The Wedding
Part 1
By Kathleen T. Berney

Ben Cartwright sat in the office of his lawyer, Lucas Milburn, carefully reading over the three-page document in his hands. Though he generally had no trouble deciphering the intricate and often enigmatic wording of legal documents, the process was nonetheless time consuming. “Everything seems to be in order, Lucas,” he said finally.

“Any questions, Ben?”

“A request, actually,” Ben replied. “I’d like you to go over what the final document says . . . for Stacy’s benefit, and for my own as well.”

“Certainly,” Lucas replied. “The first paragraph of the document declares Stacy’s intention to set aside her maternal grandmother’s will in favor of her aunt, Virginia McKenna, and cousins, Claire and Erin McKenna, if the conditions, spelled out in the remaining body of the document, are met,” the lawyer began. “Stacy . . . . ” he turned and gave his full attention to the tall, slender young woman seated in next to her father, “ . . . you had originally asked that the money be allotted equally into four different accounts: trust funds for Claire and Erin McKenna, a fund for Virginia McKenna, and, I believe your exact words were, a fund with money set aside for a rainy day.”

“That’s right,” Stacy said.

“Major Sinclair’s lawyer, a Mister . . . . ” Lucas paused for a moment to glance at his notes, “ . . . Barnabas J. Kranston . . . sent me a letter stating that the his client requested that the money from your grandmother’s estate be divided equally into trust funds for Claire and Erin McKenna instead. The money in those funds will be turned over to them upon reaching the age of twenty-five, as we had originally stipulated.”

“I know that Major Sinclair . . . Aunt Virginia’s father . . . also said that he’s able and willing to provide for my aunt and my cousins, too . . . leastwise until they get married or turn twenty-five,” Stacy said, remembering the last letter her father had received from the major, informing them that . . . .

“ . . . despite all of our valiant attempts to the contrary, our daughter, Virginia, for all intents and purposes, has slipped irrevocably from the real world around us into a world of her own making.”

Aunt Virginia’s father had gone on to say that in this “world of her own making,” she was a young girl again, caught in the midst of a whirlwind courtship with one John McKenna, upper class cadet, the man she had married thirteen years ago, six months before the birth of their eldest daughter, Claire. Though Aunt Virginia recognized her mother and father, she had no memory or recollection of her daughters. Both, within the boundaries of her increasingly fragile mind, had become any one of a number of visiting relations.

“ . . . and I’ll betcha anything John McKenna really IS ‘the kindest, most gentle and loving man ever,’ in that make believe world of Aunt Virginia’s,” Stacy had wryly observed, giving voice to the bewilderment and anger she still harbored towards her aunt.

“Leastwise, she’s happy,” Hoss said, his voice filled with sadness. “After how ever many years it’s been, sufferin’ as she did at the hands of that husband o’ hers . . . she deserves t’ know some kinda happiness. I only wish she could’ve found it with her ma and pa . . . and with her daughters.”

“Claire and Erin are the ones I feel sorry for,” Joe said, “especially Erin. John and Virginia McKenna were pretty lousy as parents, but Erin loved ‘em. Now don’t get me wrong . . . I’m not sorry Sheriff Coffee ended up having to kill John McKenna, but I AM sorry Erin had to be there to see it. Now, with her mother as good as being dead--- ”

Ben reached out and placed a comforting hand on Joe’s forearm, and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “No, Son,” he said quietly with a bare hint of a smile tugging hard at the corner of his mouth. “Erin HASN’T lost her mother.”

“What do you mean by that, Pa?” Stacy asked.

“You said it yourself at Ponderosa Plunge the day before your aunt and cousins left,” Ben replied. “Virginia McKenna may have been the woman who brought Erin into the world and gave her life, but she ISN’T her REAL mother, and . . . I strongly suspect . . . hasn’t been for quite some time.”

“Who IS Erin’s real mother?” Joe asked.

“Claire,” Stacy replied, answering her brother’s question.

“Claire?!” Joe echoed, incredulous.

Ben nodded. “From what I could see, Claire’s the one who protected Erin . . . who held her close when she was afraid . . . who dried her tears when she cried . . . . ”

“Looks like The Kid’s right,” Joe murmured softly, his eyes round with amazement. “Claire IS Erin’s real mother . . . . ”

“Mister Milburn . . . this might sound terrible, but I’ve gotta ask, what with Aunt Virginia not being able to look after herself or her daughters, ‘n all,” Stacy said. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “What will happen to my aunt and cousins after Major Sinclair and his wife BOTH die . . . especially if they die before Claire and Erin turn twenty-five?”

“That’s not a terrible question at all, Stacy,” Lucas hastened to assure the girl. “In fact, I think it’s a very good question. Mister Kranston, in his letter, also assured me that the Sinclairs have made ample and generous provision for your aunt’s care, and for your cousins’ as well, if they should die before the girls married or turned twenty-five.”

“Thank you, Mister Milburn. I had to know.”

“Your cousins’ trust funds will be overseen jointly by your father’s accountant, Mister Jonas Sinclair . . . no relation to your aunt’s family, of course . . . of Sinclair Accounting Firm Limited here in Virginia City; and the accounting firm of Smith, Smithfield, and West, presumably the major’s accounting firm, in Westpoint, New York,” Lucas concluded his summary of the document still in Ben’s hands. “Does everything meet with your approval?”

“Yes, it does,” Stacy replied. “Thank you.”

Ben turned and glanced over at his daughter, Stacy. “Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?” he asked. “You’re not in any way obligated, I want you to know that.”

“You’re not telling me I should change my mind . . . are you, Pa?” Stacy asked.

“Not at all,” Ben shook his head. “I meant it when I said the decision is yours.”

“Then, I’m sure I want to go ahead,” she replied.

Lucas took the document back from Ben and placed it on his desk facing Stacy. “In that case, all that remains is for you to sign right here, Stacy, and for you, Ben, to sign on the line below as her parent and legal guardian.” He dipped the pen into a jar of ink and handed it to Stacy.

Stacy signed her name on the dotted line indicated, then handed the pen to her father. Lucas pushed the jar of ink across the desk in Ben’s general direction. Ben dipped the pen into the ink and signed directly below his daughter’s name.

Stacy exhaled an audible sigh of relief. The monetary legacy left her by her maternal grandmother was, finally, signed over to her cousins, Claire and Erin, lock, stock, and barrel.

Ben looked over at Stacy and smiled. “Now I can tell you that I’m very proud of you,” he said sincerely. “That was a very generous gift on your part.”

“Thanks, Pa,” she said, blushing, “but, I . . . don’t know about being generous. The truth is . . . MY future’s pretty secure. I’ve got you, Hoss, Joe, and Hop Sing to look after me . . . and when you adopted me, you promised me that I would someday inherit a fair share of the Ponderosa, too. You ALSO promised that won’t happen for a very long time.”

Ben smiled. “Indeed, I did . . . and I have every intention of following through on THAT promise, too, Young Woman.”

“You’d better,” Stacy replied. “Anyway . . . I guess it all boils down to the fact that I don’t need my grandmother’s money to make my future secure, but my cousins DO, and . . . and after all the hardship they had to endure when their father . . . . ” she grimaced as if she had just bitten into something with an incredibly foul taste, “ . . . I want to make sure Claire and Erin have something to secure their future.”

“That’s WHY I’m very proud of you,” Ben said. “If more people had of your kind of insight when it comes to money, and less greed, this world would be a lot better place.”

“MY job would be a lot easier, too,” Lucas said with a smile. “Now we have one last piece of business to take care of.” He collected the pages of the first document, and placed a single page on the desk in front of Stacy. “Just like before, Stacy, you sign there on the top line, Ben, you sign right below.”

Stacy took the pen and, this time, signed her name with a flourish. She, as before, handed the pen to her father. Ben quickly signed his name and handed the pen back to the lawyer.

“It’s now official, Stacy ROSE Cartwright,” Lucas declared with a smile.

“Thank you, Mister Milburn,” Stacy smiled back and shook his hand, “and thank YOU, Pa.”

“You’re welcome,” Ben said. His eyes moved to the wall clock hanging directly behind Lucas Milburn’s desk. The time was a few minutes before noon. “Come on, Stacy, we need to get going, if we’re going to meet that stage on time.”

“The stage!” Stacy yelped, as she shot right out of her chair. “I almost forgot!”

“Ben . . . Stacy . . . . ” Lucas said with a broad grin, as he also rose and walked with them to the door, “please give Adam my regards?”

“We will, Mister Milburn,” Stacy promised . . . .

“Stacy, I see a potential problem as a result of your name change,” Ben observed, as they made their way from the lawyer’s office to the stage depot.

“Oh yeah?! What’s that, Pa?”

“Joe derived so much pleasure teasing you about your old middle name. What’s the poor guy gonna do now?”

Stacy laughed out loud. “Oh, don’t worry about Grandpa, Pa,” she said. “He’ll find something else to take the place of . . . Loo-weese . . . .” she pronounced her once and former much loathed middle name doing a comic impersonation of her third brother, “ . . . if he hasn’t already. I’m as sure of that as I am sure the sun’s gonna rise again tomorrow morning.”

“Grandpa?” Ben queried, favoring his daughter with a quizzical glance.

“Yeah. Joe’s been laying it on a kinda thick lately about my terrible lack of respect for my elders, whenever I tease him,” Stacy explained, “so I started calling him Grandpa.”

“KINDA thick?” Ben queried, mildly surprised.

“Ok, Pa, he’s been laying it on REAL thick,” Stacy admitted with a smile.

“I know that brother of yours all too well,” Ben laughed.

Stacy laughed, too.

Most of the time, Ben enjoyed listening to the teasing banter between his two younger children. Joe had been an incorrigible, almost compulsive tease, from the time he had learned to talk. Now, in his sister, Stacy . . . .

“ . . . it would seem that my youngest brother FINALLY gets his comeuppance,” Adam wrote a short time after he and his two younger sons had brought her home from Fort Charlotte. It was clear that his eldest was absolutely delighted at the prospect . . . .

“ ‘Morning, Ben. ‘Morning, Stacy,” Roy Coffee greeted his friends with a warm smile.

“ ‘Morning, Sheriff Coffee,” Stacy returned the greeting and the smile.

“It’s almost afternoon, Roy,” Ben said by way of greeting.

“So when do Adam and his wife arrive in town?” Roy asked falling in step with the Cartwrights.

“Noon stage today,” Ben said with a broad grin. He had been eagerly anticipating the arrival of his eldest son and daughter-in-law for the better part of the last four weeks.

“The kids comin’ too?”

“Later, with Teresa’s mother after school lets out for the summer,” Ben replied.

“That’s wonderful,” Roy said with all sincerity. Ben and Stacy seemed to be doing very well following the tragedy that had recently befallen the Cartwright Family, those two in particular. He was especially gratified to see the close camaraderie restored between father and daughter, and hear them just now laughing together with genuine mirth. The arrival of Adam and his family should prove to be an additional welcome tonic.

A woman’s scream from the general store up ahead rudely shattered Roy Coffee’s musings. An audible, exasperated sigh exploded from the lawman’s lips, thinning with anger. “Aw fer--- Here we go again,” he grumbled, with a sarcastic roll his eyes heavenward.

“Again?” Ben echoed, a puzzled frown knotting his brow.

“There’s been a whole long string o’ robberies goin’ on for the last couple o’ months now,” Roy explained. “So far, it’s been small stuff . . . shopliftin’, purse snatchin’, pickin’ pockets . . . things like that. It’s a nuisance, more ‘n anything else.”

“Any idea who’s behind it?” Ben asked.

“None,” Roy shook his head. “Whoever’s doin’ it moves in and out so quick, no one’s been able t’ catch sight of ‘im long enough t’ gimme any kind of useful information. One o’ these days, though, he’s gonna get too cocky and slip up. Then, I’ll have ‘im behind bars. I just hope t’ heaven it’s sooner, not later.”

“I hope so, too, Roy,” Ben said, voicing his own wholehearted agreement.

“Well,” he sighed, “ ‘til then, duty calls. Do me a favor ‘n tell Adam I said hello?”

“Sure will, Roy,” Ben promised. “See you later.”

“You two are just in the nick time,” Joe greeted his father and sister with an affable grin. “The stage is coming up the street now.”

“What was the hold up, Pa?” Hoss asked.

“Stacy and I ran into Sheriff Coffee and talked with him for a few minutes,” Ben said. “But most of the hold up was from trying to make sense of legal documents.” He shook his head. “Strange the way plain ol’ every day words turn into a foreign language when a lawyer puts them down on paper . . . . ”

“So the name change is now official, eh, Miss Stacy Rose-with-plenty-of-thorns Cartwright?” Joe quipped, with an impish grin.

