be out of bed; the pain in his side when he tried to sit up was enough to tell him he wasn’t being sensible, even without the warning lectures he’d received from the doctor and his father. But no one would tell him the truth about Adam’s condition, and in his fever he’d begun to wonder if his brother had died and they didn’t want him to know.

He’d lain in bed all evening waiting for someone to come so he could demand the truth, but the house was settled. As the night drew on, his imagination began to paint a future without his oldest brother, interspersed with memories of a gunshot echoing through the night and Adam spinning to the ground. He thought back to his last conversation with Adam – no, to be honest, it was more of a fight, and he’d been the one to blame. When Adam had gently told him he wanted to go back East, he’d reacted badly, with fury and hurtful words. Adam had declined to fight, his dark eyes patient and understanding which had only made Joe angrier. He’d stalked off and refused to talk to him anymore, and Adam had left on his trip without anything resolved between them.

When Joe cooled down, he realized his old fears had caught him unaware – fear of losing the people he loved – and now Joe knew he could handle losing Adam to Boston, if only it meant his brother was alive.

He rolled over onto his right side, stuck his feet out from under the covers, and pushed himself upright. The blankets slid off his shoulder to the bed, and he waited for his head to clear. When he was fairly sure he could stand without falling down, he grabbed at his headboard and pulled himself upright. His legs were stronger than he’d thought they’d be, but the pounding in his head accelerated.

Never mind that, he thought. I just want a peek, then I’ll go back to bed.

He braced himself against the wall as he walked to the door, and opened it quietly. He had to get to Adam’s room without waking anyone, or they’d drag him back before he could find out—

Too late. Ben was just closing Adam’s door behind him, empty washbasin in hand. He turned and when he came face to face with his youngest son, his surprise was quickly chased by anger.

“Joseph!” he whispered. “What are you doing out of bed?”

Joe nodded toward the door. “How’s Adam?”

Ben pressed a palm against Joe’s forehead and scowled. “As well as can be expected. Now get back into your room!” Ben put an arm around his waist to help him back, but found his son surprisingly immovable.

“What does that mean, Pa?” Joe asked.

“It means that he’s doing about as Doctor Martin expects.”

To his surprise, Joe’s face crumpled and he turned away. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“What?” Ben thundered, forgetting to keep his voice down. “How did you ever get that idea?”

“Nobody will tell me anything. All of you just tell me not to worry about it and go back to sleep.” He turned back to his father, agonized. “Don’t you see, I can’t sleep. I have to know. Please, Pa, tell me the truth.”

Shaken, Ben drew him into his arms. “Oh, Joseph, I had no idea. I’m so sorry, boy. Your brother is most certainly alive, although he’s very sick.” He tried to move Joe back into his room, but when, again, Joe wouldn’t budge, he sighed and reconsidered. “All right. We’ll go in together to see him. But just for a few minutes,” he warned.

The room was warm, enough for Joe to realize he’d gotten chilled out in the hallway. The doctor had Adam half-sitting against the headboard, propped up with what looked like every pillow in the house. His eyes were closed, an unhealthy flush stained his cheeks, and the sound of his raspy breathing filled the room. A thick wad of bandages was tied against his left shoulder, and his left arm was bound high against his bare chest, his fingers curled loosely against his right collarbone.

Joe sat carefully in the rocker next to the bed, his eyes never leaving his brother. “Is he going to be all right?” he asked. “The truth, Pa.”

Ben draped a blanket around Joe’s shoulders, and he clutched it as if it would ward off evil spells.

“We don’t know yet.”

Joe’s gaze left Adam for the first time since he’d entered the room to search his father’s face.

“He was already weak from the bullet, and he has the beginning stages of pneumonia. Not a bad case, according to Paul, but considering his condition . . . .”

Joe covered Adam’s right hand where it rested on the comforter with his own. “He’s burning up.”

“I know. I was just on my way downstairs to get more cool water.”

“You go ahead, I’ll stay here with him.”

Ben started to argue, but gave up in exasperation and went downstairs. Since he was in the kitchen anyway, once he’d pulled cool water from the pump he ladled some broth into a bowl, added a spoon, and carried it along with his half-filled bowl back upstairs. Joe was sitting as he’d left him.

“If you’re going to stay for a while, you’ll have to eat something,” he informed his son.

Joe gave his father a half-smile and took the bowl. Ben settled himself on the other side of the bed and began again the process of trying to cool Adam’s fever. He draped one damp cloth across Adam’s forehead. Joe sipped at his soup as he watched his father wipe the sweat from his brother’s face with a second; watched him rinse the cloth in the bowl, wring it out, and hold it against Adam’s neck, shoulders, anywhere there was bare skin. He replaced the cloth on his forehead frequently, patiently.

Joe watched his brother for any reaction, any clue that he was aware of their father’s tending, but he just continued to lie limply against the pillows, his only movement the steady rise and fall of his chest as he fought to drag air in and out of his congested lungs.

“I think he’s due for another dose of Doc Martin’s medicine,” Ben said. With the ease of long practice he maneuvered Adam’s jaw open and slid the spoonful of liquid in his mouth. Adam swallowed automatically, and Ben repeated the process with a second spoonful.

Joe marveled at his father’s calmness, his inner strength that allowed him to face the possible death of his son with such courage.

“Pa?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, Joe?” Ben answered as he continued the soothing strokes.

“How do you do it?”

“What, get him to take the medicine? The three of you have given me lots of chances to develop my technique,” he said as he rinsed the cloth again, wrung it out again, switched it for the other again.

Joe grinned, but then grew serious again. “No. What I mean is . . . why aren’t you frantic, or screaming, or falling apart?”

Ben smiled wryly. “Aside of the fact that none of those things would help your brother, who says I’m not?”

Joe set the soup bowl on the floor and wrapped the blanket around himself again. “You’re so calm. You’re always calm when one of us is sick. No matter how bad it is, it never seems to upset you.”

He raised an eyebrow at his son. “Oh, I’m upset. Never believe I’m not. It rips me apart to see you boys ill or hurt.” He reached behind him for another cloth, wet and squeezed it, and handed it across Adam’s body to Joe. “Here, you work on his other side.”

Joe copied his father’s motions, running the cloth down his brother’s arm in long unhurried strokes as Ben continued to talk slowly, softly, his deep voice comforting.

“Someday when you have children you’ll understand exactly what I’m talking about, and you’ll feel the same way. You see, Joseph, I can’t afford to fall apart. Adam needs my help, so I bury those feelings deep inside so I can do what has to be done. They’ll come back later, wanted or not, and I’ll deal with them then, but for now I simply don’t have the luxury.” He handed Joe a new cloth, took the one back that had been warmed by the heat of Adam’s body, and they continued to work in silence for a while.