Stacy laughed out loud. “Y’ see, Pa? Didn’t I tell ya?”

“Am I missing out on something here?” Joe demanded, not grasping the punch line his father and sister found so amusing.

“Just your mind, Grandpa,” Stacy retorted, “advanced senility will do that to you.”

“Senility?” Joe echoed, looking comically incredulous. “Senility?! Look, Kiddo, I wasn’t the one who forgot to--- ”

“That WASN’T my fault!”

“Will you two knock it off?” Hoss admonished his younger siblings. “The stage is almost here.”

“Aww, come on, Hoss . . . ease up, willya?!” Joe groaned. “What . . . I ask you . . . WHAT . . . is this world coming to when a good lookin’ young man and his sister can’t have a nice, civilized--- ”

“Civilized?!” Hoss queried, incredulous. “Civilized?” He shook his head, chuckling softly. “If you two think your discussions are nice ‘n civilized . . . I don’t ever wanna see your idea of a knock-down-drag-out, down in the mud rollin’ around, free-for all!”

“ . . . and what’s THAT supposed to mean?!” Joe demanded, favoring his big brother with the meanest, nastiest glare he could possibly summon.

“It means exactly that,” Hoss returned.

“Name one time one of our civilized discussions ended up in a knock-down-drag-out, down in the mud rollin’ around, free-for all,” Stacy challenged.

“How ‘bout when you ‘n Joe got into that, ummm discussion!? . . . about how far you’re supposed t’ put your pinkie finger when you’re drinkin’ at a big high society do, with Candy ‘n Mitch while we were movin’ the cattle out to the winter pastures last fall,” Hoss responded without missing a beat.

“So Stacy and I got a little muddy,” Joe shrugged.

“Make that VERY muddy, Baby Brother,” Hoss said, “and for the record, that was you, Stacy, Candy, Mitch, and a couple of the others.”

“You exaggerate, Big Brother,” Joe accused.

“Yeah!” Stacy declared with an emphatic nod of her head. “What Joe said!”

Ben turned and watched the approaching stage, bearing Adam and his Mexican born wife, Teresa, with happy anticipation. Adam, Teresa, and their two children Benjamin Eduardo, a.k.a. Benjy, and Dolores Elizabeth, Dio for short, had originally planned to come spend the summer at the Ponderosa. When Adam was asked to be best man for Matthew Wilson, his oldest and best friend, he and his wife decided to come earlier for the wedding.

The stage drew up to the depot, and stopped. The door opened. Adam stepped out first, followed by a tall, handsome man clad in a pair of dark blue slacks and a gray cotton turtle neck sweater. He had a full head of thick, wavy black hair, a broad chest and shoulders, well muscled, that tapered to a trim waist and washboard flat stomach. He gallantly held the stagecoach door while Adam turned and helped his wife step down.

Teresa di Cordova Cartwright was built along the lines of a classical Greek Goddess according to her husband. Her generous bosom flowed into a trim waist and marvelously rounded hips, tastefully shown to full advantage by the custom tailored jacket and full skirt of the traveling suit she wore. Its deep red hue stunningly complimented her raven black hair, her dark eyes, and healthy ruddy complexion.

“Adam, it’s so good to see you.” Ben, smiling broadly, immediately seized his oldest in a great big bear hug.

“Good seeing you, too, Pa,” Adam smiled, and hugged back with equal strength.

Father and son held on to each other for a time. “Well, Son, I can’t say you’re looking too thin,” Ben teased, when at last they parted.

“Teresa’s an excellent cook, Pa, you KNOW that,” Adam said, as they disengaged, “and she makes a point of keeping me well fed. Now, to change the subject . . . where’s this sister of mine I’ve heard so much about?”

“Stacy?”

“Right here, Pa.”

Ben gently took Stacy by the hand and drew her front and center. “Adam, this is your sister, Stacy,” he introduced his oldest and youngest with a proud smile. “Stacy, this is your oldest brother, Adam.”

Adam, who remembered Stacy’s mother very well, could see a lot of her in the young woman standing before him, especially in those intense blue eyes, the color of a clear autumn sky at its zenith. He also sensed within his young sister a quiet, yet forceful, poised confidence and self-assurance that Paris McKenna, her mother, had sorely lacked. Adam deftly took Stacy’s hand in his, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. “Pleased to meet you, Stacy, at last.”

“I-I’m pleased to meet you, too, Adam,” Stacy said with a surprised smile, and blushing for the second time within the space of half an hour. “I don’t recall anyone ever telling me that you’re so charming.”

“Take it from me, Little Sister, his charm is only skin deep,” Joe said with a grin. “Of course, you’ll have plenty of time to find that out for yourself.”

“I don’t know about that . . . . ” Adam’s wife, Teresa retorted with a saucy grin. “I happen to think the man’s VERY charming.” She paused, then added, “Of course I AM ever so slightly prejudiced.”

“Stacy, this is my wife, Teresa,” Adam said, as he placed his arm around her shoulders and drew her forward.

“How do you do, Stacy?” Teresa greeted her sister-in-law with a warm smile and a big hug.

“I’m glad to meet you, too, Teresa,” Stacy said, smiling and returning the hug.

Hoss, meanwhile, studied the passenger, who stood holding the stagecoach door, frowning. “Hey . . . it can’t be . . . Apollo?! Apollo Nikolas, you ol’ sea dog! Is that really you?”

The man turned and broke into a broad grin. “Well if it ain’t Hoss Cartwright!” he declared, offering his hand. “How’ve you been, you ol’ landlubber, you?”

“Fine, Apollo, how about yourself?”

“I’ve come home from the sea, Hoss,” Apollo said. “I decided it’s time to settle down and call one port my home.”

“Hey, Pa,” Hoss said, as Adam turned from his father and sister to greet his youngest brother, Joe, “you remember Apollo Nikolas, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” Ben replied. “You home for a visit?”

“I’m home to STAY, Mister Cartwright,” Apollo said with a big, warm smile. “The Sea is a tempestuous, passionate, and thoroughly irresistible mistress, but she’s NOT the marrying kind.”

“ . . . and well I know it,” Ben said with a wistful smile. He offered the young seaman his hand. “Welcome home, Apollo.”

“Thank you, Sir, it feels real good to be home,” Apollo declared as he and Ben shook hands.

“What will you be doing with yourself, now that you’re home?” Ben asked.

“Right now, I’m going to find myself a place to stay,” Apollo said, “get myself into a hot bath to wash away the road, shave, get myself fixed up pretty, so I can look up my girl tonight. Beyond that . . . . ” He shrugged.

“Hey, Apollo,” Adam called after him, “there’s going to be a bachelor party for Matt Wilson . . . . ” He looked over at his father expectantly.

“Friday night in the back room at the Silver Dollar,” Ben supplied the particulars. “Seven-thirty sharp.”

“You’re invited, if you don’t have any other plans,” Adam said.

“I’ll be there, Adam,” Apollo promised. “Thank you.”

“Good seein’ you, Apollo,” Hoss called after him, as he finally took his leave.

“Come here, Big Brother, and give me a hug,” Adam turned and greeted Hoss with a broad grin.

“Great seeing you, too, Adam,” Hoss said sincerely. He and Adam exchanged bear hugs. “If Teresa keeps feedin’ you as well as she’s doin’, I’m gonna be callin’ YOU Big Brother, ‘fore long.”

“Very funny,” Adam retorted with a wry grin.

“Hoss, you’ll always and forever be Big Brother, simply because you STAND a whole head ‘n a half taller ‘n the rest of us,” Joe said with an impish grin. “As for Adam, we can call HIM Grandpa.” His hazel eyes, sparkling with pure mischief focused pointedly on Adam’s graying sideburns and receding hairline.

“Now wait just a doggoned minute! If we call ADAM Grandpa, what do I call YOU?” Stacy demanded.

“How about Honorable and Venerable Older Brother Sir?” Joe suggested in a very solemn tone of voice.

“Great punch line, GRANDPA!” Stacy laughed. “I can’t wait to hear the rest of the joke.”

“Actually, since I AM the oldest, I think it would be far MORE appropriate for our BABY sister to address ME as Honorable and Venerable Older Brother Sir,” Adam said. An amused smile tugged hard at the corner of his mouth as he entered into the spirit of his younger siblings’ bantering.

“I can think of a few choice things t’ call the both of ya,” Hoss said grinning from ear-to-ear.

“Better NOT, Hoss. Pa’ll wash your mouth out with soap if you do,” Stacy said in a tone of voice too serious and somber.

“Oh yeah?” Hoss queried. “How do YOU know?”

“Because I was thinking some of the same things,” Stacy replied with a naughty, mischievous grin.

Ben, meanwhile, turned and gave his daughter-in-law a warm hug. “Teresa, Hop Sing’s gone all out preparing a Mexican menu for dinner,” he said.

“That’s wonderful!” Teresa exclaimed with genuine delight. “Hop Sing prepares Mexican food better than most Mexicans, including me.”

“Now I wouldn’t go so far as to say THAT,” Ben protested.

“Who’s the expert on Mexican cooking here, Ben?” Teresa demanded with mock severity. “You or ME?”

“In this case, I bow to the superior intellect,” Ben surrendered with a smile.

“Wise move, Pa,” Adam quipped, then added gratefully, “thanks again for arranging that bachelor party. It’s one of the duties of the best man, but since I don’t live here anymore, I wouldn’t have known where to begin.”

“More than happy to do it, Son,” Ben said.

“So what did you line up for the entertainment?”

“Adam, I found the prettiest . . . . ” the words suddenly died in his throat when he caught sight of his youngest son, daughter, and daughter-in-law staring at him intently. Stacy displayed the avid curiosity of youth about Friday night’s planned festivities; while Joe’s interest was piqued by a nose put very much out of joint, because he had not been included among the invited guests. Teresa’s face, however, held enough of a threatening element to give Ben a real good case of the ‘heebie-jeebies.’ “We’ll talk about it later,” he said very quickly.

“So help me, Adam Cartwright, if you end up in jail again like you did after that bachelor party for my brother Miguel . . . . ”

“Have no fear, Teresa,” Adam said smoothly. “PA’S the one who made all the arrangements. You can rest assured everything will be orderly, tasteful, and dignified.”

“Daggone it, Adam,” Hoss muttered under his breath, “I sure hope it don’t turn out to be TOO orderly, tasteful, and dignified.”

After the luggage had been loaded in the back of the buckboard, Adam lifted Teresa up to her seat, then climbed up and took his place beside her. Ben and Hoss took the front seat, with the latter taking up the reigns. Joe and Stacy rode ahead on Cochise and Blaze Face, their respective modes of transportation.

“I understand this wedding has become something on the order of the wedding of the century,” Adam remarked.

“Well, seein’ as how Matt and Colleen have been engaged for pert near nine years now . . . . ” Hoss said.

“Wow! Talk about long engagements,” Teresa remarked archly.

“Actually, they ain’t been engaged the whole time,” Hoss explained. “It’s been more off and on. He proposes, she accepts, they start plannin’ the wedding, they fight, she breaks the engagement, they make up, he proposes . . . . ”

“ . . . and this has been going on for NINE YEARS?!” Teresa exclaimed incredulously.

“Sounds like a penny dreadful novel,” Adam said wryly. “Matt asked me to be his best man, I accepted. I had no idea things were so complicated.”

“I didn’t even know the wedding was on again until I got Adam’s letter about being Matt’s best man,” Ben confessed.

“How do you know they’re not going to get into a fight and break up again?” Teresa asked.

“For one thing, it’s been a whole month now since he proposed, she accepted, and they started planning the wedding,” Hoss replied.

“Only a month?!” Adam echoed, with a puzzled frown.

“That’s a new record, Adam,” Hoss said with a smile. “Lately, it’s only been a week or two between the marriage proposal and breakin’ the engagement.”

“Now that I think about it . . . this is also the closest those two have come to an actual set wedding date without calling the whole thing off,” Ben added.

“The three times before this? Matt an’ Colleen was fightin’ like cats ‘n dogs before they could even THINK about settin’ a date,” Hoss explained. “Hey, Pa?”

“Yes, Hoss?”

“I hear Mick O’Flynn’s givin’ ten to one odds that the weddin’ actually takes place.”

“Hmpf! Last I heard, that old scalawag was giving something closer to TWENTY to one odds,” Ben said with a scowl. “ . . . uhhh, Hoss . . . . ”

“Yeah, Pa?”

“I hope you haven’t placed any bets with Mister O’Flynn . . . . ”

“What makes ya think I’d, uhhhh . . . that I’d . . . w-well . . . that I’d, uuhhh . . . d-do . . . what ya j-just said, Pa . . . . ” Hoss stammered, as he quickly turned and fixed his eyes to the road stretching out before him. His reply coupled with an unusually anemic complexion drew a mildly questioning glance, with eyebrow slightly upraised from his older brother and a dark glare from his father.

“So who’s Mick O’Flynn?” Teresa asked, intrigued by the looks on the faces of her husband, brother-in-law, and father-in-law.

“Aww . . . he’s a li’l old man, always kinda down on his luck . . . but he’s a real NICE fella, ‘n real smart, too,” Hoss replied, profoundly relieved and exceedingly grateful for the change of subject. “He came to Virginia City some time last year . . . . ”

“ . . . fleeing a bench warrant for his arrest somewhere else, no doubt,” Ben muttered softly under his breath.

“He’s what most folks call a jack of all trades,” Hoss continued.

“He’s a con man,” Ben added, “a bootlegger, bookmaker, TROUBLE maker, he cheats at cards--- ”

“Pa, it was only that one time!” Hoss protested.

“ . . . that you know about because he happened to get caught!” Ben argued. “That man has more tricks up his sleeve than a magician, AND it wouldn’t surprise ME one bit if he turned out to be the guilty party behind the rash of thefts that’s been going on in Virginia City for the past couple of months.”

“Thefts, Pa?” Adam queried.

“It’s a lot of petty thefts, Son,” Ben sighed, “picking pockets, snatching purses, shoplifting, that sort of thing. Roy told me about it earlier.”

“Does Sheriff Coffee have any leads?” Adam asked.

Ben shook his head. “Roy says the thief moves in and out so fast, no one’s been able to give him a description, let alone identify him.”

“Now that right there’s proof positive Mister O’Flynn ain’t behind the thefts goin’ on in Virginia City,” Hoss said. “That man’s got arthritis so bad, he can’t move in ‘n outta nothin’ fast.”

“Alright . . . maybe he’s NOT doing the actual stealing,” Ben had to admit, “but it IS possible he’s the BRAINS behind the whole thing like that man in Mister Dickens novel . . . . ” He fell silent trying to remember. “Adam, help me out here . . . . ”

“The man you’re thinking of is Fagan, Pa,” Adam said. “The story’s Oliver Twist.”

“Aww, Pa . . . . ” Hoss groaned. “I think you’re bein’ a little hard on Mister O’Flynn.”

“Not after all the trouble that man stirred up after what Hop Sing’s relatives refer to as the Lo Mein Affair,” Ben said, his scowl deepening.

“Now, Pa . . . . ”

“Don’t you ‘now, Pa,’ ME, Erik Hoss Cartwright!” Ben sternly admonished his middle son. “Do you realize Mister O’Flynn had the gall . . . the sheer GALL . . . to blame ME for that fiasco!?”

“Mister O’Flynn didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” Hoss vestured hesitantly, all the while flinching away from the ferocious scowl in his father’s face. “It was an honest mistake, Pa . . . ‘n . . . when ya take everything into account . . . well, even YOU gotta admit it’s understandable.”

“I admit no such thing!” Ben growled. “The fact of the matter is . . . I DIDN’T do it.”

“Pa, what’s this Lo Mein Affair you and Hoss are talking about?” Adam asked.

“The less said about it, the better,” Ben said grimly.

Hoss went home by way of the scenic route, taking Adam and his wife past some of the more the more breathtaking vistas the Ponderosa had to offer. Teresa, an urbanite born and bred, was awed by the wide expanse of sky, distant mountains, blue lake waters, and the tall, stately ponderosa pine trees. Adam found himself seeing his old home in a whole new way, through the entranced eyes of his wife. Though the drive from Virginia City was longer, they still made good time in reaching the house. Joe and Stacy, who had reached home in plenty of time to have tended their own horses, were on hand to unhitch the buckboard, with Candy’s help.

“Adam, I thought you an’ Teresa was gonna travel light when you came for the weddin’,” Hoss said, as he lifted the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth bags down from the back of the buckboard.

“Three trunks, fifteen bags, three band boxes IS traveling light, Big Brother,” Adam said, the barest hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re joshin’!”

“Nope.”

“Apollo Nikolas’ timely arrival ought to make things interesting,” Joe remarked, while he and Candy freed the first horse from its harness.

“How so, Grandpa?” Stacy asked, as she led the first horse away from the buggy towards an open stall for a rub down.

“Until Apollo went to sea to make his fortune, he and Colleen were a very, VERY close twosome,” Joe explained. “They were good friends . . . kinda like Lotus ‘n me until, ohhh . . . ‘long about the fifth grade, I think . . . . ”

“What happened when they were in the fifth grade?” Stacy asked.

“They fell in love.”

“Love!” Hoss snorted. “Joe . . . for cryin’ out loud, Apollo ‘n Colleen were just a couple o’ kids. What in the world do a couple o’ ten year olds know ‘bout love?!”

“I’D say plenty,” Joe quipped. “From fifth grade on, didn’t they always buddy up with each other every time you had to work with a partner on a big school project?”

“Well . . . yeah . . . I s’pose . . . . ”

“ . . . and didn’t they always walk to and from school together?”

“Yeah . . . . ”

“ . . . AND didn’t Apollo always carry Colleen’s books?”

“Yeah . . . . ”

“ . . . and when THEY were around the same age as our kid sister over here . . . how many times did that gossipy ol’ busy body, Miss Mudgely, make snide comments about the two of ‘em being joined at the hip?”

“ . . . lots,” Hoss replied, as he slowly exhaled a long, audible, melancholy sigh.

“ . . . uhhh, Grandpa?”

“Yeah, Stace?”

“What did Miss Mudgely mean when she said that Apollo and Colleen were joined at the hip?”

“When you’re older, Kiddo . . . MUCH older,” Joe replied, drawing an exasperated sigh and a sarcastic roll of the eyes from his young sister.

“Alright! Apollo ‘n Colleen DID walk t’ school together . . . yeah, he carried her books t’ school ‘n back . . . ‘n they buddied up on a lotta school projects,” Hoss admitted with much reluctance. “They also went t’ all the dances . . . went on picnics . . . he’d also win a great big teddy bear for her at the target shoot every year at the Founders’ Day doin’s. But that DON’T mean they were in love.”

“How about when Apollo left to sail the seven seas?” Joe queried. “Frankie . . . Colleen’s brother . . . told me that she cried for the better part of a whole long month of Sundays. Now if THAT ain’t love, Big Brother--- ”

“Joe . . . that was pert near TEN years ago,” Hoss immediately pointed out, “ ‘n the whole time he was gone? Apollo didn’t even write her . . . not one time, ‘n it wasn’t too long after he left that Colleen was steppin’ out with MATT.”

“ . . . uhhh, Hoss?”

“Yeah, Li’l Sister?”

“Didn’t Apollo Nikolas say something to Pa about getting himself clean and pretty so he could look up his girl tonight?” Stacy asked, as she finished rubbing down the first horse.

Joe flashed Hoss a smug ‘See-didn’t-I-tell-you-so?’ grin.

“Joe . . . just in case y’ ain’t noticed . . . Colleen ain’t the ONLY gal livin’ in Virginia City,” Hoss argued.

“I KNOW that, Big Brother,” Joe replied, favoring the biggest of his siblings with a withering glare. “So what?!”

“So the gal Apollo’s plannin’ t’ see tonight ain’t necessarily Colleen.”

“On the other hand she could very well BE Colleen,” Joe argued.

“ . . . uhhh, Stacy?”

“Yeah, Hoss?”

“Did Apollo happen t’ say the NAME the gal he’s fixin’ to visit tonight?”

“Nope.” Stacy shook her head.

“There y’ are, Baby Brother,” Hoss declared with a smug grin. “Come Saturday, this weddin’ is goin’ off without a hitch, you mark my words. I got twenty bucks ridin’ on it.”

“We’ll see,” Joe said. He led the first horse to the back door of the barn and released him into the enormous corral beyond, while Stacy moved the second horse to the open stall for a rub down.

“Come on, Adam, let’s start haulin’ this stuff inside,” Hoss said, lifting a trunk with four bags piled on top.

“Next time I’m in town, I’m betting that wedding DOESN’T come off this time,” Joe declared with relish. “Colleen’s gonna take up with Apollo while Matt renews his acquaintance with that gal at the Silver Dollar.” He frowned. “What’s her name?”

“Which one, Grandpa?” Stacy asked.

“The one Frankie O’Hanlan’s got a crush on.”

“Oh! You mean Clarissa Starling,” Stacy said thoughtfully. “Joe?”

“Yeah, Kiddo?”

“Would you mind placing a bet for me?”

“With what?” Joe teased. “The last three advances on your allowance have you in hock for the next ten years.”

“SLIGHT exaggeration, Grandpa,” Stacy declared loftily.

“VERY slight,” Joe countered. “I know for a fact Pa’s gonna let you have a FOURTH advance when certain nether regions famous for hot temperatures get hit by frost.”

“I found a dollar in my coat pocket,” Stacy admitted.

“Stacy, if Pa finds out YOU’RE placing bets with Mick O’Flynn, you’re gonna be hip deep in sheep dip,” Joe said soberly, “and I’M gonna be all the way up to my neck if he finds out I placed the bet FOR you. You know that don’t you?”

“Were you planning on telling him?” Stacy asked.

“ . . . uh, no.”

“Good! Neither was I.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Alright,” he agreed. “How do you want to place your bet?”

Stacy whispered her instructions in his ear.

Joe’s eyes grew round with shock and astonishment. He whistled. “Talk about your long shots!” he shrugged. “Oh, well, it’s your buck.”

Ben and Teresa, meanwhile, had gone into the house.

“Mrs. Teresa,” Hop Sing greeted Adam’s wife with a broad grin, “so good to see you again.”

“It’s wonderful seeing you again, too, Hop Sing,” Teresa greeted him with a warm smile and a hug. “Ben tells me you’ve prepared a Mexican meal for dinner. I can’t wait.”

“In Mrs. Teresa’s honor,” Hop Sing said proudly. “Come see!” He deftly took Teresa by the elbow and steered her in the direction of the kitchen.

“Hey!” Ben said, with hands on hips. “How does SHE rate going into the kitchen and the rest of us don’t?”

Hop Sing turned and glared defiantly at Ben. “Mrs. Teresa neat and clean lady. Make no mess in Hop Sing’s kitchen,” he replied.

“Pa?” It was Hoss, with Adam following. Between them, they carried the luggage belonging to the latter and his wife. “Where do you want these?”

“Adam, I thought I’d put you and Teresa in your old room,” Ben said, “unless you’d rather have the guest room.”

“My old room’s fine,” Adam replied. “Where’s Teresa?”

“You won’t believe this, Son,” Ben said with a puzzled glance at the kitchen door. “Hop Sing actually invited her into his kitchen.”

Hoss let out a long, slow whistle. “Now don’t THAT beat all,” he murmured, shaking his head.

“You’re right, Pa! I DON’T believe it,” Adam declared.

“Come on, Adam, let’s get this up to your room,” Hoss said.

Adam fell in step behind his younger, bigger brother and followed him upstairs to the familiar room at the southern end of the house. The arrangement of furniture remained as it had been the day he left the Ponderosa to make his own fortune elsewhere. The personal items, his books, engravings of Greek antiquities, a small rock collection, the miniature portrait of his parents, all the things that defined this room as a space uniquely his own, were long gone. Pa had given him the miniature portrait for his birthday the year he and Teresa had announced their engagement. The other things had no doubt been relegated to the attic. Now the room had the same impersonal atmosphere as the guest room.

“Adam, what in the world did Teresa pack in this trunk anyway?” Hoss half-set half- dropped the trunk on the floor next to the foot of the bed. He straightened and heaved a long, heavy sigh of relief. “I’ve picked up and carried boulders that were a sight lighter.”

“Books,” Adam said.

Hoss shook his head. “I’ve heard o’ heavy readin’ before, but that’s dadburn ridiculous.”

“Very funny,” Adam retorted with a wry chuckle. “Come on, let’s get the rest of the stuff up here.”

“I can manage the rest, if ‘n you want to get a start on the unpackin’,” Hoss said casting a pointed glance at the vast array of bag and baggage already deposited at various points through out the room.

“Good idea,” Adam agreed readily. “I WOULD like to get it done by bedtime.”

Hoss left and returned a few moments later with the last of Adam and Teresa’s luggage. “You need any help with unpackin’?” he asked.

Adam shook his head. “I can manage with that,” he said, “however, I would appreciate some hot water for a quick wash and maybe a shave before dinner.”

“Comin’ right up,” Hoss promised.