Eventually Joe asked another question, one that had bothered him for years as he’d gradually become aware of his brother’s growing discontent. “Pa, why does Adam want to leave us?”

Ben didn’t answer immediately, and Joe was beginning to think he wasn’t going to when he finally spoke. “You’re looking at it from the wrong angle, son.”

Joe frowned. “What do you mean?”

Ben regarded Adam with a sad smile. He pressed the cloth to his son’s unbruised cheek, the tender touch of a father for a much-loved child. Joe found himself blinking the wetness from his eyes at the love in his father’s caresses – gestures that were familiar to him but that he’d never seen Ben make toward Adam, gestures he knew Adam would never tolerate if he were aware of them. He wondered suddenly what kind of relationship his father had had with Adam when he was a boy.

“Oh, Joseph,” his father sighed, “he doesn’t want to leave us. It’s just that there are so many things he loves that aren’t here. I think if he’d found a good woman, started a family, he might have been more content, but part of his heart will always be back east.”

Joe shook his head slowly. “I guess I just don’t understand that.”

Ben softly let out a deep breath. “Well, you like to go to San Francisco, to Monterey. Wouldn’t you like to see New Orleans, or Paris?”

Joe’s eyes lit with enthusiasm. “Oh, wouldn’t I?”

“Would you come home again?”

“Of course I would!” Joe was surprised his father would even have to ask.

Ben checked that the bandages holding Adam’s arm and therefore his shoulder immobile weren’t too tight. Satisfied, he went back to his cooling efforts. “Why would you come back?”

“This is where we live.” That didn’t seem to satisfy his father, so he thought harder. “There’s you and Hoss and Adam . . . .”

“And if something happened to us and we weren’t here any more, would you still come back?”

“Well, sure.” He shrugged. “This is our ranch. Our sweat built it and it’s ours.”

Ben smiled a little. “Go on,” he encouraged.

“Well, there’s the mountains and trees and the lake. And of course, the horses.”

“Of course,” Ben murmured.

“And Virginia City, and the mines, and the girls—”

“I was wondering when you’d get to the girls,” Ben broke in.

Joe scowled at him in mock anger, then continued. “The herd is a lot of work, but it’s sure satisfying to see them fatten up, then drive them to a sale. I like working with the men, I like to talk about what they’re doing, what they’re thinking. I like riding past a pond or a lake or a stream, and I think about all the good times I had going fishing with my friends after school. I remember my first horse, just . . . everything.” He paused. “There’s Ma,” he said softly and Ben nodded.

Joe looked at his father, seeing the same dream, the same love of the Ponderosa in his eyes. “This is my home,” he said simply.

“This is where your heart is,” Ben added.

Joe swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

Ben reached across Adam’s body to grip Joe’s arm. “I’m glad, son.” They shared a long look of perfect understanding, then Ben went back to his task.

Joe held out his now-warm cloth for an exchange and resumed his own part. “Pa,” he said, “you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Oh?” Ben said. “I thought you’d answered it for yourself.”

Joe’s face was a mirror of his confusion.

“Think about what you’ve said, and apply it to what you know of your brother. Remember, too, that he wasn’t born on the ranch like you. You’ve lived your entire life in one house, Joseph, but this is the first house Adam ever lived in for much more than a year, and by the time we’d settled here he was old enough to help design and build it.” Ben shook his head sadly and rested one hand on Adam’s thigh. “His childhood was very different from yours, son. There wasn’t anything I could have done differently, but he’s suffered for my dream, in ways that you and Hoss never had to. It made him into a strong man, one I’m proud of, but sometimes I wonder . . . .” His voice trailed off.

“What, Pa?” Joe asked when his father didn’t continue.

The facade dropped then, and Joe saw a lifetime of grief and worry on his father’s face. “If Elizabeth hadn’t died, would he be so reserved, so . . . unhappy?” Ben kneaded his own forehead, seeking relief for the ache behind his eyes. “I’m sure he’d still be as hard-headed; Liz was impossible to divert once she’d set her course, but she was so alive, so compassionate. Adam has those same qualities, but he keeps them hidden behind a wall that never existed for her. She saw every stranger as a potential friend, where Adam . . . .”

“Yeah,” said Joe. Adam tended to see every stranger as either a business connection or a potential enemy. Those who stuck it out and managed to break through the wall of his brother’s reserve found a rare and special friend, but it was tough to do. He turned back to his brother and tried to look past the slightly cynical veneer Adam habitually wore. His breathing was easier now – likely the medicine was taking hold – and he seemed to be sleeping more peacefully. And for a moment, even though he was desperately ill, Joe thought he could see in the relaxed face the shadow of a boy he’d never known.

Ben straightened and became once more the levelheaded father. “Enough talking for tonight, young man,” he said. “You shouldn’t have gotten out of bed to begin with and as much as I appreciate your help, you need your rest.”

Joe rose carefully, well aware he was right. After a last searching look at Adam, he allowed his father to help him back to his room, and as he slid into bed realized how very tired he was. Ben turned the lamp down low, pulled the covers up over Joe’s shoulders and stroked a few curls from his forehead. Joe wondered for a moment if his father brushed Adam’s hair off his forehead at night. He suspected he didn’t, and was unaccountably saddened.

“Good night, son,” Ben said.

“G’night, Pa,” he replied softly. He had a lot to think about, but sleep claimed him first.

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

The next day was almost a repeat of the previous, but Hoss went downstairs to eat – though with some difficulty – and Joe didn’t sleep quite as much. Adam still fought the fever, fought to breathe, but he seemed a bit more aware and they were all cheered when Ben was finally able to get some of Hop Sing’s broth into him.

Paul joined the rest of the family in Joe’s room after examining Adam, and was cautiously optimistic. While he felt the battle was by no means over, he made sure they knew that it was a good sign Adam wasn’t getting worse. Joe and Ben looked at him quizzically, but Hoss understood.

“Chances are,” he explained to his family, “if it was gonna go bad it would have by now. That’s how it is with animals, anyway.”

Paul laughed. “I’m not sure how your brother would feel being compared to a horse or a cow, but you’re right. He’s not out of the woods yet, and he’ll be quite some time healing, but with careful tending and as long as nothing unexpected happens, I think he’ll be all right.”

Joe let out a large sigh of relief, and Ben looked like a huge weight had suddenly been lifted from his shoulders.

There were no dramatic moments to Adam’s recovery; as Hoss had said, he simply didn’t get worse. Then fevered unconsciousness interrupted by coughing fits gave way to fevered sleep interrupted by coughing fits, which gave way eventually to hazy and confused awakening from strange and terrifying dreams of a shadowy figure carrying a knife and a gun, and a recurring image of his father with a noose around his neck.