Left alone, Adam set himself to the chore of unpacking, since his wife would in all likelihood be in the kitchen with Hop Sing until the meal was served. He still found that difficult to believe, given how territorial Hop Sing could be about that kitchen.

This visit marked Adam’s third to the old homestead since his move to Sacramento, and Teresa’s second. This summer would mark the first time his children ever visited the Ponderosa. By contrast, his father made a point of stopping by to see him at least once, sometimes twice a year, when business took him to Sacramento. Since the arrival of Benjy and Dio, Ben, more often than not, extended his visits by several days.

“Adam, when are you, Teresa, and the kids going to come see US?” Pa always asked. “They have yet to meet Uncle Hoss and Uncle Joe . . . . ”

For the last six years, Aunt Stacy had been added to the list, as well.

“Soon, Pa,” Adam always answered . . . .

Maybe for Christmas, maybe next summer when Benjy and Dio are finished with school for the year, maybe, maybe, maybe. So many years of maybes, that for one reason or another never came to pass.

Adam did make a point of keeping in touch with his family via the U. S. mail, and the occasional telegram, especially since his marriage to Teresa and subsequent births of their two children. Still, the distance in miles and interests kept them apart. Though he loved his father and two younger brothers dearly, he sometimes felt the odd man out, especially after his return home from Harvard University. He could, on occasion, discuss his intellectual interests with his father, but his brothers . . . .

Adam sighed very softly and shook his head.

Joe would start out listening politely to what amounted to a one sided lecture, that more often than not degenerated into an angry diatribe, when the kid decided to stick his own ‘two cents’ in. Hoss’ eyes would simply glaze over at the outset.

In Teresa di Cordova, he met and married a warm, passionate woman every bit his intellectual equal. His father and brothers came to Sacramento for the wedding. They, of course, fell in love with her the moment they met her. Teresa was able to relate and talk to them with an ease that left Adam feeling a little envious.

“How many more years do we have left to us?” Adam pondered the question silently, regretting the near decade of unfulfilled maybes. “None of us are getting any younger.” Seeing his brothers, Hoss and Joe, at the stage depot this afternoon, brought home this inevitable fact of life with all the force of a sledgehammer. When he had left the Ponderosa, both of them were practically kids, especially Joe. The brothers he saw today were grown men, his peers rather than his kid brothers.

“ . . . and today I meet my kid SISTER . . . who’s not much of a kid anymore . . . for the very first time!” Adam ruminated, realizing for the first time that it had been quite awhile since Pa had last referred to her as ‘a li’l slip of a gal’ in his letters.

A soft knock at on the open door drew him from his reverie. He turned and saw his father with a bowl of steaming hot water.

“Thanks, Pa,” Adam said, taking the bowl from Ben. “Teresa still with Hop Sing in the kitchen?”

Ben nodded, as he stepped into the room. “I just looked in on them,” he said. “Hop Sing was letting her sample the meat for the tacos.”

“Really?” Adam looked over at Ben, eyebrow raised. “The last time I tried to sample something while it was cooking, Hop Sing chased me all the way out to the corral.”

“I remember,” Ben said with a chuckle.

Adam opened his toiletries bag and removed his razor, brush, cup, and shaving soap. “Looks like Hop Sing’s mellowing out in his old age,” he remarked.

“Not hardly, Son,” Ben said, grinning. “Hop Sing would have run your baby brother and sister out of the kitchen with a carving knife about a month ago, if I hadn’t intervened.”

“A carving knife?!” Adam queried with a wry smile and upraised eyebrow.

“Ok, ok . . . slight exaggeration,” Ben admitted with a chuckle.

“ . . . and you . . . intervened?” Adam laughed along with his father. “Gotta hand it to ya, Pa . . . you’ve got more guts than I have.”

“Hop Sing said to tell you dinner will be served in an hour,” Ben said. “I don’t think I need to remind ya to be seated at the table on time, ready to eat it while it’s hot.”

“Nope.” Adam shook his head. “Pa?”

“Yes, Son?”

“I’m glad there’s a few things in this world that never change,” Adam said with a nostalgic smile.

“I guess I’d better let you get washed and shaved, Son. See you at the table.”

“Ok, Pa,” Adam said as he lathered his face. “Thanks again for the hot water.”

Apollo Nikolas, meanwhile, checked into Kirk’s Hostelry, a boarding house owned and operated by one Rita Mae Kirk and her widowed mother, Eloise. Located on a quiet street near the edge of town, the establishment offered clean linens, comfortable beds, and good old fashioned home-style cooking, prepared by Eloise Kirk herself.

“Apollo Nikolas, as I live and breathe!” Rita Mae declared smiling broadly. “I hear say you’re home for good.”

“I see news still travels fast in Virginia City,” Apollo observed with a wry grin, “and I’m NOT talking about the telegraph wires.”

“Nothing faster than Miss Mudgely’s word of mouth,” Rita Mae replied. “Now where’s that Billy Lee?”

“Don’t worry about Billy Lee,” Apollo said. “I can heft m’ own gear.” He bent down and picked up a large, canvas duffle bag and a smaller carpetbag. “You just lead the way, Rita Mae.”

Apollo’s parents, Demetrius and Hellene Nikolas had died not long after he put to sea, both within six months of the other. His mother had finally succumbed to the illness she had fought so valiantly for a number of years. His father, according to Doc Martin, had simply wanted to be with the wife, with whom he had shared the better part of thirty-two years. Both were buried, side-by-side, on the hill overlooking the big pasture and the pond enclosed within.

“ . . . it was their favorite spot,” his twin sister, Athena, had written in the letter informing him of their parents’ deaths. “They went out there together every night to watch the sunset, unless the weather was bad or if it was too cold, until Mama became too weak. A few days before Mama died, they asked Jack and me to bury them there on top of that hill.”

His sister and brother-in-law, Athena and Jack Hurley, now owned and worked the farm that had once belonged to his parents. “Which is only fitting since they’ve been helping Papa with the farm since the day they said their ‘I do’s, more years ago than I care to count sometimes,” he mused silently. “They also helped Papa take care of Mama and, when Papa became sick that last time, they looked after him, too.” Athena and Jack had identical twin sons, Harlan and David, both of whom were children when he put out to sea all those years ago, and a daughter Cassandra, who was barely out of diapers. The Hurleys were all the family he had left in the world. Tomorrow morning, after breakfast, he planned to ride out and see them.

Tonight, however, Apollo planned see the beautiful girl who had haunted his dreams mostly waking, occasionally sleeping, for the past ten years. He wrote her nearly everyday for that last decade, though he had not heard word one from her. This he blamed entirely on the inherent difficulty of getting the mail through to sailors at sea. Apollo had also kept himself wholly for her, except for the few times he was feeling especially homesick, and had sought comfort in the arms of a stranger in an exotic port of call half way around the world. Even so, in his own mind, he had never given his heart to any of those lovely exotic women. That was, and always would be, reserved for Miss Colleen Bridget O’Hanlan. It never occurred to him that ten years had passed since he had last seen Colleen, and that she might have given her own heart to another in that time.

“You’ve arrived just in time for the Wedding of the Century,” Rita Mae said as she led the way up the stairs.

“Matt Wilson?” Apollo queried.

“You’ve heard?”

“Only about the bachelor party,” Apollo replied. “I come in on the same stage as Adam Cartwright, the best man. He and his pa invited me to the party.”

“Really,” Rita Mae murmured tonelessly. “Are you . . . going?”

Apollo had to chuckle at her hesitancy. “Of course I’m going,” he declared stoutly. “One thing I do remember before putting out to sea was that the Cartwright family knew how to give great parties.” His face fell slightly. “They’ve not forgotten how . . . have they?”

“No, absolutely not,” Rita Mae said quickly. “Have you, uuh . . . seen Colleen yet?”

“Not yet,” Apollo replied. “I was planning to visit this evening, which reminds me, Rita Mae . . . can I get hot water for a bath and shave?”

“I’ll see to it at once,” Rita Mae replied, as they came to a stop before the closed door at the far end of the corridor. “Here you are, Apollo.” She opened the door. “Keys . . . . ” She tossed them onto the dresser next to the door. “Breakfast begins at eight sharp. Dinner’s at noon, and supper on the dot of six.”

“Thanks, Rita Mae.”

Rita Mae pulled the door shut behind him, after he had entered.

“Y’ oughtta be ashamed o’ yourself, Miss Margarita Mae Kirk. Do you hear me?! Ashamed!” It was her mother, Eloise standing a few feet behind her with a thunderous scowl on her face, and both hands planted firmly on her hips.

“ . . . and what have I done to be so ashamed o’ myself?”

“I listened to everything you told Apollo,” her mother said severely. “I don’t recall you sayin’ one word about Colleen O’Hanlan bein’ the one whut’s gettin’ hitched to Matt Wilson.”

“Well, of course not,” Rita Mae said, “and he’s not going to hear it from me, either.” She paused for a moment to glare at her mother. “Do you want to know why? Because I have twenty-five bucks riding that says Matt and Colleen are finally gonna go through with it.”

“He’s gonna find out,” Eloise said. “Sooner or later, he WILL. You know how people in this town’re given t’ talk . . . . ” This last prompted a wry glance from her daughter.

“Be that as it may, Ma,” Rita Mae said with an indifferent shrug. “He’s NOT going to hear it from ME.”

Dinner at the Cartwright home was served exactly one hour later. Ben occupied his usual place at the head of the table, with Adam on his right and Hoss on his left. Teresa sat between Adam and Stacy, with Joe on the opposite side of the table sandwiched between Hoss and Candy. Hop Sing sat at the foot of the table.

“Hop Sing, this meal is wonderful,” Teresa sighed with pure pleasure. “I’d forgotten how talented you are in the kitchen.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Teresa,” Hop Sing grinned from ear to ear. “More enchiladas?”

“Thank you, don’t mind if I do,” Teresa replied, eagerly helping herself.

“How about Miss Stacy?” Hop Sing queried.

“Yes, I’ll have some more . . . . ” she looked over at Teresa “ . . . enchiladas?”

“Si,” Teresa replied with a smile.

“I’ll have another taco, too,” Stacy said. “Hop Sing, this IS delicious. I hope you’ll cook Mexican more often.”

“Thank you, Miss Stacy,” Hop Sing said, smiling. “Coming from you, that high praise. Very high praise indeed!”

“Hey, Kid, you and Big Brother here change bodies?” Joe queried looking from Stacy over to Hoss, then back to Stacy.

“No, not the last time I checked,” Stacy replied, as she dug into one of the enchiladas on her plate with relish. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re chowing down like there’s no tomorrow the way HOSS usually does, and he’s picking at his plate like YOU usually do,” Joe said.

“Sorry, Hop Sing . . . and Teresa,” Hoss said, his voice filled with remorse. “This little stuff ‘s all well an’ good, but a big fella like me needs something he can . . . well, he can sink his teeth into.”

“Eat, Mister Hoss,” Hop Sing laughed. “Plenty more for big fella to sink teeth into waiting in kitchen.”

“Pa, about the entertainment Friday night,” Adam said, leaning in closer to his father.

Ben invited Hoss to join the huddle with a glance. “Boys, I’ve lined up twelve Parisian dancing gals,” he said, his dark eyes gleaming with eager anticipation.

“As in from Paris, France, Pa?” Hoss queried, taking care to keep his voice low. His blue eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Yes, Son, as in from Paris, France,” Ben replied. He darted a quick glance at Stacy and Teresa, and saw, much to his satisfaction and relief, that the two of them had their heads together in what looked to be very animated conversation. “Boys,” he continued, “these ladies have GOT to be the twelve prettiest women west of the Mississippi.”

“Oh yeah?” It was Joe, eagerly eavesdropping with a big silly grin on his face. “You REALLY got the twelve prettiest gals west of the Mississippi coming to this shindig?!”

“You’ve the twelve prettiest gals west of the Mississippi coming to this party, eh?” Teresa said, glaring daggers at the three men seated and the head end of the table. “Stacy, it looks like the two of us are invited after all.”

“ . . . and where, pray, would you get an idea like THAT?” Adam queried, favoring his loving wife with a disdainful glare.

“It’s the only LOGICAL conclusion,” Teresa returned, every bit as wry, sarcastic, and disdainful as Adam could be at his very worst. Joe quickly raised his napkin up to cover his mouth, hiding the big silly grin he could not erase, not even to save his life.

“My gut tells me I’m better off NOT asking this, but I’ve got to know . . . . ” Adam returned, “what, exactly, is your reasoning?”

“Ben just got through saying that he’s arranged for the twelve prettiest women west of the Mississippi to be at this party, correct?”