Hoss was sitting with him the first time he woke, to awful hacking coughs that jarred his shoulder and set off shooting pains that seemed to reverberate through his head. Hoss was immediately at his side, supporting him. He held a cloth at his mouth to catch the nauseating results of his cough and disposed of them neatly, then wiped his face with another cool cloth and offered him a sip of water.

“Been doing this for a while?” he croaked, limp in his brother’s arms.

Hoss’s eyes lit with delight. “Adam! You’re awake!”

“Half-awake, anyway,” he replied, eyes closed, exhausted. “More water?”

He felt the glass at his lips and drank greedily until Hoss pulled it away.

“That’s enough for now, brother. There’ll be plenty more later.”

Adam nodded and murmured, “. . . sleep . . .”

“Yeah, you do that,” Hoss said, and he was out again before Hoss had set him back on the fluffy pillows.

The next time he woke, Ben was at his side. Again it was the cough that brought him back to the present. His father encouraged the deep, wet hacking, telling him it was good for him, so even though it hurt desperately, both in his lungs and his shoulder, he kept at it until he thought he’d surely scraped his lungs clean of the suffocating crud. His father cleaned him up, just as Hoss had, then gave him a teaspoon of some foul-tasting medicine that he had a vague memory had been a significant part of his recent life.

“. . . Pa . . .” he wheezed, but Ben shushed him.

“You’re going to be all right, son, you just need to rest a little more.”

“What happened?” he asked. “Why do I feel so awful?”

“You had an accident, and then got sick on top of it,” Ben said, and gave him some water. “I’ll tell you all about it later, after you’ve had more sleep. But you took care of everything, and we’re all fine now.”

Adam felt relieved, though he wasn’t quite sure why. But he trusted his father, and he was too tired to worry about something he couldn’t remember anyway.

The third time he woke it was dark, and for once he didn’t feel the terrible compulsion to cough. He took a silent inventory of his hurts, finally deciding his shoulder was the source of most of the pain. He tried to move his left arm but discovered it was completely immobilized. He couldn’t see very well in the dark so he used his other hand to explore the situation. No shirt. Bandages. His arm was tied down – no wonder he couldn’t move it – and there was a thick wad of cloth over the spot that hurt the most.

What on earth?

Then he had a sudden flash of memory. Something was wrong with Joe. He struggled to sit up, then remembered his father had said that everyone was fine, and relaxed back into the pillows.

His movements had alerted the young man seated in the rocker, though, who turned the lamp up a little.

“Joe?” questioned Adam.

“Yeah. How do you feel?” Joe tested the heat in his forehead with the back of his hand, then wrung out a cloth and pressed it against Adam’s sweaty skin.

Adam closed his eyes, but his voice was stronger. “Like I was run over by a stampede.” Joe dampened the cloth again and finished wiping his brother dry. “. . . mmm, feels good . . . .” Adam murmured.

“Your fever’s down a bit, how’s the cough?”

Just the thought of it was enough to set off another session. When he could speak again, Adam gasped, “It’s doing fine, thank you, don’t mention it. Please.”

Joe laughed. “All right, I won’t. Think you can eat something?” He reached over to the small stove that kept Adam’s room warm and poured some liquid from a pot into a coffee cup.

“What’s that?” Adam asked skeptically and tried to pull himself up a bit on the pillows.

“Hey, just stay put,” Joe said. “I’ll give you a hand. And to answer your question, it’s Hop Sing’s broth.” Joe sat next to him on the bed and slid an arm behind his neck to support his head. A pleased smile flitted across his face when Adam drank all of it. He set the cup on the table next to the bed and eased his brother back to a comfortable position.

Adam felt the warmth spread through his body and he began to relax. His head sank farther into the soft pillow and his eyelids drooped. “Joe?” he asked hazily.

“Yeah?” Joe answered as he pulled the covers over Adam’s chest.

“You okay?”

Joe took his free hand and gripped it hard. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m fine.”

But Adam was already asleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

He was confined to bed for several more days, not just on Doc Martin’s orders, but because the combination of blood loss, shock, pain, and illness truly left him too feeble to get up. He fretted at his weakness, but Hop Sing brought him hearty soups and special teas that he said would have him out of bed faster than any medicine the doctor could give him. At least that was how Adam interpreted the Chinese cook’s instructions to “Eat, drink tea, sleep, get up soon.”

But it worked, and he was finally able to wobble down the stairs, supported by Hoss’s strong right arm. Hoss set him carefully on the couch, Joe propped a pillow against the arm, and they swung him gently around so he was stretched out looking toward the dining room.

Joe sat in the armchair facing him, and Hoss went to the kitchen, limping ever so slightly. He returned in a few minutes with a tray containing three plates with apple pie, three stacked coffee cups, and the coffee pot. He set it on the low table in front of the fire, and Adam noticed that Joe winced when he leaned forward to pour the steaming liquid into the cups.

He accepted the coffee, but turned away the pie, instead asking, “So, is someone going to fill me in on what happened? Pa said I had an accident, but from the looks of things, so did you two.” He sipped from the cup, eyebrows lifted as he watched his brothers carefully.

As expected, they traded looks, and it cheered him to see the same old pass-the-buck exchange between them. “Well?” he prodded.

Ben’s voice came from the stairs. “ ‘Accident’ doesn’t really cover it,” he said grimly as he approached his sons. He sat on the coffee table in front of Adam. “We had a visitor Sunday night, just as you arrived. Do you remember anything?”

Adam thought back. “I know I decided to ride late; I wasn’t that far from home.” He shook his head. “Nothing else, until I woke up in bed and Hoss was there.” Nothing real, anyway. Nightmares don’t count.

Ben sighed and propped his elbows on his knees, ran his hands over his face. Adam glanced at Joe and Hoss, but their serious expressions didn’t do much to explain.

“He wanted to rob us,” Ben started, “and he didn’t care who he hurt in the process. He shot you down as you came out of the stable. He caught me by surprise, then when Hoss came out, he shot him in the leg.”

“What?” Adam touched the bandages on what he’d thought was a broken shoulder, now realizing they covered a bullet hole. He looked at his brother, who was kneading his thigh. Another bullet. That explained the limp.

Ben continued. “He took the two of us back into the house and tied us up, then later, when Joe tried to get to you, he caught him, too. The next morning he made Joe go to the bank for ten thousand dollars and when they got back, Joe got into a fight with him. I still don’t know how, not when he was holding a gun on him.”

“I guess I just got used to it,” Joe said from behind his father. “He threatened to shoot me, but I thought he’d already killed Adam, and I knew he’d kill us.”

The words echoed in Adam’s head. He closed his eyes, tried to remember, but the words were fleeting.

“. . . you’ll shoot me? You’ve already killed Adam, you’re gonna kill Hoss and my father, and you’re gonna kill me . . . .”

He felt a light touch on his forehead. “Adam?”

He looked up and saw his father’s velvet brown eyes, dark with concern.

“Joe took him?” he asked softly.

Ben shook his head slowly. “That madman pulled a knife and was driving it into your brother’s side when . . . .”

Adam looked from face to face. “When what?”

Joe rose slowly and sat next to Ben, rested one hand on Adam’s leg. “When you killed him.”

Adam tried to find the memory, but nothing was there. He shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

Ben sighed. “I’m not surprised; you were in pretty bad shape.”

“I remember,” said Joe, his gaze steady on his oldest brother. “I’ll always remember.”

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

Three weeks later, Adam finally felt strong enough to ride into town instead of having Doc Martin drive out to the Ponderosa. He’d been going around without his sling for the last few days and, although he would have twinges, the constant sharp pain seemed to be gone.

Hoss volunteered to accompany him and after careful scrutiny of his oldest, Ben agreed, secretly thinking it would help Adam to get away from the ranch for a day, maybe see a few new faces.

Hoss started to hitch the buckboard, but Adam flatly refused to ride in it. He reminded his brother that if they went on horseback they could use the Ophir Creek canyon and cut almost an hour off the trip. Hoss grew thoughtful, and when Adam added that Sport’s gait was a lot more comfortable than the springless buckboard, he finally agreed, though he reserved to himself the task of saddling up both animals.

The ride in went well, though Adam was more fatigued from the trip than he let on. They tied their horses in front of the mercantile and Hoss watched his brother carefully, ready to help him dismount if he needed it. Adam got down slowly and stiffly, but with a small smile of triumph. Hoss clapped him on his right shoulder, the uninjured one, and they entered the store.

“Adam!” called the proprietor, Jem Bailey. “Good to see you again. You’re lookin’ mighty chipper.” He also clapped Adam on the shoulder, but unfortunately it was the left one.

Adam winced, but said cheerfully, “Thanks, Jem. It’s good to be off the ranch. Did my package arrive from Boston?”

“Sure did, it’s been here over two weeks. I sent a message out with one of your boys, but after all the excitement I wasn’t surprised nobody came for it.” He wiped his hands on his apron and went into the back room. Adam surveyed the room, noting with a smile that Hoss was carefully examining the candy selection, just like he’d done every visit since the store had opened when he was nine years old. Mrs. Bailey was filling a small paper sack at his direction.

“Here you go,” said Jem and he pushed the small box toward Adam.

Adam instinctively put both hands out to catch it, but the box was heavier than it looked and his left shoulder screamed a protest. His soft groan, combined with the sound of the box hitting the ground, brought Hoss to his side immediately.

“I’ll take that, brother,” he said, scooping it up effortlessly in one hand. “You carry the candy.”

Adam grinned wryly. “You sure you trust me?”

Hoss pulled some coins out of his pocket and handed them to Jem’s wife. “I’ll offer you one of your choice, but you take more than that and I’ll dunk you in the horse trough just like I did last time.”

Jem burst out laughing. “When was that, Adam?”

“I was eighteen,” he said dryly, “and I didn’t realize that even though Hoss was only twelve he outweighed me by a good forty pounds.” His long fingers sorted through the contents of the bag and retrieved a lemon drop, which he popped into his mouth. “And I haven’t taken advantage of my little brother since.”

“Durn tootin’ you don’t,” Hoss said.

“Not with candy, anyway.” He casually tucked his left thumb through the front of his gunbelt, but could see that Hoss noticed and drew the correct conclusion.

“Come on, Adam, time to go find the Doc.”

“See you boys later,” said Jem as they left.

Hoss waved casually and ushered his brother outside. “Your shoulder hurtin’?”

“It’s okay,” he answered.

“Hmph. What kinda answer is that?” he grumped as they started walking past the Bucket of Blood saloon on their way to Paul Martin’s office. Hoss walked on Adam’s left, to keep anyone from accidentally bumping into his brother’s shoulder.

His eyes twinkled. “The only one you’re likely to get, unless you pay off with another lemon drop.”

Hoss was about to reply when they heard several large crashes coming from inside the saloon. Then there was a body flying through the large pane of glass, shards flying everywhere. Adam saw Hoss trying to twist out of the way, but he didn’t make it and fell right against Adam’s bad shoulder. Pain exploded through his entire side and he didn’t even feel the impact with the ground.

He gradually became aware of his brother calling his name.

“Adam,” Hoss gasped. “You all right?”

Adam couldn’t answer through the roaring in his ears and the sick nausea; he just let out a strangled groan.

Then there were hands everywhere, trying to make him stand up. Someone grabbed his left wrist, he heard Hoss shout, “No, not that arm!” then agony ripped through him and he spun down into darkness.

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

Doc Martin was just coming down the stairs in his house at the edge of town when he heard frantic pounding on his front door. As the only doctor within one hundred miles, this was not an unusual occurrence, but he hastened to open it anyway. He was shocked, though, to find Adam Cartwright cradled in his brother Hoss’s arms, unconscious.

“Put him on the chaise, Hoss, and tell me what happened.” He grabbed his bag from the hall table and brought it with him to what would have been the living room in any other house, but served all too often as an emergency treatment area. Hoss laid his brother on the wide cushioned black-leather half-couch. It was a useful piece of furniture for a doctor; Adam was propped up as if in a chair, but there were no arms to get in the doctor’s way, and the seat extended out far enough to almost completely accommodate Adam’s long legs.

A worried scowl on his face, Hoss draped a folded blanket over his brother to keep him warm. “We was just passin’ by the saloon, and some feller came crashin’ through the window. He landed on me, and I . . .” he swallowed, but pushed on gamely, “I landed on Adam. Is he gonna be okay?”

“I’ll have to take a closer look, Hoss. Here, lift him up for me, and let’s get his coat and shirt off. Then I’ll be able to tell better what’s going on.”

Almost overwhelmed by guilt, Hoss did everything the doctor asked for the next few minutes. As he helped the doctor with his examination, he kept hoping his brother would wake and smile at him, yell at him, anything but this limp, motionless silence that was all too reminiscent of the days just after he’d been shot, when they’d thought sure he would die. Finally, the doctor finished wrapping Adam’s arm to his chest again, just like it had been when he was first hurt, and tucked a pillow behind his head. He opened the blanket out the rest of the way and pulled it up to his patient’s chin, covering the huge bruise that was developing around the barely healed bullet wound.