“Yes . . . . ” Adam replied, bracing himself for the dropping of the other shoe.

“Well, given that Stacy and I . . . . ” Teresa turned and favored her sister-in-law with a smile and a wink, “ . . . happen to be tied for the number one spot . . . . ”

“You’re absolutely right, Teresa,” Ben said quietly. “Let’s make that the twelve prettiest gals west of the Mississippi . . . PRESENT COMPANY EXCEPTED.”

Adam flashed his wife a smug cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, and deftly thumbed up his nose.

Teresa immediately retaliated by sticking out her tongue.

“ . . . ummm um!” Joe quipped, his grin broadening. “Adam, the minute you introduced me to this lovely lady, I just knew that Teresa was gonna be real good for you.”

“Why, thank you, Joe,” Teresa said, smiling warmly over at the younger of her two brothers-in-law.

“Adam . . . Hoss . . . we’ll discuss this later,” Ben said, looking from Joe, to Teresa, to Stacy.

“Teresa, I need a really big favor from you,” Stacy said, returning her attention to the meal at hand.

“Certainly,” Teresa readily agreed. “What do you need?”

“I’m having a dress made for this wedding,” Stacy explained. “Pa said I had to.”

“Pa was absolutely right,” Joe teased. “Britches and boots are definitely NOT the right kind of attire for a young la---uhhh . . . oops!” He flinched under the homicidal glare she leveled in his direction, “ . . . uuhh, make that young WOMAN . . . . ”

“That’s better,” Stacy said.

“ . . . to wear to a wedding.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Well, Pa was ALSO absolutely right when he said you have to wear your . . . how do you phrase that? Oh yeah! Your monkey suit!” Stacy countered.

“I do NOT!” Joe indignantly protested.

“You do SO!” Stacy argued.

“Do NOT!”

“You do SO!” Ben immediately chimed in before Stacy could open her mouth.

“Aww, come ON, Pa,” Joe groaned. “Do I really HAVE to?”

“Yes, you do,” Ben said sternly, “WITH a tie.”

“A tie?!” Joe cried out in complete and utter dismay.

“That’s right, Son . . . a TIE!” Ben reiterated

“Oooohh NO!”

“Oh yes!”

“Paaa-aaaaahhh . . . . ”

“Anyway . . . . ” Stacy returned her attention to Teresa, “I’m supposed go in for a fitting tomorrow afternoon, and I’d like you to come along as a consultant.”

Teresa smiled. “Stacy, I’d be honored,” she replied.

Ben, overhearing snatches of the conversation between his daughter and daughter-in-law, was gratified and deeply relieved that Stacy had actually sought Teresa’s counsel on her own. In recent months, he found himself fretting more often about the scarcity of feminine influence in his daughter’s life. Stacy was no longer a child. She was, almost overnight, blossoming into a lovely young woman. It seemed so to him, anyway. Ben had no illusions about his own ignorance in such matters as appropriate attire for young women. Stacy knew even less than he did about such things. Her insistence on keeping the details of her new dress a surprise had done nothing to ease his worries.

That coupled with a conversation a few weeks ago with his youngest son on that particular subject . . . .

. . . a conversation that he couldn’t begin to recall to save his life, except for a handful of certain key words like bright colors . . . satin . . . like the gals at the Silver Dollar wear.

Ben offered a silent heartfelt prayer of thanks for his daughter-in-law’s fortuitous arrival.

“Hey, Pa,” Hoss said sotto voce, “Stacy and Teresa are back talkin’ with each other again.”

“They certainly are,” Adam agreed, as he and Hoss moved back in close.

“Tell us again about them prettiest twelve gals this side of the Mississippi,” Hoss prompted with an eager grin.

“Present company excepted, of course,” Adam added wryly.

“They’re Parisian can-can dancers,” Ben said, taking care to keep his voice low.

“What’s can-can dancers, Pa?” Hoss queried.

“Short skirts kicking up lots of loo-ooo-ng, shapely leg,” Adam replied with a sly grin.

“Short skirts kicking up lots of long leg, ‘ey?” Joe echoed, raising his voice loud enough for his sister and sister-in-law to hear. “Why wasn’t I invited to this party?”

“Look, BABY Brother, this happens to be a PRIVATE conversation,” Adam said sardonically.

“You don’t even know Matt Wilson,” Hoss pointed out.

“I do SO!” Joe argued.

“Y’ ain’t a close friend like Adam ‘n me,” Hoss countered.

“Joe? You can always join me and the guys for a couple o’ beers over at the Bucket of Blood on Friday night,” Candy said with a wry, ironic grin.

“Thanks,” Joe sighed, thinking of how beer and a night out with the boys were poor substitutes for short skirts and long legs. “I’ll, umm . . . let you know.”

“You know, tomorrow we could ALL go into town together,” Ben said. “Hoss and Adam can take the buckboard, pick up the food and decorations for the party, and get the stuff over to the Silver Dollar for Friday night . . . . ”

“ . . . while you drive Teresa and me in the buggy to the dress shop and join the guys later?” Stacy said.

“I . . . h-how did you know I w-was going to suggest . . . . ?!” Ben stammered, taken completely by surprise.

“Pa, even I could see that one coming,” Joe said grinning.

“You’ll see it when it’s finished, Pa.” Stacy obstinately stood her ground.

“Alright, Young Woman, you’ve forced my hand,” Ben said sternly.

“Uh oh, Kid, you’re in for it now,” Joe crowed.

“I’m willing to forget the last three advances on your allowance,” Ben said, drawing looks of shock and stupefaction from his three sons.

“Now, that’s an offer I CAN’T refuse,” Stacy said. “Ok, YOU can come, Pa, just remember, Teresa’s my consultant.”

“I’ll remember,” Ben promised.

“That’s not fair, Little Sister,” Hoss complained. “How come Pa gets to see your new dress first?”

“Because the last three advances on my allowance have me in hock until Christmas,” Stacy replied, “of NEXT year.”

“Stacy, there IS the matter of what’s become known as the Lo Mein Affair,” Joe threatened.

“I had nothing to do with that, Joseph Francis Cartwright, and you da---uhhh! You, ummm DARNED well know it!” Stacy declared, with an indignant scowl.

“The circumstantial evidence is awfully compelling, Kiddo,” Joe hastened to point out.

“Ok, ok, you guys win,” Stacy acquiesced quickly. “You can come, too.”

“Seeing as how everyone else is going, I might as well invite myself along,” Adam said.

“Hop Sing . . . Candy, we might as well make it a family outing,” Stacy sighed, surrendering to the inevitable.

“This I’ve got to see,” Candy said grinning. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

“Hop Sing come, too,” Hop Sing promised.

“Looks like that fitting room at Madame Darnier’s shop’s gonna be awfully crowded tomorrow,” Stacy sighed.

“How?” Clarissa Starling sobbed. “How could he do this to me? He an’ I were talkin’ about our own wedding, f-f-for c-cryin’ out loud.”

She sat before the vanity table in her room upstairs at the Silver Dollar Saloon, still wearing a nightgown of silk, dyed a light sea green, and matching satin wrap. She had green eyes the color of tree leaves in summertime, and long, thick, luxurious curls the color of burnished copper. Aged in her early twenties, she had a slim, willowy figure, with flat stomach and a subtle curve of the hip. Clarissa had started work at the Silver Dollar four years ago when her pa died suddenly in a mine collapse. Her mother had never recovered from the shock and grief. Clarissa, the eldest, found herself in the place of having to earn a living to not only support herself and her mother, but three younger sisters as well.

Sally Tyler, Clarissa’s closest friend and confident since she had gone to work at the Silver Dollar, rose from the bed on which she had been sitting and walked over to stand behind the distraught younger woman. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured, as she slipped her arms around Clarissa’s shoulders. “But . . . . ”

“B-but?” Clarissa sniffled. “But what, Sally?”

Sally sat down on the edge of the vanity table bench. “Clarissa, this is a harsh fact o’ life for gals like us,” she said, looking her friend earnestly in the eye. Her heart went out to the young woman seated next to her. Had it not been for her pa’s sudden demise in that cave in a few years ago, Clarissa would now be married to a decent man very much like Matt Wilson, leading the life of a rancher’s wife or a respected Virginia City matron. Though Clarissa still clung to that dream for dear life, the ever-practical Sally knew that, for all intents and purposes, her dream had died the first day the girl started work at the Silver Dollar. “Clarissa, look at me.”

Clarissa looked over meeting Sally’s hazel eyes with her own vivid green ones, sparkling with the brightness of unshed tears.

“You’re young and very pretty,” Sally said sincerely. “What’s more, you’ve got the kind o’ prettiness that lasts. You’ll still be pretty long after I’ve gone to fat and Laurie Lee’s turned into a spindly ol’ prune.”

Clarissa smiled through her tears at the thought of the vivacious Laurie Lee Bonner turning into a wrinkled prune.

“That means you’re gonna have men takin’ up with you for many years t’ come,” Sally continued, “an’ nine outta ten of ‘em will talk real big about gettin’ married, but the minute their respectable girlfriends . . . . an’ sometimes even their wives, beckon, they’re off like a shot.”

“That’s not right,” Clarissa sobbed.

“No, it ain’t,” Sally agreed wholeheartedly, “but that’s the way it IS.” She paused to allow her words to sink in. “Honey, the sooner you accept that, the less your heart’ll be broke over men like Matt Wilson.”

“You mean I’m never gonna get married? Never gonna have a brood o’ kids o’ my own?” Clarissa asked dismally.

Clarissa looked so grief-stricken, Sally almost burst into tears herself. “You might,” she said. “Jenna Wilkes, bless her heart, got herself hitched last year to a right decent fella from Carson City, but you can’t bank your hopes on that anymore.”

“Don’t YOU ever wanna get married, Sally?” Clarissa asked.

Sally shook her head. “Bein’ the oldest gal in the family, I had to pretty much take over the cookin’, cleanin’ an’ helping Pa raise two rambunctious kid brothers after Ma died,” she replied. “After Ralphie, the youngest, came o’ age, I kinda felt like I’d done raised MY kids. I wanted more ‘n anything to be on my own.”

“You have any regrets, Sally?”

“Nope,” Sally shook her head. She gave her young friend a reassuring hug. “It’s gettin’ late, Clarissa,” she said in a gentle, yet firm tone. “Time t’ be washin’ your face an’ gettin’ dressed, so’s we c’n grab a bite o’ supper. We go to work at seven sharp.”

Apollo left Kirk’s Hostelry that evening promptly at seven o’clock. He had bathed, shaved, and had even found time during the afternoon to make a trip to the barbershop. He wore his dark blue first mate’s uniform with a white turtleneck sweater. As he climbed up on the horse he had rented from the livery stable, Apollo cursed himself for not remembering to buy flowers. He did, however, have a special gift, beautifully wrapped by Rita Mae Kirk, tucked away safely in the pocket of his jacket. It was a piece of scrimshaw, intricately carved into a bas relief of leaves and flowers, from a whale’s tooth. In the center was a heart, etched with his and Colleen’s names.

He arrived at the O’Hanlan residence at precisely ten minutes past the hour. He tied his horse to the nearest hitching post and bounded up the three wooden steps from the street to the front door with the excitement and exuberance of a schoolboy. He pulled the carefully wrapped gift from his pocket and knocked on the door.

“Yes?”

“Colleen, My Love, y’ haven’t changed a bit!” Apollo declared as he seized the strawberry blonde haired, blue eyed young woman who had answered the door, in his big strong arms and danced with her around.

“Who . . . Apollo? Apollo Nikolas?!”

“Of course, My Darling.”

“Apollo, I’m not my sister. I’m MOLLY.”

“Molly? What’s going on out there?” Colleen O’Hanlan demanded, as she flounced into the living room.
“Ma says--- ” All further words died before she could give them utterance, upon catching sight of the handsome man dressed in his first mate’s uniform. She gazed up at him, through eyes round as saucers, unable to speak.

“Colleen?” Apollo said tenderly.

“A-Apollo?” she barely managed to stammer out his name. “W-what are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see you,” Apollo replied with a warm smile. “Colleen, My Love, I’ve made my fortune, and I’ve come home, for good. Surely you got my letter . . . . ”

Colleen stared at him, too dumbfounded to even speak. At length, she pivoted with excruciating slowness, then ran up the stairs, leaving her younger sister, Molly and Apollo staring after her in shocked bewilderment.

“COLLEEN . . . WAIT!” Apollo called after her a few moments later, upon finding his own voice. He started for the still open front door of the O’Hanlan house.

“Oh no you don’t!” Molly growled interposing herself between Apollo and the open door.

“Molly, please!” he begged.