“I’ll need to keep him here overnight, at least, Hoss. I want to keep an eye on that shoulder.”

Hoss set down the corner of the blanket he’d been fingering restlessly, and asked, “Can’t we do that at home?”

Doc Martin dropped his hand onto Hoss’s back. “Yes, you could, but the fact is, he can’t travel right now. I’m not even going to move him to a bedroom till he wakes up and can tell me a bit more about how his shoulder feels.”

“Can I stay with him?”

“For a while. I’ll be in the study if you need me.” He squeezed Hoss’s shoulder once. “Don’t blame yourself, young man, I’m afraid this was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Hoss looked up at him, questions in his eyes.

The doctor rested his palm against Adam’s forehead. “Good; no fever. Hoss, I suspected his shoulder wouldn’t heal well, but there wasn’t anything I could do at the time.”

“What do you mean, Doc?”

He shook his head and unrolled his sleeves, buttoned his cuffs. “I’ll know more by tomorrow. You just sit with him a while, let me know when he wakes up.”

Hoss nodded. “Sure will. And thanks.”

The doctor left the room, and Hoss moved his chair closer to Adam’s side. His brother was pale, but otherwise looked like he was just asleep. Hoss checked for fever, as well, feeling a little foolish since the doctor had just done the same, but he felt a little better for it, anyway.

He knew he couldn’t stay all night – Pa would worry if they didn’t return and it wasn’t as if Adam needed him here. He just couldn’t bring himself to leave yet, not after that agonized groan Adam had let out when Hoss landed on him. He’d hurt his brother, hurt him bad, and he couldn’t go until he’d had a chance to tell Adam he was sorry.

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

Once again, pain brought Adam back to consciousness – an all too well-known throbbing in his shoulder, one he’d hoped had disappeared forever. He heard a soft moan, then realized it had come from him. A familiar voice spoke in his ear.

“Attaboy, Adam. Come on, now, wake up.”

He dragged his eyes open in time to see a grin split his brother’s concerned face.

“That’s it,” Hoss said. “You had me a mite worried there.”

Another voice spoke from behind him somewhere. “Adam, how do you feel?” Doc Martin came into view as Hoss backed away.

“Awful,” Adam rasped.

Paul laughed. Like his youngest brother, Adam didn’t like to admit to being in pain, but, unlike Joe, he was always devastatingly blunt with the doctor. “Well, we’ll see what we can do about that.” He peered into Adam’s eyes. “Headache?”

“Some,” Adam admitted. “Not bad, though.”

“Hoss, would you pour out some water?” He went to his glass-front medicine cabinet and retrieved a wide-mouthed jar that contained white powder. He mixed a spoonful into the glass Hoss handed him and held it to Adam’s lips.

Adam drank gratefully, not caring what it tasted like; the wetness soothed his parched throat.

“You’ll start to feel a little better in a few minutes.”

Adam nodded and rested his head back on the soft pillow.

“Adam, I need you to tell me about your shoulder. How does it feel?”

“It hurts,” he answered flatly.

“I’m sure it does. But what kind of hurt?”

Adam considered the question. “Knives. A lot of sharp, tiny knives.” He lifted his right hand to his bad shoulder, fingers almost but not quite touching the skin to the left of the bullet scar.

“Has it felt like that before?”

“Some. Not this bad, not for a while.”

“What were you doing when it hurt like this before?”

Adam thought back. “Lifting things, mostly. Pulling a book off a shelf, carrying my gunbelt, things like that.”

The doctor nodded. “All right. Hoss is going to help you into the front bedroom, and I want you to go to sleep. We’ll talk again tomorrow when you feel better.”

Adam felt an unreasonable urge to go home instead, but he knew the doctor was right. “Hoss, you’ll have to go tell Pa . . . .”

“Yeah, I’m not lookin’ forward to that.” He stared at the floor.

“Hey, brother,” Adam said softly, reading Hoss’s expression with the ease of long practice. “It’s not your fault.” He pulled the blanket down and reached his good hand toward Hoss. “Now, help me up, because as tight as the doc has me trussed up, I can’t do this on my own.”

Still not looking at his older brother, Hoss flipped the blanket off him the rest of the way and eased him to his feet. He got under Adam’s right arm, put his own big left arm around Adam’s waist, and walked him to the room by the stairs, where Paul had a bed set up for the few cases he wanted to keep a close eye on.

He laid him carefully back against the pillows, pulled his boots off and helped him get undressed the rest of the way.

Adam was pale and sweaty from the short trip and his brow was furrowed with pain. He sank limply into the bed, nausea threatening again.

“Nightshirt?” Hoss asked the doctor.

Paul shook his head. “I’ll need to come in a few times and have a look at him, it’ll be easier on both of us without one. I want to keep track of that bleeding in his shoulder.”

Hoss looked sharply at him. “Bleeding?”

Paul gestured at the bruise that had grown just in the short time since he’d finished treating Adam. “That’s why he passed out, Hoss. There’s something still not right in there.”

Paul patted Adam’s face dry with a soft cloth, then lifted him slightly to drink another glass of medicine. “Just go to sleep, now,” he told him. “There’s nothing else you have to do.”

Eyelids unbearably heavy, Adam had no trouble following the doctor’s advice.

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

Hoss plodded slowly toward the Ponderosa, Adam’s horse on a lead line. He’d left his brother deep in a drugged sleep, knowing it was time to go home and tell his father what had happened. The doctor had said to come back the following afternoon to pick up Adam, but had told Hoss to bring a well-sprung carriage, not a horse.

Ben came out of the house when he finally heard the hoofbeats he’d been waiting for all afternoon. When he saw his oldest son’s riderless horse and the way Hoss sat drooping in his saddle, his heart dropped and he ran forward. “Hoss! What happened? Where’s Adam?”

Hoss dismounted slowly and tied the horses to the hitching rail, reluctant to face his father.

Ben grabbed him by the arm, though, and pulled him around. “Hoss, tell me – is Adam all right?”

The anguish in his father’s voice finally broke through his guilt and he nodded. “I think so.”

Bewildered, Ben asked, “Think so? What does that mean? Where is he, Hoss?”

“He’s at Doc Martin’s. Had to leave him there overnight.”

“Just overnight?” Ben began to calm a little. That didn’t sound too bad.

Hoss nodded again and finally raised his eyes to his father’s. “I hurt him, Pa. I swear I didn’t mean to, I tried to miss him, but I landed on him and I hurt him bad.” Misery shone from his eyes. Normally the pale blue of a summer sky, they were clouded now with guilt and sorrow.

“Leave the horses, son, and come inside,” Ben said, putting his arm around Hoss’s shoulders. He was anxious to know what had happened to Adam, but Hoss needed him right now. He steered his son to the dining room table and went to the kitchen for some coffee. While he was there, he ladled out a bowl of Hop Sing’s stew that was still warm on the stove from dinner, and snagged a half loaf of bread. As miserable as Hoss was, chances were he hadn’t taken time to eat, and as much as they teased him about how much he ate, the simple truth was that his big frame needed food on a regular basis.

Hoss looked at the tray with revulsion, which told Ben exactly how upset he was, but he set it down in front of him anyway and insisted, “If Doc Martin says he can come home tomorrow, then whatever happened isn’t as bad as you think. Now, eat, and when you’re finished, we’ll talk.”

Hoss reluctantly took a spoonful, and it wasn’t long before the bowl was empty. Ben poured them both cups of coffee and sat sipping his while Hoss worked his way through all of the bread. He was just about to spread butter on the last piece when he suddenly set it down on his plate and looked up at his father. “You know me pretty darn well, don’t you, Pa?”

Ben smiled a little. “Son, you never have been able to tolerate being hungry. You get the work done anyway, if you have to, but it hurts your perspective on things a bit.” He sat forward and set his cup down. “Now, how about if you start at the beginning and tell me what happened.”

He nodded and started with the mercantile. By the time he was finished, Ben was swirling the dregs of his coffee around in the bottom of his cup, regarding them thoughtfully.

“Hoss, it sounds to me like something you couldn’t have avoided. You got him to the doctor’s office as quickly as you could, and Paul is taking care of him. I’ll go into town tomorrow with the surrey, find out what Paul has to say, and bring Adam home.”

Hoss continued to shred the last piece of bread. “I feel awful about it, Pa. I know he’s always playin’ older brother, lookin’ out for me and Joe, but, dadburnit, I’m supposed to be protectin’ him, and I didn’t.” He stared down at the mass of crumbs on his plate. “I’m the one he needed protectin’ against.”

“Hoss, it was an accident. He was bound to get bumped into eventually, and fortunately you were there to take care of him.”

“Yeah, that’s what Doc Martin said, too.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “About you being there to help?”

“No, he said he figured it would happen sooner or later.”

“See?” Ben reassured his son. “Now why don’t you go put those horses away, give them a good rubdown before supper.”

Hoss stood. “Thanks, Pa.” Then he caught a glance at the mound of bread on his plate. “Guess I better take this out and feed it to the chickens ‘fore Hop Sing sees the mess I made.”

Ben rose and clapped him on the back. “You do that, son.” He watched, pleased, as Hoss left the room with a lighter step than he’d entered with, but his thoughts returned to Paul Martin’s comment. How had he known?

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

When he arrived at the doctor’s house the next afternoon, that was one of the first questions he asked. Paul declined to answer, however, saying he’d talked it all over with Adam, and he recommended that Ben discuss the whole situation with his son once they got back to the Ponderosa. “I’ve given him some pain medication, Ben, and it won’t last forever, so you’d better get going. Put him to bed when you get him home; tomorrow is soon enough to go over everything.”

He ushered his friend into the front room where Adam was lying half-asleep on the doctor’s chaise, left arm once more bound tightly against his chest.

Ben sat down next to him and asked softly, “Adam?”

Adam lifted his gaze slowly. “Oh. Hi, Pa,” he said muzzily. “Time to go?”

Ben looked up at the doctor. “You sure he’s all right?”

“That’s the medicine, Ben. You just take him home; that’s all he needs for now. You can give him another dose about dinnertime if necessary – the instructions are inside.” Paul handed him a small package.

Ben tucked it into his inside vest pocket. “All right,” he said. “Let’s get going, then, Adam.”

Adam obligingly rolled onto his right side and slid his legs off the chaise, then pushed against the back until he was sitting up. Ben took his right arm and pulled him to his feet, steadying him until he found his balance. Like Hoss the night before, Ben put his left arm around his son’s waist and walked him out to the surrey. Doc Martin followed behind, which was a good thing since it took both of them to get him up into the seat. Once there, though, he looked around, seeming a little more awake.

“Hope he doesn’t fall out on the way home,” muttered Ben.

“It’ll be up to you to see he doesn’t,” laughed Paul. He gripped his friend’s hand. “Really, Ben, don’t worry. It’ll all come out right.”

Ben glared at him. “I’m going to hold you to that.” Then he relaxed and placed his left hand over Paul’s grip. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, Paul. Hoss just gave me a bit of a scare last night, coming home with just Adam’s horse.”

Paul nodded with understanding. Ben’s love for his sons was well-known and admired among his friends. Nothing could rattle that cattleman except for something happening to one of his boys. As the Cartwrights’ family doctor, Paul Martin had witnessed many times the depth of Ben Cartwright’s love for his sons, seeing deeper into his soul than anyone else on the Comstock. He knew how hard this was for his friend. He shooed Ben up into the surrey as well. “Get that young man out of here, Ben, and the next time I see him I want him standing on his own two feet.”

“We’ll do our best,” called Ben. He snapped the reins on the horse’s back and drove carefully out onto the main road.

He kept one eye on the road and one discreetly on his son as they drove toward Washoe Lake. Adam was quiet, though that was not of itself unusual, but he seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of interest in the scenery. He stared at the far away Sierra peaks as if he expected them to disappear, and as they crossed the Washoe causeway, Ben was surprised at how thoughtful he looked.

He spoke for the first time, his voice a little deeper than usual. “Remember when we got here, Pa?”

Ben looked sideways at his son, recognizing now that look in his eyes. Adam wasn’t just seeing the distant mountains, but the distant years. “You mean that first autumn?”

“Yeah. It was so different then.”

Ben laughed. “It sure was. No house, not enough food, just what we’d managed to fit into that little Conestoga-style wagon. And some good friends.”

Adam smiled. “Well, we’ve got a house, now, and plenty of food, and enough stuff to fill a wagon train all by ourselves. And we still have those friends.”

“You and Billy Thomas haven’t raised much of a ruckus lately, though.”

“I would’ve thought we’d done enough of that when we were young to last a lifetime for you.”

“Oh, I could live with a little bit more.”

Adam grew pensive again. “You ever miss those days, Pa?”

Ben thought a moment before answering. “Some. I don’t miss a few of those long stretches on the trail, the worries when you got sick – not that you did very often.” He patted his son on the knee. “You were a good traveler, son. A better partner I couldn’t have asked for.”

Adam ducked his head, perhaps a bit embarrassed at the praise, but he looked pleased nonetheless.

“And Mama . . . .” he said softly.