“No!” Molly stubbornly stood her ground.

For a moment, Apollo was completely taken aback. The obstinate young woman, with an angry look on her face ready to kill, was a far cry from the painfully shy Molly O’Hanlan he remembered.

“Molly, please stand aside,” he ordered, drawing himself up to full height.

“I will NOT,” she declared. “Apollo Nikolas, the ONLY way you’re getting into that house is over my dead body!”

“It WON’T come down to that!” Apollo said, his jaw set with stubborn determination of his own. He reached down and lifted the diminutive Molly in his arms, intending to set her aside, well out of the path between him and the front door.

“APOLLO NIKOLAS, YOU PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT!” Molly screamed at the top of her voice, kicking and pummeling his chest and shoulders with her balled fists.

Apollo was ill prepared for her transformation onto the snarling, angry cougar he suddenly found himself holding in his arms. With the elastic ease of a big, wild cat, Molly twisted in the firm grip of his arms and bit his hand so hard, she drew blood. Apollo yelped with pain, finally releasing her. Molly fell, landing in an ungainly heap on the front porch.

“What the bloody hell’s goin’ on out here?” an angry masculine voice demanded.

Molly gracelessly scrambled to her feet. “It’s Apollo Nikolas, Pa,” she said angrily. “He tried to force his way into the house, but I wouldn’t let him.”

“You g’won back inside, Molly, I’ll handle this,” Francis O’Hanlan addressed his youngest daughter in a more kindly tone. He was acutely aware of the sudden presence of Mrs. Hannah Adams, the bank president’s wife and busy body of a next door neighbor, standing outside on her front porch, pointedly staring.

Molly nodded and retreated to the safety of the house.

“Mister Nikolas, I’ll thank you to leave,” Francis O’Hanlan ordered, drawing himself up to full height.

“Not until I see Colleen,” Apollo insisted stubbornly.

“Colleen doesn’t want to see you,” Francis said firmly. “Not now, or ever again.”

“If Colleen doesn’t want to see me, let HER tell me,” Apollo said, standing akimbo, his arms folded defiantly across his broad chest.

“Apollo Nikolas, you will remove your sorry carcass from my front porch, or I’ll remove it for you,” Francis threatened.

“I won’t leave ‘til I see Colleen.”

“That does it!” Francis growled, removing his jacket.

“What may I ask is goin’ on out there?” Mrs. O’Hanlan appeared at the front door, with broom in hand.

“Back into t’ house with ya, Woman,” Francis growled. “I’m takin’ care o’ this!”

Myrna O’Hanlan, her mouth set in a grim determined line walked out of the house and across the porch with all the ferociousness of a legendary Celtic warrior goddess. Brandishing her broom as a weapon, she soundly swatted Apollo Nikolas upside the head with it. “Be off with ya, Apollo,” she cried.

“Not until I see--- ”

Myrna hit him again with the broom, bringing to bear every ounce of strength, born of her growing wrath and indignation. “I said be off with ya!”

Apollo threw up his hands to protect himself. “I’ll be back!” he vowed, backing off the front porch. His foot missed the steps. He fell on the dirt road below, landing on rump. “I swear, I’ll be back, and I’ll keep comin’ back until I see Colleen.”

“YOU DO, AND . . . SO HELP ME, APOLLO NIKOLAS . . . SO-OOOO-OOO HELP ME . . . I’LL HAVE SHERIFF COFFEE THROW YOUR SORRY ARSE IN JAIL,” Myrna yelled back. An outraged gasp, followed immediately by a second, caught and drew her attention. She turned slowly and saw, much to her horror and chagrin, Hannah Adams staring back at her clutching her own porch railing for support. Her mouth was open, and face white as a sheet. Behind her stood Mrs. Myra Danvers, one of the staunchest pillars of church, society, and community, glaring back at her reprovingly.

The following morning, Adam and Teresa rose at dawn to get in a ride before breakfast. They rode together in companionable silence to Ponderosa Plunge, a high rocky cliff overlooking a valley of deep blue lake, tall ponderosa pine trees, and mountains in the far distance. Adam had given the spot that name himself the first time his father took him there at the age of thirteen. In the ensuing years, it became his special place work through problems, to think, reflect, meditate, or simply to be alone.

They reached the top of Ponderosa Plunge just as the smallest sliver of sun showed itself along the distant line of mountains. Adam gallantly held Teresa’s horse while she dismounted, then tethered them to a place well away from the edge. They walked, hand in hand, out on the rocky promontory.

“Teresa . . . feast your eyes on that,” Adam said, gesturing broadly to the magnificent vista spread out before them, bathed in the rose pink light of sunrise. “I don’t know for certain whether or not I’ll see heaven someday, but even so . . . I can’t imagine the beauty of heaven surpassing the beauty of the Ponderosa.”

“Glorious, Adam,” Teresa sighed, completely awestruck. “Nothing less than glorious.”

“I’d forgotten how beautiful the Ponderosa really is,” Adam said wistfully, as he moved in behind her and slipped his arms around her waist.

Teresa snuggled closer, placing her hands over his. “I don’t think I could ever forget a place like this,” she said, her eyes greedily drinking in the view.

“I guess it comes of growing up in a place, and taking it for granted because you see it every day,” Adam said wistfully. “I’ll never take it for granted again.”

“Do you miss the Ponderosa?” Teresa asked gently. “And the life you had here?”

“I do,” Adam confessed, gently turning her to face him. “But as much as I miss the Ponderosa and my family here, I wouldn’t trade the life WE’VE made together for a hundred thousand Ponderosas.”

Teresa threw her arms around his neck with gleeful abandon and kissed him passionately. Adam returned his wife’s kiss with equal fervor.

“I love you, Adam Cartwright.”

“ . . . and I love you, Teresa di Cordova Cartwright.”

They remained in each other’s embrace for a time, silently watching the sunrise, enjoying the view and each other’s company.

At length, Adam sighed. “We’d better be getting back to the house,” he said reluctantly. “We have a big day ahead of us.”

“No, Adam . . . not just yet,” Teresa protested, as she unfastened the top button of his shirt, and moved down to the next.

Adam gently captured Teresa’s hands, effectively stilling her wandering fingers, at least for the moment. “Sweetheart, I, uhhh . . . I don’t think this is quite the, uhhh . . . proper time?” he murmured softly, inwardly chagrined at how weak and feeble his protestations sounded in his own ears.

“ . . . and why not?”

“What if Pa . . . Hoss . . . Joe . . . or Stacy, heaven forbid . . . happen along?”

“Your brothers, My Love, are the least of our worries,” Teresa purred softly, as he raised her right hand to his lips and placed a lingering kiss on its palm. “You told me yourself that Joe doesn’t even open his eyes before eight o’clock, and that Hoss wouldn’t, in the normal course of things, even dream of leaving the house without getting a good breakfast in him.”

“True,” Adam admitted. He kissed her left palm, then brought both of her hands together within the gentle confines of his own. “ . . . that still leaves Pa and Stacy.”

“I’m sure Stacy is very much aware of, ummm . . . shall we say the facts of life? . . . by THIS time,” Teresa said. “If your father hasn’t told her himself, he’s seen to it that she’s been given information from a reliably accurate source, and there is the fact of living on a ranch with cattle, horses, and an assortment of other animals.”

“What about Pa?”

“Ohhh, I think he, of all people, would understand,” Teresa replied. “Last time I was here he let it be known that he and Marie . . . . Well, to put it delicately, your brother, Joe, was more than likely conceived right here on this very spot.”

“Pa actually TOLD you that?!” Adam looked thoroughly scandalized.

“Not in so many words, of course,” Teresa said, “but, I could read it easily enough between the lines.”

“It IS early yet,” Adam said thoughtfully. He gave his wife’s hands a gentle squeeze, then released them.

“Yes, it is,” Teresa said with a bold, lusty smile, as she returned to the delightful task of unfastening the buttons on his shirt. “They’re probably ALL sound asleep, and besides! Didn’t you tell me we’re about three miles from the house?”

“Closer to two and a half actually . . . . ” Adam reached out and removed the barrette, securing his wife’s hair at the nape of her neck.

“That’s far enough . . . . ”

Meanwhile, back at the house, Joe had spent the better part of the last hour giving Stacy lessons in the art of fencing. Neither had as yet gotten dressed. Joe wore a light green and white striped nightshirt that reached mid-calf and a pair of thick cotton socks. Stacy wore a pair of white and blue striped pajama pants and an oversized light blue shirt. Their weapons were the matched pair of rapiers that had belonged to the family of Joe’s mother, Marie.

“That’s it, Little Sister . . . parry . . . parry . . . block, parry!”

Stacy flawlessly executed each move against an invisible adversary.

“Lunge and thrust!”

“Die, thou Foul Varlet!” Stacy cried as she lunged and skewered her imaginary opponent.

“Kid, you’re a natural,” Joe declared with a grin. “Now how would you like to put your new found skills to use?”

“Sure!” Stacy said eagerly, taking careful note of the devilish gleam in his eyes.

Joe noiselessly bounded up the stairs two at a time until he reached the first landing. There, he seized hold of the Indian blanket draped over the banister and flung it around himself with a dramatic flourish. With the fluid grace of a well-trained athlete, he vaulted over the banister, and, like a cat, landed silently on his feet. “I challenge you to a duel.”

“Oh how delightful!” Stacy exclaimed with a smile. She deftly removed Adam’s black hat from its hook next to the front door. She shoved the hat on her head and bounded up the steps two and three at a time, with rapier in hand. When she returned a scant minute later, she wore Ben’s deep maroon, almost black, robe like a cape, with the sleeves tied loosely about her neck.

“I am El Lobo, the meanest, most feared bandito south of the Rio Gran-de,” Joe declared, rolling the r’s in the last two words with a melodramatic flourish.

“ . . . and I am the Fox,” Stacy returned. She vaulted over the banister at the first landing, paused briefly to salute the photograph of Cousin Will Cartwright sitting on the end table, then turned to face her brother. “En garde.”

Their thrusts, parries, and blocks took them on a path through the living room. Stacy easily trapped him between herself and one end of the sofa. She lunged. Joe scrambled up onto the arm of the sofa in the same instant. He, then, turned, and fled across the cushions.

“You foul cheater! Come back here!” Stacy circled around behind the sofa intending to cut off his escape path.

Laboring to stifle the onset of the giggles, Joe leapt from the sofa to the coffee table, sliding across its polished surface in his stocking feet. Papers, books, brandy snifter, and humidor went flying in all directions. Stacy clamored over the back of the sofa and across the coffee table in hot pursuit. In the dining room, Joe turned to face his sister. They clashed steel with steel, giggling uproariously, until Stacy backed into one of the chairs, knocking it over.

The sound of wood chair striking wood floor roused Ben from a lovely dream about Parisian can-can dancers. “Someone’s gonna pay dearly for this,” he muttered to himself. He turned over, fully intending to go back to sleep, perchance to resume dream until he heard a second crash, followed immediately by a third. “What in tarnation is going on downstairs?” With an exasperated sigh, he threw the covers aside. “Hey! Where’s my robe?”

Meanwhile, the duel had taken “El Lobo” and “The Fox” toward the area occupied by Ben’s desk and the stacked shelves filled with books. Joe, with a feral grin on his face, slowly and relentlessly backed Stacy toward the desk with the intention of trapping her between it and himself. Stacy played into his hands, until she had come within three feet of the desk. Suddenly, she pivoted and ran, seeking refuge on the other side of the desk. The quick, sudden moves sent her wildly careening into the grandfather clock next to the front door.

“Now who’s cheatin’?” Joe cried, as he gave chase.

Once the desk loomed between her and her high-spirited brother, Stacy jumped into the desk chair, which, unbeknownst to her was mounted on casters. The chair moved under the momentum of her body, sending her careening toward the bookshelves behind the desk. A split second before collision, Stacy, with sword firmly gripped in hand half-jumped half-fell out of the chair, landing in an ungainly sprawl on the wood floor beyond. The chair struck the bookshelves hard, at the precise right angle, bringing all of the books crashing to the floor.

Giggling uproariously, Joe leapt over the piles of books and chased Stacy back into the living room, easily trapping her against one of the living room chairs. The latter jumped backwards onto the cushion and climbed up on to the back.

“I have you now, Fox,” Joe licked his lips already savoring the fruits of victory.

“You are sadly mistaken, El Lobo,” Stacy crowed. “It is I who have YOU.” She crouched to make a flying leap. The shift of weight displaced the chair and sent it falling backward.

“STACY!” Joe cried, his eyes round with shocked horror. He ran to the other side, intending to catch her. En route, his foot caught the edge of a throw rug, sending him catapulting through the air, arse overhead. Both screamed in unison, as the chair on which Stacy stood hit the floor with a loud bang. Stacy landed on top of Joe.