“Yes,” Ben said on a sigh. “I miss her. As I miss your mother, and Marie. Either of them would have been good trail companions, but Inger . . . well, I think Billy’s mother said it the best. She called her the heart of the wagon train.”

They rode silently then, both caught up in their memories of a time when it had been just the two of them, a young man with nothing but a six-year old boy and a dream.

Adam was quiet that evening at dinner, and excused himself before dessert, saying he didn’t want anything else. Worried, Hoss watched him trudge up the stairs to his room.

“Pa,” he said. “Somethin’s not right with Adam.”

Joe glanced at his brother’s empty chair. “Hoss is right, Pa. I know he has to be tired, but it’s more like something’s eating at him.”

“Think he’s blamin’ me for hurtin’ him?” Hoss asked hesitantly.

Joe shook his head. “Adam wouldn’t hold a grudge like that. He’d yell at you and it’d be over.”

“He’s right, Hoss,” said Ben. “I don’t think it’s even occurred to him to lay any blame. No, there’s something else going on, but you know we’re just going to have to wait until he’s ready to talk.”

“Yeah,” said Hoss. “Never seen anybody so closed-mouthed about what he’s thinkin’ than Adam.”

“Life would sure be simpler if he’d just talk about what’s bothering him,” added Joe.

Ben shook his head. “That’s not his way. Never has been.”

Curious, Joe asked, “Even as a kid?”

“Yes,” Ben smiled. “Even as a child. He was always interested in everything that was going on, asking endless questions—”

Joe and Hoss laughed. “Sounds like our brother,” said Hoss.

“But then he’d sit and think it all over for a while, and finally would come out with some comment that was so striking, so true . . . .”

The memories were fresh; the quiet drive home this afternoon with Adam had been so reminiscent of that long-ago trail.

Joe persisted. “But why’s he like that, Pa? Hoss and me, we just say right out what we think. You do, too. I don’t understand why he’s so different.”

Ben set his napkin down and rose, gazing at the top of the stairs where his oldest had just disappeared. He walked past Joe and placed a hand on his shoulder. “He has his reasons, son. He has his reasons.” And he followed Adam up the steps, leaving his untouched dessert on the table.

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

Adam’s voice floated softly through the great room shortly after lunch the next day. “Pa, I have to go to Boston.”

Ben didn’t even look up from his papers. “Adam, we’ll talk about that once you’re well again.”

“No, Pa. I have to go, and it has to be soon. This week, if possible.”

Ben started to rise out of his chair in worried anger, but suddenly realized the tone of his son’s voice didn’t ring true. He’d heard similar words from Adam before, but now . . . now instead of sounding half-defiant, he seemed lost, defeated. Ben settled back in his chair and gazed across the room to where Adam was seated on the hearth, left arm held in a loose sling, staring at the floor. He’d tried to get his son to talk after dinner last night, but Adam had merely asked for help with the elaborate bandaging and had then slid into bed, falling asleep almost immediately. Ben’s instincts were telling him now, though, that his son had something important to say. “Adam, that’s ridiculous. You’re in no shape to go anywhere.”

Adam shook his head slowly and misery shone from his dark eyes. “I have to go anyway.”

Papers forgotten, Ben walked across the room to sit on the low table in front of him. “What’s this all about, son?” he asked softly.

“Doc Martin says my shoulder isn’t going to get any better. There are still splinters of bone in there, and every time I move my arm they slice into the muscles and ligaments. That’s why there’s still so much bruising, from the bleeding, and why it hurts so much. But if I don’t move my arm, my shoulder will freeze up and I won’t be able to use it at all.”

Ben’s stomach twisted in knots over what that would mean for his son, but he waited patiently for Adam to go on.

“There’s a surgeon . . . .” Adam started.

“Paul thinks he can help?” he prompted.

Adam nodded. “It means another operation.” He looked up, but Ben knew he was seeing a far distant place. Suddenly it all made sense.

“In Boston,” Ben finished for him.

“Yeah.”

Ben sighed. “Then you’ll have to go. But so soon?”

“Paul says that the longer I wait, the less likely it’ll be successful.”

“You can’t go by yourself,” Ben mused. “You’re not well enough yet.”

Adam dropped his head in his good hand and rubbed his forehead.

“What else is bothering you, son?”

“Aside of a splitting headache from trying to figure this out?” He laughed mirthlessly. “Paul sent my case to Dr. Bowman, and he wrote back saying I’ll have to stay there a minimum of six months, maybe a year, depending on my recovery. He won’t let me leave until he’s sure the surgery worked and my shoulder is back to normal. It doesn’t make sense to return here if I’m just going to move back to Boston.” He rose suddenly and turned to face the fire. “I wanted to go, Pa, but not like this, not so fast, not just leaving everything half-done. And what about Joe? I mean, Hoss seems to understand, but there’s no time to help Joe—”

Ben touched his arm, held it gently. “Don’t worry about your brother; I’ll talk to him. Right now you’d better lie down for a while. I’ll bet you didn’t sleep much last night, did you?”

“No,” he answered wryly. “I kept waking up, trying to decide what to do.”

“Then it’s no wonder you can’t think straight. Go on upstairs, get some rest. We have time – nothing has to be settled this afternoon.”

Reluctantly, Adam nodded and rose. He headed for the stairs, but stopped at the first step. Still facing the stairs he said, “Wake me for dinner, Pa. I don’t want to miss it.”

“I will, son,” Ben answered, knowing what he was really asking. He watched Adam slowly climb the steps and promised silently, I won’t let you miss out on any time with your brothers.

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

Ben rode over to Truckee Meadows, where Hoss was clearing the stream that fed the small mountain lake. The beavers had been busy again, and while he didn’t hold anything against them, he needed the water to run pure and fresh downstream. He found his son packing his tools back into the buckboard, finished for the day.

Hoss greeted him with a big smile. “Hey, Pa, what you doin’ out this way?”

“Came to see how it was going. Good job, son.”

Hoss turned to watch the water rushing by and shook his head. “Like as not I’ll have to come back on out in a few weeks; they’ll just build it up again.”

Ben smiled wryly. “True enough. You ready to go home?”

Hoss wiped his face with his kerchief. “Sure am. Hope Hop Sing’s cooked up a big dinner; I’m hungry enough to eat a bear.”

Ben laughed and dismounted. He tied his horse to the back of the buckboard and climbed aboard next to Hoss, barely leveling the seat once Hoss climbed on. They rode in happy companionship for a while, but once they got through the stands of pines that surrounded the meadow and were back in the sunshine, Hoss spoke up.

“What is it you want to talk about, Pa?” he asked.

Ben raised an eyebrow. “What, can’t I just want to see my son?”