Brother and sister glared at each other for a long moment before helplessly dissolving into a fit of giggles.

The sound of a slamming door upstairs, followed by heavy footfalls, sobered both of them.

“Uh oh!” Stacy gulped. “That sounds like Pa!”

“We’re dead,” Joe said, before the pair dissolved into another fit of infectious giggling.

Ben descended to the first landing, clad in white cotton pajamas sans robe, and stopped to survey the scene below him. The desk chair lay on its side, half buried under a mound of books and bookshelves. In the living room area, papers, books, and cigars littered the floor under and around the coffee table. The brandy snifter lay on its side, its amber contents spreading across the coffee table, soaking into some of the loose papers. In the dining room, three chairs lay on their backs, as did the maroon armchair in the living room. Next to the maroon chair, he spotted his younger children, lying on the floor laughing their heads off. For one brief insane moment, Ben wavered between joining the laughter and thrashing the pair within inches of their lives.

“WHAT . . . . ” Ben started to bellow, then remembered the possibility of others sleeping upstairs. It took every ounce of will he possessed to lower his voice. “What in thunderation is going on down here?”

“M-m-mornin’, Pa,” Joe giggled. “I was just teaching Stacy how to fence.”

“Sorry . . . we got a little carried away,” Stacy giggled.

“The pair of you should be,” Ben remarked wryly, “by someone with a big butterfly net.” He deftly helped his hopelessly mirthful son and daughter to their feet, gaping in open astonishment at their make shift costumes. “What in the ever lovin’ world are the pair of you dressed up for? A Halloween party?!”

“I-I am El Lobo,” Joe said, laboring vigorously to keep a straight face, “the meanest RINGO bandito south of the Rio Grande.”

“Ringo?!” Ben echoed. A bewildered frown creased his brow.

“I think h-he m-meant GRINGO bandito s-s-south of the Rio Grande, Pa,” Stacy said, succumbing to a fresh round of the giggles.

At that moment, Adam and Teresa walked hand in hand through the front door, smiling with an almost smug contentment. Their hair was mussed, and Adam’s shirt was half tucked in with three buttons missing.

“Good morning, Adam . . . Teresa,” Joe greeted them with a sly grin. “Do you know your hair is tangled with pine needles?”

“No, but if you hum a few bars, I might be able to fake it,” Teresa said smoothly, without missing a beat.

Joe and Stacy collapsed in unison onto the sofa in a fit incapacitating laughter.

Ben tried his best to maintain some shred of dignity. He pulled himself up to full height and glared down at his two younger children. “Stacy . . . . ”

“Y-yeah, Pa?”

“May I have my robe back please?”

“Yes, Sir.” Still laughing, Stacy rose unsteadily to her feet. She untied the sleeves and removed her make shift cape with a dramatic flourish. The sudden body movements caused her to lose her balance. She collapsed back down onto the sofa, with tears of mirth streaming down her cheeks.

Adam quietly surveyed the scene, taking due noting of the rapiers in the hands of his youngest brother and only sister. “Well, Pa,” he said, grinning broadly, “it looks like that old adage is true after all.”

Ben turned his back on his family to mask his growing struggle not to laugh. SOMEONE had to be the grown-up, and maintain some degree of discipline amid the surrounding chaos. As clan patriarch, it appeared that duty fell to him. “ . . . and what old adage is that?” Ben asked, as he slipped on his robe and tied the sash.

“The more things change, the more they stay the same,” Adam said with a broad grin. “Now I truly feel like I’ve come home again.”

“Come on,” Ben said, succumbing at last to the heady contagion of laughter, in spite of his best intentions. “We’d better get this place clean before Hop Sing wakes up, if we know what’s good for us.”

Hoss smiled contentedly as the sun shining through his bedroom window gently warmed his face, rousing him from the depths of sleep. He slowly eased himself from a prone to a sitting position, and stretched luxuriously. Downstairs, the grandfather clock struck the hour of seven.

“ . . . nope, eight o’clock,” Hoss mused, reaching for the robe stretched across the foot of his bed. He frowned as the clock struck nine, ten, and eleven times. “Dadburn it, I’ve overslept and missed breakfast.” He quickly slipped his robe on over his nightshirt, and tied the sash. The clock struck twelve as he crossed the room, making a beeline for the closed door, followed by thirteen.

Hoss froze mid-stride, his hand on the doorknob. “Thirteen?”

The clock struck fourteen, then fifteen, followed by an odd clanking sound. Hoss quickly stepped into the hall, pausing briefly to close the bedroom door behind him. At the top landing, Hoss froze as his eyes took in the state of chaos on the first floor. An easy chair lay on its back, as did three of the chairs in the dining room area. Ben and Adam worked furiously gathering together the former’s books, spread over a wide debris field stretching from the study to the living room area. Teresa was busy sopping up the spilled brandy from the top of the coffee table, while Stacy gathered the sodden papers and carried them outside to dry.

“Pa?”

Ben looked up and smiled. “Good morning, Hoss. Come on down and give us a hand. I want this place ship shape by the time Hop Sing wakes up.”

“What happened?” Hoss asked, as he made his way down the stairs. “The place looks like a dadburn tornado hit it!”

“The place was hit by TWO dadburn tornados, Big Brother,” Adam said sardonically. “Their names are Joe and Stacy.”

“I asked Joe to teach me a little about fencing,” Stacy said sheepishly.

Hoss rolled his eyes. “Dadburn it, Li’l Sister, the NEXT time ya take it in your head to ask Li’l Joe t’ teach ya somethin’, ask him to teach ya OUTSIDE.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Ben agreed wryly. He paused, just long enough to glance over the sea of faces. “Speaking of Joseph, where is he?”

Smiling, Teresa put her finger to her lips and pointed at the sofa. Adam, Hoss, Ben, and Stacy moved in for a closer look. There, on the sofa lay Joe Cartwright, snoozing in blissful oblivion to the flurry of activity happening around him on all sides.

Adam and Hoss exchanged glances and nodded. The former took Joe’s feet and the latter his head and shoulders. Together they lifted their slumbering baby brother, taking great care not to wake him, and started toward the front door. Stacy immediately ran over and opened the door. Hoss and Adam nodded their thanks as they carried Joe over the threshold and out of the house. Ben, Stacy, and Teresa followed. The two elder Cartwright brothers carried the still somnolent baby boy of the family over to the water trough and tossed him in.

Joe surfaced coughing and sputtering.

“Time to wakey, wakey, Baby Brother!” Adam said with an evil grin.

“Whaddya tryin’ to do?” Joe demanded, outraged. “Drown me?”

“Now don’t you go puttin’ temptin’ thoughts like that in my head, Li’l Brother,” Hoss cautioned, favoring Joe with a dark, angry glare.

“What did I do?” Joe asked, looking from Adam and Hoss, over to his father, sister, and sister-in-law.

“You didn’t do a blessed thing,” Adam replied with a complacent smile.

“MICK! MICK! WE GOT OURSELVES A PROBLEM!”

Mick O’Flynn looked up and saw his young partner and protégée, Barney Murphy, running up the street frantically waving his hands. Mick was a short, thin and wiry elderly man, exact age indeterminate, with thinning, gray almost white hair, and alert, all-seeing dark brown eyes. He walked with a pronounced limp, due in part to the severe arthritis in virtually every joint in his body. He always wore the same black pair of pants and black jacket, both of which were threadbare at the knees and elbows. Today, he had on a clean, though wrinkled, cream colored long sleeved shirt.

O’Flynn stopped to allow the younger man to catch up. “What is it, Barney?”

“I caught Sheriff Coffee nosin’ out where . . . . ” Barney lowered his voice, “you know.”

Mick scowled. This was the fourth time this week either he or Barney had spotted Roy Coffee out snooping around dangerously near the spot where they had Matilda, their new still, hidden. The sheriff had his suspicions, no denying that now. “Barney, did Sheriff Coffee see you?” he asked.

Barney shook his head. “I don’t think so, Mister O’Flynn.”

“That’s a relief,” Mick slowly let out the breath he had been holding. He now had two enormous problems facing him square in the face, however. The second problem was moving his beloved Matilda, under the eagle eye of Sheriff Roy Coffee. The first, and most pressing, was finding another place to move her.

This could not have happened at a worse time. The reception following the Wedding of the Century was to be held in the basement room of the church. The Ladies’ Guild, under the leadership of Myra Danvers had absolutely forbidden the serving of alcoholic beverages within the church building and on church grounds. Most of the men of Virginia City, along with a fair number if its women, had placed their orders with him, so that they might smuggle in their own bottles. To date, Mick O’Flynn had only filled one-third of the pending orders. “Where’s the good sheriff now, Barney?”

“In his office,” Barney replied.

“Good,” Mick said. “Now I want you to keep an eye on ‘im, but for heaven’s sake, BE DISCREET.”

“Sure, Mister O’Flynn.”

“Now be off with y’, Lad. I have some work to do.”

Hoss leaned against the corral fence watching Stacy putting Sun Dancer through his paces. From the moment she connected with the saddle, her spirit and that of the magnificent golden palomino stallion seemed to merge, and from that merging flowed together as one. Not a word of command was spoken, yet Sun Dancer moved from a walk, to a trot, to a cantor, and a full gallop, and back again as easily, and seamlessly as a concert pianist moves his fingers up and down the length of black and white keys, practicing basic scales.

“I could stand here all day and watch those two,” Candy said as he stepped up to the fence next to Hoss.

“Yeah, I know whatcha mean,” Hoss agreed.

“Your pa decided yet what he’s gonna do with Sun Dancer?”

“He ain’t f’r sale, that’s for dadburn sure,” Hoss replied with a grin. “We all agreed on THAT pretty early on. Other ‘n that, he’s a good saddle horse, if ‘n the rider’s able to handle him.”

“You think Mister Cartwright’ll want to try breeding him?”

Hoss nodded and grinned. “I think Pa decided that pretty early on, too. Li’l Sister wants t’ ride him in the Virginia City Race comin’ up in September.”

“Oh yeah?!” Candy looked over at Hoss, mildly surprised. “What did your father say about that?”

“Nothin’, ‘cause we ain’t mentioned it to him yet.”

“Ain’t mentioned WHAT to him yet?”

Hoss turned and found himself standing face to face with his father. Stacy’s friend, Molly O’Hanlan, smiled and nodded as she stepped up to the corral fence on the other side of Ben. “Oh, Pa, it’s nothing’ important . . . . ” he hedged.

“Hoss . . . . ”

He flinched away from the stern glare on Ben’s face. “Stacy ‘n I wanted to wait f’r a better time, like maybe when this Weddin’ of the Century’s done ‘n over . . . . ”

“What is it, Son?”

Hoss sighed. “Stacy just happened to kinda mention that she, uuhhh . . . she wants t’ ride Sun Dancer in, uuhhh . . . the Virginia City Race comin’ up?!”

“I hope you haven’t told her she could!” Ben said, leveling a ferocious scowl in Hoss’ general direction.

“Pa, I’d NEVER tell her she could do something like that, without checkin’ with YOU first.”

“Good! Because I’m not so sure I want my daughter . . . . ”

“Not even if she ‘n Sun Dancer are practically shoe ins t’ win that race?”

This drew a sharp glare from his father.

“We . . . Candy, here, an’ me . . . paced the pair of ‘em out on the road a couple o’ weeks ago,” Hoss continued. “Sun Dancer beat our Bonnie Prince Charlie by a mile, without even workin’ up much of a sweat.”

“Really?”

“Three times outta THREE, Mister Cartwright.”

“Granted, I allow the girl a lot of leeway, but I have to draw the line some---” Ben stopped abruptly, and looked from Hoss over to Candy, then back once more to Hoss. “Did you fellas say THREE out of three?”

Hoss grinned. “We sure did, Pa.”

“Sun Dancer left Bonnie Prince Charlie eating his dust,” Candy added.

“Bonnie Prince Charlie, of course is almost as fast as Blake Wilson’s General Ulysses,” Ben mulled the matter over thoughtfully.

“That’s right, Sir . . . ALMOST,” Candy said.

“Almost is the reason you been comin’ in second to Blake Wilson’s FIRST f’r the last three years in a row,” Hoss added meaningfully.

“But . . . if Sun Dancer can beat Bonnie Prince Charlie, then he could probably, very easily beat . . . . ”

“Umm hmmmm!” Hoss and Candy chorused and nodded their heads in unison.

“No!” Ben vigorously shook his head, as if trying to physically dislodge all the lovely errant thoughts suddenly taking up residence. “Letting Stacy rope cattle and train horses here on the Ponderosa is one thing, but . . . . ”

“But?” Hoss prompted.