“Well, sure, but that ain’t why you came out, is it?”

“No,” Ben sighed heavily. “No, you’re right, it isn’t. I need to talk to you. Pull over for a minute, will you?”

Hoss steered the horse to the side of the road, set the brake, and turned a little on the seat to face his father. “You found out what’s botherin’ Adam, didn’t you?”

Ben nodded.

“Is he gonna be all right?” Hoss asked with a worried frown.

“He will be, but it’s going to be rough, rough on all of us.”

“Whatever it takes, Pa, you just say the word.”

Ben swallowed against sudden emotion. He knew Hoss’s unswerving loyalty to his brothers, but it somehow always caught him unaware anyway. “He has to go to Boston for an operation.”

“Boston! Why all the way there?”

“Doc Martin says that’s where the best man is. It’s a tricky procedure, and the quality of the surgeon could mean the difference between partial or full use of his arm.”

“Well, he’s gotta go, then.” He sat in silence for a moment, like Adam yesterday, taking in the beauty of the mountains around them. “How soon? He can’t wait too long; he’ll get snowed in.”

“As soon as we can arrange it. This week, if possible.”

Hoss thought that over. “You gonna go with him? He sure cain’t travel by himself, not now.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk with you about.”

Hoss went on, thinking as he talked. “That’s a long trip; it’d be hard to keep the work goin’ here without you or Adam – Joe and I just don’t know enough about the business end of things, an’ it sounds like there wouldn’t be time for you to teach us.” He looked up at his father, and it was clear he’d decided. “You gotta send Joe with him.”

“You would do just as good a job, and in some ways, maybe better—”

Hoss cut him off. “Nope. It’s gotta be Joe, ‘cause it’ll hurt him too much to lose Adam again. He can do it just fine, Pa.”

Ben sighed with relief. “I’m glad you see it that way, son. Now I just have to tell Joe.”

Hoss smiled. “And Adam. Maybe you’d better do that first. I’m not so sure he really thinks Joe’s old enough to travel to Virginia City by himself, in spite of the fact he’s been doin’ it the last six-seven years.”

Ben laughed. “All right. Adam first.”

~ ~ ~ ~ h ~ ~ ~ ~

Ben looked up from the book he was reading and checked again on his oldest son, who’d fallen asleep on the settee after dinner. Hoss had gently settled him with a pillow to prop his head against the arm, and a blanket that covered his long frame. He’d even removed Adam’s boots after swinging his legs up onto the cushions, knowing his father hated them putting their feet on the furniture, and Adam only sighed and turned his head toward the back of the couch. Hoss had then gone out to do the evening chores, leaving Ben in the red leather chair, ostensibly reading while enjoying an after-dinner brandy, but really watching over his eldest.

Adam had surprised him before dinner by greeting the news that Joe would accompany him to Boston with a soft smile. “I’d like that,” he’d said. “I’d like him to see where we came from, see the university, the city . . . .”

They’d been sitting in the living room, Ben, as now, in the red leather chair, Adam warming his back by sitting on the hearth, as they waited for Hoss to get cleaned up for dinner. Joe wasn’t due back until later that evening, having dragged from Ben his reluctant permission to spend the evening with one of his friends. The faint clatter of dishes that came from the kitchen was a quiet counterpoint to their discussion.

“Be honest with me, son. Do you have any reservations about his ability to take care of things while you have the surgery?”

Adam rubbed his left arm thoughtfully, giving the question the careful consideration he knew his father wanted. Finally, he said slowly, “No, I don’t. Sure, there might be things come up he doesn’t know how to deal with, but I’ll make sure he meets my friends and knows his way around first. He’s got a good head on his shoulders; he’ll find his way.”

Ben smiled now as he remembered Adam’s words. Adam had more faith in his little brother than Joe would ever believe. Maybe this trip would turn out to be a good thing, maybe answer some of those questions Joe had about his brother, help him understand why Adam was a little different in his approach to life than any of the rest of them.

The door snicked open and his youngest entered, tossing his hat on the sideboard by the door. “Hey, Pa,” he called as he leaned down to untie his gunbelt from his leg. He unbuckled it and set it next to his hat, then hung his green jacket on a peg on the wall.

“Shh,” said Ben.

Joe looked up, saw Ben motioning with his head to the settee. Joe walked quietly towards him to discover his oldest brother sound asleep on the couch. He sat down on the hearth near his father, one of Adam’s favorite spots. “What’s with him?” he asked softly. “Why didn’t he just go to bed?”

“He wants to talk with you,” answered Ben as quietly.

Joe raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Joe . . .” Ben stopped for a moment, thinking about how he wanted to say this. “Joe, Adam is going to Boston.”

“What!” Joe whispered, turning pale. “I thought . . . I hoped . . . .” He saw in his father’s face, though, that the decision was made, and he dropped his head into his hands. He was going to lose his brother again. Then he remembered how he’d realized that losing his brother to the East wasn’t nearly as bad as losing him all together. He straightened. “Not right away, though. We still have time—”

“This week, if we can manage it,” his father broke in.

“But, Pa—” he cried.

His brother’s deep voice interrupted him. “I want you to come with me,” he said.

Initial child-like elation that his brother wanted his company was replaced by revulsion at the thought of moving away from his beloved home. “What . . . .” was all his beleaguered mind could come up with to say.

Adam smiled a little at his confusion. “Pa, I think you’d better explain.”

Ben smiled, as well, and leaned forward in the chair. He told Joe about the operation, the need for it to be soon, and that Adam would have to travel before he was ready.

“You’re not going?” he asked his father.

Ben shook his head slowly, his gaze steady on his youngest. “Adam and I both agree that you’re the best one to go. You might be gone as long as six months, Joseph, and I shouldn’t leave the ranch business for that long.”

“What about Hoss?”

“Hoss also feels you should go.”

Realization finally sank in, and the implicit faith his father and brother had in his ability to manage the trip was evident in the sudden, more mature light that shone from his eyes. He turned to Adam. “You really want me?” he asked one last time.

Adam nodded, for once not teasing, not mocking, merely stating a simple fact. “I need you, buddy.”

Joe’s eyes became suspiciously bright and he blinked quickly, but the smile on his face was blinding. Suddenly all coiled energy again, he said, “Then we’d better get you upstairs to bed. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

Adam smiled back and held out his right hand for Joe to help him up.

And when Joe grabbed it, held it a moment longer than necessary, Ben felt his own eyes fill.

END PART 1

Characters from Puchi Ann’s “Heritage of Honor” series used with permission. This story was written before Stephanie L’s story of the same title, and she had not read mine when she created hers. Sometimes great minds just think alike . . . though with a different twist!

RETURN TO LIBRARY