“Blake and General Ulysses HAVE won the Virginia City Race for the past three years in a row, haven’t they?” Ben queried, his thoughts churning a mile a minute.

“They sure have, Pa.”

“ . . . and . . . in all fairness, of course . . . I suppose it’s . . . well, it’s . . . about time someone ELSE had a turn . . . . ”

“Yeah,” Hoss agreed.

“ . . . in all fairness,” Candy agreed, grinning from ear-to-ear.

“Of course I COULD have JOSEPH ride Sun Dancer . . . . ”

“Yeah . . . I s’pose you could at that,” Hoss reluctantly agreed. “But, STACY’S the one who’s been workin’ with him the most, an’ workin’ HARD as all get out, too.”

“ . . . and not only that, Mister Cartwright, but Stacy’s gotta be a good twenty-five . . . maybe even thirty pounds lighter,” Candy pressed.

“That’s all very true,” Ben had to admit. “Let me think about it . . . . ”

“Mister Cartwright?” Molly O’Hanlan spoke up for the first time.

“Yes, Molly?” Ben responded contritely. In the course of the conversation with Hoss and Candy, he had forgotten she was even there.

“You really going to let Stacy race Sun Dancer in the Virginia City Race?” she queried, her eyes shining with excitement.

“I’m THINKING about it, Molly,” Ben said. “That’s NOT the same as making a decision . . . and it’s still a far cry from saying yes.” He punctuated this last with a hard meaningful glance at Candy and Hoss, as well.

“I sure hope you let her enter that race, Mister Cartwright,” Molly declared stoutly. “I KNOW Stacy and Sun Dancer’ll beat the pants off of any and all contenders.”

Ben laughed. “Oh, all right!” he acquiesced. “You’ve convinced me! Stacy CAN ride Sun Dancer in the Virginia City Race.”

“Whoa, Sun Dancer,” Stacy said, drawing up along side the fence where her brother, Hoss, Candy, and best friend Molly, whooped it up, yelling at the tops of their lungs. “Hey, Pa, what’s all the excitement about?”

“Go ahead, Pa . . . I think YOU oughtta be the one to tell her.”

“I’ve just decided that you can ride Sun Dancer in the Virginia City Race this year,” Ben said, smiling.

“Oh, Pa, really?!” Stacy’s smile seemed to light up her entire face, as she quickly dismounted and tethered Sun Dancer to the fence. “Really and TRULY?”

“Yes, really and truly!”

Stacy stepped up onto one of the lower slats of the corral fence, bringing her eye-to-eye with Ben. “I think you’re the best pa in the whole wide world!” she threw her arms around his neck and gave him a big affectionate bear hug.

Ben slipped his arms around her and returned that hug with equal exuberance. “I hope that’s not just because I’m letting you ride in that race,” he said, half teasing.

“It IS, partly,” Stacy admitted, “but it’s mostly because it’s true.” She hugged him again, then jumped down off the corral fence. The instant her feet made contact with the ground, Sun Dancer gently nudged her arm, then pointedly lowered his muzzle toward the pocket where she kept the treats.

“Stacy?!” Molly watched Sun Dancer with a bemused expression on her face. “What in the world is he doing?”

“He’s just reminding me that he’s had a good, long, hard workout this morning,” Stacy said, as she dug her hand into the bottom right hand pocket of the light jacket she wore, “and he expects to be properly rewarded.” She extracted a generous handful of treats and offered them to the golden palomino. “You did good, Sun Dancer, you did REAL good!”

“Wow! He’s one smart horse!” Molly exclaimed in awe.

“He sure is,” Ben agreed. “In fact, I’m surprised Sun Dancer’s not the one training Hoss, Stacy, and Candy.”

“F’r all WE know, he just may be, Pa,” Hoss said with a chuckle.

“Molly, everything alright?” Stacy asked, noting the troubled expression on her friend’s face.

“Yes . . . NO!” Molly sighed. “You’re never going to guess who came to see my sister last night.”

“It wasn’t . . . Apollo Nikolas by any chance . . . w-was it?” Hoss queried looking ill.

“Yes, it was!” Molly exclaimed, looking over at Hoss in mild surprise. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” Hoss said. “Just kinda took a wild guess.” He felt grateful beyond measure that his baby brother wasn’t present.

“What happened?” Stacy asked, as she absently stroked Sun Dancer on the side of his neck.

Molly took a deep breath and told the Cartwrights all that had transpired the evening before, blushing at the memory of Apollo dancing around with her in his arms.

Ben, Hoss, Stacy, even Candy laughed out loud, as they envisioned the very prim and proper Mrs. O’Hanlan breaking up a potential fist fight by brandishing a broom.

“ . . . and . . . and in front of the like of Myra Danvers and . . . H-Hannah Adams, of all people,” Ben murmured, as he wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes.

“S-sorry, Molly,” Stacy apologized. “I know it’s NOT funny . . . yet it IS.”

“I guess the thought of Ma running out into the street brandishing that broom like the Irish warrior queen, Maeve, IS kind of funny,” Molly admitted with a smile.

“I sure wish I couldda seen the look on Widow Danvers’ face,” Hoss chuckled.

“Me, too!” Candy voiced his own wholehearted agreement with a grin.

“Easy! It probably looked something like this,” Stacy rendered a grotesquely comic impersonation of Mrs. Danvers’ outraged face.

“Y-yes . . . . ” Molly laughed uproariously. “That’s it . . . that’s it exactly!”

“Y’ oughtta h-have . . . m-more respect far your elders, Li’l Sister,” Hoss said, as he, Ben, and Candy laughed along with Molly.

“Now y-you’re starting to sound like . . . like Grandpa, Hoss,” Stacy also joined in the laughter.

“Dadburn it!” Hoss growled with mock severity. “Where do you get off insultin’ me?”

“That’s not meant to be an insult, Big Brother, only a warning to mend your ways NOW . . . while you still have a chance.”

“But . . . surely Apollo Nikolas wasn’t thinking he was going to pick up with Colleen where he’d left off,” Ben said, sobering. “It’s been nearly ten years!”

“I think he WAS thinking that, Mister Cartwright,” Molly said, “and from the sound of things, he’s going to go right on thinking that until Colleen sets him straight.”

“I can’t believe that,” Ben said shaking his head.

“Apollo’s gotta good head on his shoulders, Pa,” Hoss said, “but there’s some things he just ain’t smart about at all.”

“Boy! Looks like ol’ Grandpa was right when he said Apollo Nikolas’ arrival was going to make things very interesting,” Stacy said shaking her head.

“Hmpf! Apollo Nikolas’ arrival last night made things a little too interesting to suit me,” Molly declared indignantly. “If COLLEEN doesn’t set him straight soon, so help me . . . I will.”

“I’m sure Colleen will, Molly,” Ben hastened to reassure her. “In the meantime, would you like to join us for dinner? We’ll be eating within the next hour of so.”

“I don’t know,” Molly looked very uncertain. “You DO have company . . . . ”

“Don’t you worry none ‘bout that, Molly,” Hoss said with a grin. “There’s still plenty o’ room for an extra plate.”

“In that case, I WILL stay,” Molly said. She turned to Ben and smiled. “Thank you for inviting me, Mister Cartwright.”

“My pleasure.”

“Stacy, why don’t you g’won back to the house with Pa and Molly?” Hoss said. “Candy and I can look after Sun Dancer.”

“Thanks, Big Brother.”

“I also have a fitting appointment with Madame Darnier this afternoon,” Molly said, as she, Stacy, and Ben walked from the corral toward the house. “Maid of honor dress for the wedding.”

“I have a final fitting appointment with Madame Darnier this afternoon, too,” Stacy said.

“You?!” Molly stared at her best friend with open skepticism.

Stacy rolled her eyes. “Yes, me,” she sighed. “For some reason Pa here doesn’t think my boots and britches are appropriate for me to wear to a wedding.”

“That’s right,” Ben agreed wholeheartedly, then smiled. “I was also looking for an excuse to force your brother into that monkey suit of his.”

“You should’ve told me, Pa,” Stacy teased, linking her arm through his. “I would’ve approached this whole thing with a lot more enthusiasm.”

“Which suit is the monkey suit?” Molly asked, with an inquisitive smile.

“The blue one,” Ben and Stacy said in unison.

“The blue one?” Molly echoed, with a puzzled frown. “Really?”

Stacy nodded.

“Gee, I think Joe looks . . . . ” Molly blushed, clear down to the roots of her hair, “ . . . well let’s just say he looks awfully darned handsome in that suit.”

“Molly, puh-leese . . . do Pa, Hoss, Hop Sing, and me a favor and don’t EVER tell him you said that,” Stacy begged.

“Why NOT?” Molly asked.

“For one thing, Molly . . . I don’t think they make hats that big,” Hoss quipped with an impish grin.

“In any case, Molly, the entire family’s going to be there for Stacy’s fitting,” Ben said. “You can ride back to town with us.”

Molly’s jaw dropped. She looked over at Ben through eyes round as saucers, then back to Stacy. “All of you?” she squeaked. “Really?”

“Yep!” Stacy confirmed. “Like Candy said yesterday, they’re all going to be there with bells on.”

“C-Candy’s going to be there, too?”

“Pa said the entire family,” Stacy said, smiling at her friend’s astonishment.

“Wow!” Molly shook her head. “My pa and brother say they wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like Madame Darnier’s.”

“Molly, we Cartwright men happen to take a very keen interest in our Cartwright woman’s choice of wardrobe,” Ben said.

“They sure do.” The tone of her voice and impish twinkle in her eyes drew a warning glare from her father.

“We feel it’s our duty and responsibility,” Ben continued in a solemn tone of voice, “in a loving, supportive way, of course.”

“Oh, Mister Cartwright, I think that’s wonderful.”

“Stacy Rose Cartwright, not one word,” Ben warned sotto voce, upon seeing his daughter smile and roll her eyes.

“Oohh, Mick . . . I dunno!”

“Why not?” the grizzled, elderly man pressed. “It’s the last place anyone’d even THINK t’ look for a still!”

“I STILL dunno. Whut iffen t’ reverend . . . . ?”

“Macon Fitzhugh, y’ just got through tellin’ me t’ good reverend never goes down there.”

“Usually, he don’t,” Macon whined. He was a tall man, with slightly stooped posture, thin arms and legs and a pronounced paunch at the waistline. His late wife, God rest her soul, and oldest sister derisively referred to it as his ‘beer belly.’ The slight downward sweep of his bushy, iron gray eyebrows, the round, staring pale blue eyes, the very set of the planes of his face, and the deeply etched lines in his forehead and around his mouth marked him as a chronic worrier.

“All right, then,” Mick said, grinning from ear-to-ear. “What’s the problem?”

“The Weddin’ reception’s gonna be held down there,” Macon fretted, wringing his hands.

“Didn’t y’ tell me yourself that the church is puttin’ in a woodstove?” Mick pressed.

“Well, yeah, but . . . . ”

“Alright, then.” Mick’s grin broadened into a bright, sunny smile. “If t’ good reverend asks questions, we’ll tell ‘im it’s the woodstove.”

“I dunno, Mick, I just . . . dunno,” Macon groaned, wagging his head back and forth. “It seems kinda sacrilegious somehow . . . . ”

“Macon, y’ oughtta be ashamed o’ yourself,” Mick chided him severely. “How can y’ possibly look me in t’ eye an’ call yourself a deacon and caretaker o’ the church, when you’re so ignorant o’ the Holy Scriptures?”

“Hunh?”

“Didn’t Jesus turned the water into fine wine at the weddin’ o’ Cana?”

“Yeah . . . ”

“ . . . an’ don’t the Holy Gospels themselves talk of Jesus blessin’ the bread AND T’ WINE at t’ Last Supper?”

“Well . . . yeah . . . . ”

“Alright, then! Seein’ as t’ how Our Lord Himself indulged in strong spirits, then tell me this . . . if y’ can; how can a still in t’ church basement be sacrilegious?”

Macon opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut, unable to think of anything to say.

“Macon, it’ll only be ‘til after The Weddin’,” Mick said, savoring his impending victory. It was all he could do to keep from rubbing his hands together in gleeful anticipation. “By then t’ heat will’ve died down, an’ I’ll be able t’ safely move m’ Sweet Matilda elsewhere.”

“Well, ok, those few days can’t hurt none, I s’pose,” Macon agreed very reluctantly.

“Grand! That’s just grand!,” Mick replied with a smug grin. “Meet me tonight at the Silver Dollar at eight sharp, with the church key.”

End of Part 1

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